The comfort of a cat hybrid. ✔

Flap cat.

(4 weeks later...)

Wilbur enjoyed how quickly he had developed a routine.

He spent the day watching Phil work, conveniently brushing up against him and meowing softly when the elytrian went a couple hours without eating or drinking. Phil always assumed it was when he was hungry, his confused expression never vanishing when Wilbur didn't make a move to eat the food he'd placed down. The cat hybrid was content anyway; succeeding in getting him to take a break for food even if it wasn't done out of his own accord.

Wilbur would spend the evenings curled on Tommy's lap; watching as he spent hours doing homework and getting the raccoon hybrid to play with him when the stress bubbled inside him rapidly. He knew it was helping – Tommy's playful raccoon instincts often surfaced, and he always seemed so much calmer afterwards. His heart always felt warmer when he succeeded, the sensation of happiness often flooding his brain.

The cat hybrid would spend the nights with Techno; huddling close to him whenever he saw the shivers rack his body. He did his best to distract him when his piglin instincts prevented him from sleeping; purring loudly when he realised it helped lull him to sleep quicker. Wilbur would stay awake until he fell asleep, kneading the pile of blankets carefully to ground the piglin hybrid when it was needed the most.

He was there when they fitted his cat flap; Phil's wings flapping around as he drilled a hole into the door with Techno taking control before Tommy could break anything. His purrs seemed louder that day, and he remembered stretching out on Phil's lap as they hosted a family film night. Wilbur recalled how uncaring he was as he flipped onto his back, the white fur on his stomach showing with the signal of trust, and how they simply cooed when he almost fell off the sofa.

A cat fitted into their lives easily, and he found himself ignoring the desire to shift more often; wanting to communicate with them other than in meows and purrs. But it was okay, they were happy and that was really all that Wilbur wanted.

--

He was sleeping in a carboard box when he heard them looking for him. Wilbur decided not to move, making a sound of acknowledgment that he didn't care if they heard before curling up in an even tighter ball. The cat hybrid didn't like sleeping on the furniture when he was alone, finding various boxes and shelves more comfortable. He didn't particularly care that it was often inconvenient, his heart swelling with warmth whenever he discovered a towel laying there the next day.

'For fucks sake where is that cat?' He heard Tommy say, his footsteps getting closer to him.

'Did you check the bookshelves?' Wilbur snorted inwardly in amusement at Phil's question, hearing Tommy getting further away from the hallway.

'Nah, Soot's not there.'

'Please tell me he isn't stuck in the fucking airing cupboard again.' The cat hybrid didn't appreciate Techno bringing up that memory, any thought of moving to find them himself disappearing instantly.

'Bloody hell how hard is it to get a cat to eat in the morning?' Phil's voice echoed through his mind, the realisation of why they were looking for him made Wilbur want to hide even more. He would search for a better spot, but he couldn't be asked to move anymore.

'I swear Soot just doesn't like eating food... Don't cats usually want food like, constantly?'

'Yes, Tommy but apparently this one doesn't have an appetite. He's probably hiding on purpose.' Wilbur was, but they didn't need to know that. Besides, he valued sleep too much for that.