Prompt: Bucky insists that he does not have a cat, the stupid thing only shuts up when he lets it in from the fire escape and if you really must now, he hates the cat. It would be easier for everyone to believe if he wasn't actively petting the cat while he saying it.
"This is your apartment," Steve says gently. "You can have pets if you want."
"I don’t want pets.” Bucky huffs and picks a small bowl up from the floor, filling it with water from the sink and placing it back down. The scrawny cat on top of the bookshelf drops nimbly down to the couch, then the floor, trotting over and lapping contentedly.
"If it’s just a stray that got in, there’s, um, there’s shelters for pets around here. We could drop him off."
"Her." Bucky licks his teeth behind his lips thoughtfully, watching the cat stand, shift, and then finally sit in front of the bowl, purring quietly. It’s a pleasant noise. Steve waits for Bucky to decide. "Don’t they put them down if they don’t get adopted? Or if they’re sick?"
"I think some do and some don’t," Steve responds truthfully, not deigning to mention that some quick Google searches would tell him which were which.
"She hasn’t done anything wrong." He wipes at his chin and turns to open the fridge, rustling around. "Seems stupid to risk her getting put to sleep."
"You’re right." Steve fights back a smile as he sees Bucky take out a half-eaten package of rotisserie chicken and another small bowl. "What’s her name?"
"What makes you think I gave her a name?"
You always named all the ones around our apartment, Steve thinks, and just shrugs instead. “Nothing wrong with a name.”
"Well, if she keeps snoring on my couch all day, I’m gonna name her Warthog."
Steve does not point out that there is a careful, cat-sized bundle of throw blankets arranged on one side of the sofa for what can only be that exact purpose.
