Thinking about the fact that some of Matt Murdock’s main weaknesses are extremely loud noises, overwhelming smells, uncomfortable textures, and water… yeah, no, this man is literally a stray cat. By far the most cat coded character I have ever come across that has nothing explicitly to do with cats.
He’s nimble, fast, and stealthy, able to squeeze his way into places you would never look and disappearing in a matter of moments. (Much to Foggy’s dismay- god damn it Matt you where supposed to rest today-)
He prowls his territory at night and hates interlopers. He’s aloof and untrusting, yet caring, and the only way to truly know him is to take it slow and lure him out of his shell bit by bit. (You basically have to lure him out with treats and the threat of killing some good for nothing trash Red seems to think is redeemable, though that’s just what Frank has found works most of the time)
His senses are fine tuned to everything around him, and he’s precise like a predator stalking his prey. Though he always seems to forget his limits, pushing himself to the brink time and time again (or perhaps he desires the burn of pulled muscles, the sting of split knuckles, and the drone of ringing ears- it reminds him he’s alive alive alive-)
“God damn it Matt, how many times are you gonna collapse at my door this week?”
The shadowed figure hunched further into himself, though it was easy to tell he was already on the brink of tipping over. Claire could see from the way he leaned on her door frame his ribs were still bothering him.
“Truly sorry bout’ this ma’m, it’s my fault he’s out this late” a deep gruff rumble sounded just behind Matt.
Claire startled a moment at the voice, but quickly recognized the taller figure.
“What- you know what? I’m not gonna ask, help me take him inside, I can already tell he’s gonna need his stitches redone.”
Hours later, Frank helps Matt into his apartment, tired but no longer bleeding out onto the street.
“Red, stop picking at your knuckle scabs, you’re like a cat who can’t stop licking at their wounds. You need me to get a cone?”
“Fuck you”
“Yeah yeah, if ya need me, I’ll be sleeping on your couch.”
