The comfort of a cat hybrid. ✔

Box cat.

Wilbur often found himself imagining what people would say if he was in human form.

He became a regular to the school children, responsible for bringing smiles to their faces after their monotonous days. It became indispensable to him; he found himself beaming whenever he brightened their days with a simple flick of his tail. No one questioned anything, and parents often came up to him as well, brushing off their own stress momentarily with each stroke to his fur. 'He's just a friendly cat,' they'd claim to strangers, 'not a hybrid, just a street cat wanting company.'

Wilbur would return home after that, curl up into his carboard box down a cold alleyway and watch as people strolled past. Occasionally he'd make an appearance, mewing softly when he could tell someone needed him. Humans and hybrids were alike in more ways than they'd think, and Wilbur knew that giving company to perturbed individuals helped more than people liked to admit.

He couldn't help but have favourites either; simply choosing to always make an appearance when he noticed the familiar blond hair of a raccoon hybrid hanging around. They both seemed to be comfortable in the routine they'd developed; habitually lingering in their usual meeting area until the other showed up. Wilbur wasn't sure why the hybrid was so insistent on seeing him every day, but he simply assumed that the content expression on his face meant that he enjoyed the company of a feline.

Their routine continued for weeks without a hitch, and Wilbur soon found himself knowing more about the raccoon hybrid than he did about himself. He seemed to love to talk, babbling away about various topics while stroking his fur and waffling on about everything and anything until his phone blared with messages. Months passed quickly and Wilbur still hadn't learnt the teenager's name despite knowing the names of everyone close to the hybrid. He seemed to talk about his adoptive family the most, sharing memories and little stories with Wilbur about their hybrid types and favourite things.

Wilbur often zoned out whenever the raccoon hybrid left, the memory of their first meeting often resurfacing. The teenager had been suspicious, accidently cornering Wilbur as he demanded to know if he was a hybrid. He had been terrified at first, his back curling into an aggressive stance as he was shuffled further and further into the alleyway. The day had ended with Wilbur curled up in the hybrid lap; unsure of how they had gotten that far from the earlier intimidation. He'd even began purring when the teenager started apologising profusely, clearly haven't forgotten that he still believed Wilbur was a cat who supposedly couldn't understand what he was saying.

He never shifted anyway; he may as well not be a hybrid.

Wilbur had doubted that he would ever return; wariness mixing with surprise the first couple of days that he noticed the hybrid waiting around for him. He allowed himself to become comforted by the routine, getting used to the soft feeling that bubbled inside him whenever the teenager smiled at Wilbur's head butting against his legs, grasping his attention easily.

He pushed aside the realisation that they'd get along better if he shifted into human form, purring louder as he settled in the raccoon hybrid's lap for another day of one-sided conversations.

--

Wilbur tried not to let the feeling of despondence engulf him as he shuffled inside the carboard box, the bitterness of the weather causing him to huddle even closer. It was the first day in months that the raccoon hybrid didn't turn up, and he couldn't even place it down to the rain. The teenager often turned up with an umbrella on those days, balancing Wilbur in his arms and coaxing him to curl closer for heat as he attempted to find a dry spot for them. The fact that raccoons didn't mind the rain made it even more dismaying and he was forced to accept that the teen most likely didn't turn up out of choice.