I’ve started a new side blog, Pippin Noodle, strictly dedicated to cute pictures and videos of my kitten, Pippin. After 2016 being such a rough year, I’ve decided that I want to do something positive and upbeat to put some joy back into the general ether for 2017. And what better way to do that than by sharing pictures of a kitten who never fails to make me smile? So stop by @pippinnoodle for your daily dose of orange tabby kitten and let a bit of therapeutic cuteness wash away some of the stress of your day.
Pippin Noodle updates at least twice daily with new pictures and/or videos.
A few moments later, the small tinkling of a bell sounded, coming closer. Soon, a small black kitten with tiny white spots on its face appeared, peering around the corner. Seeing the Winchesters, it bounded over, rubbing against their legs.
“Stop it,” Dean said, stepping back.
“Who’s this?” Chuck said, crouching down. The kitten stepped over and sniffed his hand before butting its head against Chuck’s palm.
“That’s Y/N’s cat,” Sam said. “Mr. Sprinkles.”
Chuck chuckled at the name, scratching the cat behind the ears. He glanced up and saw the glare Dean was giving the cat. “You don’t like cats?”
Dean sneezed, his glare intensifying. “I’m allergic. You think you’d know that, what with being a prophet author. Or, you know, God.”
At that moment, you stepped into the kitchen. “Hey, guys.” Your eyes fell on Chuck. “Um… is this the author of those books that were written about you?” A small look of fear washed over you. “Have you kidnapped him to keep him from writing more books?”
“Do you honestly think we’d do something like that?” Dean asked.
“Y/N, this is Chuck,” Sam said. “He is the author of those books, but it appears that he’s also…”
You raised an eyebrow. “You’re kidding.”
Chuck stood up (earning a meow of protest from Mr. Sprinkles) and held a hand out. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”
You studied him for a moment. “So, you’re God, huh?”
“Y/N, you can’t–”
“It’s okay, Dean.” Chuck thought for a moment before snapping his fingers.
You and the Winchesters looked around. Nothing seemed any different.
“Well?” you asked.
Chuck bent down and picked up the cat before stepping over to Dean.
“What the hell, man?” Dean asked, stepping away. “I told you, I’m allergic.”
Chuck held the cat up into Dean’s face, the cat gently patting his nose with his paw. Dean growled slightly, but soon everyone realized that he didn’t sneeze. Normally, Dean’s allergy kicked in if he was in the same room as the furball.
“Holy crap,” Sam said. “You’re not sneezing!”
“Did you really cure him of his allergy?” You asked Chuck.
Chuck nodded, his arms bringing the cat to his chest, one hand running down its back. Mr. Sprinkles purred appreciatively.
“Thanks, man,” Dean said, clapping Chuck on the back. “Come on, I’ll show you to the spare room.”
The boys passed you and Chuck handed the cat back to you. Both you and Mr. Sprinkles watched as Chuck was led down the hall.
Later that night, you crawled into bed. Mr. Sprinkles was curled up on the pillow next to you. You clicked off the light and settled in. Your hand found Mr. Sprinkles and you began to run your hand down his back.
“So, Mr. Sprinkles, what do you think of Chuck?”
“I think he’s really nice. And sweet. And… handsome.” You were silent for a few moments, wondering if you were really going to go through with this. “I really like him, Mr. Sprinkles. But I don’t know what to do. There’s no way God could like me, a tiny little human.”
“I guess I’ll just… hope these feelings disappear.”
You rolled onto your back, staring at your ceiling. You felt foolish for having talked to your cat in such a way, but you hoped that your message would be relayed to Chuck soon and that something would come of this… weirdness.