On his way home from work on Wednesday, Dooku stopped at the grocery store and picked up a few odds and ends, enough to tide him over till the weekend.
The Pacific Northwest rains had returned - it had rained all day, finally letting up when Dooku was in the store. Birds were hopping around his front yard, looking for worms.
Beowulf was old and lethargic enough that Dooku could leave the door open while he brought groceries inside and think nothing of it. But after he'd been home awhile and he opened a can of Beowulf's food and the cat didn't come out at the sound of it as usual, Dooku got a little worried. First he looked in all the usual spots, then a more thorough inspection of the house - under the bed, in nooks and crannies such as cupboards, behind the couch. Nothing.
He felt an icy knot in the pit of his stomach, realizing Beowulf had probably gotten out while he'd left the door open. And it had been close to an hour, so though the cat moved slowly, he could be several streets away by now...
...if he hasn't gotten hit by a car. Or worse.
Dooku's mind began playing a thousand worst-case scenarios of his cat getting killed or injured as he came outside calling out "Beowulf! Beowulf." He spent three hours on foot going in one direction then the other, trying to find his cat. He finally went home, hoping Beowulf had enough sense to stay close to home, continuing to call for his cat as he walked through the neighborhood.
When he'd been home for ten minutes he started to cry. Beowulf was sixteen years old now; Dooku had him since he was a kitten, showing up on his doorstep in the year 2000. Dooku loved that cat like it was his own child, and Beowulf had been his only companion and one of his very few friends. The cat's presence in his life was a much-needed constant - no matter how bad his day was going, he'd be soothed by the cat's purr, the way Beowulf liked to cuddle with him and be stroked. Beowulf didn't play much anymore, thanks to arthritis, but would still leave his toy mouse on Dooku's pillow for Dooku to find when he got home from work. He knew that Beowulf was approaching the twilight of his life - as was he - but he was hoping for just a few more years, at least, and certainly not an end where he'd be mangled, or starve to death outdoors...
Dooku was not religious these days, having lapsed from his Orthodox upbringing before the age of twenty-five, but he still reverted to prayer at times like this, bowing his head, folding his hands. Please.
There was a knock at the door.
Dooku wasn't expecting anybody. He warily got up and opened the door a crack. His eyebrows raised when he saw Sören. He opened the door wider and his face lit up when he saw Sören holding Beowulf. Beowulf was purring away, Sören stroking him.
"This little rassgat showed up in my yard," Sören said with a smirk. "I was going to bring him back sooner, but you weren't answering your door..."
Dooku pinched the bridge of his nose. "I was walking around the last three hours looking for him." He gestured. "Come in."
Sören walked inside Dooku's house for the first time and looked around, sizing the place up. He continued holding Beowulf and stroking him. "Here you are," Sören said softly, speaking to the cat. "You're home now, with your pabbi, yes you are."
"I hope he wasn't any trouble -"
"Oh no, not at all. I gave him a little tuna fish while we waited, I hope that's OK."
Dooku smiled. "You're probably his new favorite person now."
"Jæja, he really liked that. He climbed up on me and got all the pettings." Sören kissed the top of the cat's head. "I almost didn't want to bring him back, but he's your cat and you need him. And Seth doesn't like cats." Sören made a face.
"It seems Seth doesn't have taste," Dooku said before he could stop himself.
Sören looked away, saying nothing. Then he held out the cat. "Anyway, uh. Here's your baby."
Dooku took Beowulf, tears in his eyes, and began petting him. "I'm so glad you're home, little one," Dooku said to the cat, his voice soft and tender. "I'm so sorry you got out. Normally you don't escape when I have the door open..."
"He probably saw birds," Sören said, nodding.
"Probably." Dooku sighed. "Would you like coffee? Tea?"
"I should get going." Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls, rubbed his beard, and looked down. Then he looked up at Dooku, his dark eyes a little too bright. "I'm glad I found your cat. Three hours is dedication."
"He's the most precious thing I own."
Sören looked around Dooku's house again - the expensive framed art on the walls, wooden sculptures and pottery from around the world, the massive amount of books, the extensive vinyl record collection. The leather couch, with a tapestry throw hanging over the back. The recliner. Oriental rugs. He seemed to be considering that Dooku valued his cat above and beyond his material goods, and when Dooku and Sören's eyes met again, Sören's expression was soft.
"Yes, you're my precious baby," Dooku cooed to the cat, relief flooding through him, the cat's deep purr rumbling away. "My sweet little boy." He looked up at Sören, continuing to stroke the cat. "Are you quite sure you don't want anything..."
Sören nodded. "Seth is... coming over soon, so I can't stay."
Dooku made a noise of disgust, and Sören looked away again.
"All right," Dooku said. "Thank you very much for bringing him over safe and sound - "
"Jæja, I'm glad he didn't get far."
Dooku walked Sören to the door and Sören lingered for a moment. He bent to get eye level with Beowulf, still in Dooku's arms, and he said, "Now don't you escape again, OK? Stay here with your pabbi. He needs you." Sören gave the cat some pettings. "But it was nice visiting you, though. You were such a good kitty." Sören kissed the cat's head and nuzzled it. "Such a good baby. I wish I had a kitty just like you, I'd spoil him so much..." Sören straightened his posture and gave a little anxious laugh, looking sheepish, tucking an errant lock of hair behind his ear.
Dooku felt strangely flustered - Sören was downright adorable with the cat, and he wasn't used to seeing this softer side of him. He knew that Sören was a well-liked professor, but here was the proof of this, a bit of kindness peeking through instead of the usual hostility towards his neighbor. Dooku smiled at Sören, and Sören smiled back.
"Have a good evening, Professor Dooku," Sören said.
"You too, Professor Sigurdsson."
Sören opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, then closed his mouth as if he thought better of it, and then gave a little wave, walking out into the rain that had just started up again. Dooku closed the door gently behind him, and leaned up against the door for a minute with a little sigh, his stomach turning flip-flops, his face on fire.
He brought Beowulf back to the couch. He needed to make dinner for himself soon, especially after three hours of non-stop walking, but he needed to hold his cat for awhile longer. And as relieved as he was at the cat being found, he felt on edge as well. He couldn't stop thinking about Sören's affection towards the cat, the admission that Sören wanted a cat of his own, and Seth didn't like cats. His relief now extended to Sören finding the cat rather than Seth. He didn't like to assume the worst about people, but he couldn't help but think Seth wouldn't be as sympathetic, doing something like kicking the cat...
...and he hoped to god that Seth wasn't hitting Sören. The verbal abuse was bad enough - Dooku knew firsthand how bad verbal abuse could be.
Dooku felt a surge of anger, his mind revisiting the things he'd heard Seth say to Sören. He and Sören weren't quite friends, but this evening had been a game-changer in a sense - a form of truce. Dooku hoped that he could use this somehow to try to help, somehow.
Not that it would be easy.
But first... "Here, come have your food." Dooku carried Beowulf to the kitchen, so he could start dinner.