Dead Plate Oneshots That Little Fluffy Demon

Would you look at that!I wrote something cute and wholesome for a change

Rody never considered himself a superstitious man. He stepped on cracks, walked under ladders, and opened umbrellas indoors just for fun. So when he saw the black cat sitting on the stoop outside their cramped apartment, staring up at him with curious golden eyes, he didn’t think twice.

“What’re you doing out here, little guy?” Rody crouched down, dropping his grocery bag onto the steps. The cat blinked at him slowly, the universal sign of feline approval, and rubbed against his leg. “Oh, a friendly one, huh?”

He scratched behind the cat’s ear, earning a loud, rumbling purr. Rody smiled. It had been a rough week—his latest shift at the restaurant had been hell, Manon had been stressed about work, and the constant hum of life in their tiny apartment was starting to wear on him. But something about this little guy made everything else fade into the background.

Rody checked for a collar but found nothing. The cat just kept weaving between his legs like it had known him forever. He looked around the street. No one seemed to be missing a cat. In fact, the entire block was pretty quiet.

“You lost, bud?” Rody asked, but the cat just responded with another purr, now headbutting Rody’s hand for more pets. “Alright, I’ll take that as a yes. Come on in, then.”

Scooping up the cat in one arm and grabbing his groceries in the other, Rody made his way into the apartment. The cat settled into his hold like it had always belonged there, and Rody couldn’t help but feel a little smug. This was a cat that knew quality company when it saw it.

The door swung open with a creak, and Manon looked up from her spot at the kitchen table, where she was elbow-deep in paperwork.

“Rody, what—” she started, but then her eyes landed on the cat. Her face instantly morphed from surprise to thinly veiled horror. “What is *that*?”

Rody raised an eyebrow. “This is our new roommate, apparently.”

“You brought a cat into the apartment?” Manon’s voice hit a pitch Rody didn’t know it could. She stood, arms crossed, watching the cat like it might explode. “A *black* cat?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong with that?” Rody asked, setting the cat down. The little guy wasted no time making himself at home, immediately investigating the small living room, tail held high.

Manon threw her hands up in exasperation. “Do you know how much bad luck black cats bring? It’s literally the first rule of superstition! And with everything going wrong lately, you want to invite *that* into our home?”

Rody gave her a playful grin and leaned against the counter. “Come on, you don’t actually believe in all that, do you?”

Manon’s frown deepened. “I don’t know, Rody. We’ve had enough bad luck as it is. The last thing we need is to tempt fate.”

The cat, seemingly sensing the tension, hopped onto the kitchen counter and sat between them. It stared at Manon with an unnervingly intense gaze, as if daring her to say more. Manon stepped back.

“Besides,” she said, now eyeing the cat suspiciously, “you can’t just bring home a stray. What are we going to call him? I don’t want one of those weird names people give pets. Nothing like… Vincent or something.”

Rody blinked. “Vincent? I kind of like that.”

Manon groaned. “Of course you do.”

“Look, he needs a name,” Rody said, scratching the cat’s chin. “And he looks like a Vincent to me.”

At the sound of his new name, Vincent closed his eyes and purred even louder, apparently approving of the choice.

“Rody, it’s a *cat*. Naming him Vincent is… weird.”

“It’s a good name for a cat. He’s got, like… personality.” Rody grinned, clearly proud of himself.

Manon shook her head. “I can’t believe we’re doing this. First you bring a stray cat into the house, now you’re giving it some sophisticated, human name like it’s your new best friend.”

“*He* is my new best friend,” Rody said, laughing as Vincent leapt off the counter and immediately went to investigate the couch, curling up like he’d always lived there.

Manon sighed dramatically. “I’m serious, Rody. Black cats like him bring trouble.”

Rody waved her off and rummaged through the grocery bag. “He’s fine. We’ve got leftover chicken in the fridge. I’m sure he’ll appreciate a little snack.”

Manon gave Vincent one last skeptical glance before returning to her paperwork. “Fine, but if things start going wrong, I’m blaming you *and* your new buddy.”

Over the next few days, Vincent settled into the apartment like a king on his throne. He followed Rody everywhere, from the kitchen to the living room to the bathroom. If Rody sat down, Vincent was there, curled up on his lap or pressed against his side. If Rody went to bed, Vincent was right there at his feet. And if Rody was making coffee in the morning, Vincent was already waiting, sitting proudly by the machine like he was supervising.

Manon, however, wasn’t receiving the same royal treatment. Whenever she tried to approach Vincent, he either slinked away or glared at her with those eerie golden eyes. One time, he hissed when she reached down to pet him, and that pretty much sealed the deal.

“This cat *hates* me, Rody,” she complained one evening as they sat at the table. Vincent was perched on Rody’s lap, purring contentedly, completely ignoring Manon’s presence.

“He doesn’t hate you. He’s just… picky about his people,” Rody said, scratching Vincent behind the ears. The cat purred louder, as if to emphasize the point.

“I’m not saying he’s got to love me, but can he at least *tolerate* me? Every time I walk into a room, he stares at me like I’ve personally wronged him in some past life.”

Rody chuckled. “He’s just a cat, Manon. You’re overthinking it.”

Manon narrowed her eyes at Vincent, who looked smug and perfectly at peace in Rody’s arms. “I don’t know, Rody. He’s… weird. I still think he’s bringing bad luck.”

“Bad luck? Please, everything’s been fine. If anything, he’s my lucky charm.”

Manon crossed her arms, clearly unconvinced. “Tell that to the lightbulb that went out in the bathroom. Or the fact that my laptop crashed this morning. Or—oh!—how about the pipe that burst in the kitchen last night?”

Rody waved a hand dismissively. “Coincidences. None of that is Vincent’s fault.”

Manon gave him a long, hard look. “We’ll see.”

Days passed, and Manon’s relationship with Vincent didn’t improve. She was now actively avoiding the cat, while Rody became more attached to him by the minute. They had developed a routine: Vincent would wake Rody up every morning by patting his face with a soft paw, they’d share breakfast (Vincent got a piece of chicken, of course), and then Rody would get ready for work with Vincent watching him intently from the bed.

Manon had enough.

“I’m serious, Rody. He’s a curse. Every time I get close to him, something breaks.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Rody replied as he tied his shoes one morning, Vincent sitting patiently beside him. “Maybe you’re jealous he just likes me better.”

Manon shot him a look. “I’m not jealous over a cat. I’m just saying—look at him!”

They both turned to Vincent, who was glaring at Manon from his usual spot on the couch. His tail flicked back and forth, clearly irritated by her mere presence.

“He’s fine. He’s probably just—protective. Cats are like that.”

“Protective of *you*,” Manon muttered under her breath. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s trying to sabotage me.”

Rody snorted, standing up. “He’s a cat, not an evil mastermind.”

“Tell that to the missing earring I found under the couch this morning. And the vase that ‘mysteriously’ fell off the shelf last night.”

“Vincent’s not capable of—” Rody stopped mid-sentence as he caught Vincent’s eyes. The cat was staring directly at him, then at Manon. A flicker of something almost… knowing crossed his feline face.

Rody shook his head, laughing. “You’re paranoid. Vincent’s harmless.”

Manon didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press the issue. Rody scratched Vincent’s chin one last time before heading out for the day, leaving Manon alone with the cat.

“Just me and you now, huh?” Manon muttered as the door closed behind Rody. Vincent yawned, his disinterest clear. She sighed, settling onto the couch with her work. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad today—

Crash!

The sound of shattering glass echoed through the apartment. Manon jumped up, heart pounding, and rushed to the kitchen. One of the glasses had fallen from the counter and shattered across the floor.

She turned to see Vincent sitting calmly on the counter, his tail twitching.

Manon stood in the doorway of the kitchen, jaw slack, staring at the wreckage of what used to be her favorite glass. Vincent sat in the middle of it all, calm and collected, his golden eyes glinting in the morning light. He was licking his paw nonchalantly, as if to say, *Oh, did I do that? My bad.*

“You… You little demon,” Manon hissed through clenched teeth.

Vincent merely blinked at her, his tail flicking lazily. He was completely unfazed, like this was just another day of casual glass-breaking.

Manon grabbed the broom and swept up the mess, muttering to herself. “You’re just a cat. Just a regular, stupid, fluffy little cat. I’m not losing my mind over this.”

As she bent down to pick up the last shard, she could swear she heard a tiny snicker coming from Vincent. She whipped around to glare at him, only to find him still perched on the counter, looking as innocent as ever. The smug little furball.

“Right,” she muttered, tossing the broken glass into the trash. “This is war.”

The battle for apartment dominance had officially begun. Over the next few days, Manon’s life turned into a series of increasingly absurd cat-related disasters.

First, it was the coffee.

She woke up groggy one morning, desperate for caffeine, only to find Vincent sitting *on* the coffee maker. His eyes narrowed as she approached, his fluffy black tail swishing back and forth like a pendulum. She reached for the machine, and in one fluid motion, Vincent knocked the coffee pot off the counter.

*Crash.*

“No!” Manon yelped, watching in horror as the last remnant of her morning salvation shattered into a million pieces on the floor.

Vincent yawned.

Manon’s eye twitched. “Okay, okay. You’re trying to drive me insane. Well, guess what? I’m on to you, pal.”

Vincent tilted his head, as if to say, *Bring it.*

Next was the shower.

Manon was just stepping out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, when she saw Vincent perched on the top shelf of the bookcase. The thing was practically an antique, and the last place a cat should be climbing.

“Vincent, get down from there,” she warned, pointing sternly like she was scolding a misbehaving toddler.

Vincent stared back at her. Then, ever so slowly, he reached out a paw, hooked it around the edge of a vase, and pushed.

*Thud.* The vase wobbled dangerously.

“No, no, no—” Manon lunged forward, but it was too late. The vase toppled off the shelf, bounced off the side table, and landed with a thunk on the floor.

It didn’t break—thank god—but Manon was seething.

“Rody is *never* going to believe this,” she muttered through clenched teeth as she picked up the vase.

Vincent, meanwhile, hopped down from the shelf like nothing had happened and strutted off to the living room, tail held high in victory.

The final straw came during a work call.

Manon was seated at the dining table, laptop open, headset on, trying to survive a particularly boring meeting about budgets and quarterly reports. She had just started zoning out when Vincent appeared. He jumped onto the table, strutted right across her keyboard, and sat directly in front of her screen.

“Vincent, not now!” she whispered harshly, trying to nudge him out of the way.

The cat blinked at her, utterly unfazed by her panic. His paw landed squarely on the keyboard again, accidentally ending the call.

Manon froze. “Oh, no, no, no—” She frantically clicked around, trying to reconnect, but the damage was done. The meeting was gone, and her boss was going to *kill* her.

She glared at Vincent, who sat, perfectly content, licking his paw as if this were all part of some diabolical plan.

“That’s it,” she said, standing up from the table, hands on her hips. “I’m done playing nice.”

Later that evening, when Rody returned from work, he found Manon sitting on the couch with a small pile of hastily Googled articles about black cats and bad omens. She was tapping her foot impatiently, eyeing Vincent, who was lounging on Rody’s lap like a king, purring away.

“Manon, you okay?” Rody asked, sensing the tension.

Manon narrowed her eyes. “Rody, we need to talk about Vincent.”

Rody blinked, looking down at the cat. “What about him?”

“He’s sabotaging me.”

There was a long pause as Rody tried to process this.

“Sabotaging… you?”

“Yes. On purpose. He’s been breaking things, ruining my work, and making my life a living hell.”

Rody chuckled. “Come on, Manon. He’s just a cat. He’s not plotting against you.”

Manon stood up, pacing around the living room. “No, you don’t understand. He’s *evil*. I don’t know how else to explain it. He’s been destroying everything I own.”

Rody glanced down at Vincent, who gave him an innocent, wide-eyed look, as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

“You’re overthinking it,” Rody said, scratching Vincent behind the ears. “He’s a little troublemaker, sure, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

At that moment, Vincent stretched luxuriously, his paw lightly tapping the glass of water on the side table. It wobbled dangerously, tipping ever so slightly toward the edge.

Manon’s eyes widened in horror. “Rody, grab it!”

But Rody was too slow. The glass tipped over, spilling water all over Manon’s paperwork.

“See?!” Manon shouted, throwing her arms up in the air. “He did it again! *On purpose*!”

Rody looked from the soaked papers to the cat, who was now curled up in a ball, pretending to sleep.

“Uh…” Rody scratched his head, looking slightly guilty. “Okay, maybe he’s got a bit of an attitude. But he’s still a good boy.”

Manon glared at Rody. “I swear, Rody, if one more thing goes wrong because of him—”

Before she could finish her sentence, the lights in the apartment flickered and went out.

“Perfect,” Manon muttered in the darkness. “Just perfect.”

A second later, there was a soft *mew* from the couch.

Vincent had won again.

Rody fumbled in the dark, using his phone to light up the room, casting long, eerie shadows. Vincent’s golden eyes gleamed like headlights, reflecting back the phone’s glow. He yawned, completely unconcerned, before settling into Rody’s lap in an even cozier ball, as if he were basking in the triumph of yet another small victory.

Manon stood frozen in place, fists clenched. “*Of course* the power goes out the minute I threaten him.”

Rody glanced nervously between his girlfriend and his cat. “Babe, it’s just a coincidence. Cats don’t control electricity.”

“Tell that to the demon sitting on your lap!” Manon snapped, her voice rising slightly in pitch. “I’m telling you, Rody, that cat is cursed. *He’s cursed!*”

Rody bit his lip, trying not to laugh. “You’re really going full horror movie over a cat, huh?”

Manon shot him a withering glare. “This is *not* a joke, Rody! Do you know what black cats represent?”

Rody shrugged, still holding his phone up like a torch. “Yeah. They represent coolness and great taste in pets.”

Manon groaned. “No! In, like, *every* superstition ever, they represent bad luck. And I have a *very* long list of things Vincent has done since he got here that are pretty unlucky.”

Rody scratched his head. “Look, I’ll admit Vincent’s a little… rambunctious, but—”

Before he could finish, Vincent suddenly jumped off his lap and darted into the hallway, disappearing into the shadows like a ninja. A split second later, a loud crash echoed from the kitchen.

“Oh, come *on*!” Manon shrieked, throwing her hands in the air. “What now?!”

They both scrambled toward the kitchen, Rody fumbling with his phone light. When they arrived, they were greeted by a completely overturned trash can, its contents scattered all over the floor. There, sitting in the middle of the mess, was Vincent, proudly batting an old tuna can like it was his personal toy.

Manon’s eye twitched. “Rody… please explain to me how that is *not* on purpose.”

Rody blinked, staring at the wreckage, then back at the cat. “Well, maybe he… uh… smelled something interesting?”

“He doesn’t even *eat* tuna!” Manon cried, pointing accusingly at Vincent, who now sat back, gazing at her with an almost regal disinterest.

“He’s, uh… experimenting?” Rody suggested, trying to keep his voice steady despite the ridiculousness of the situation.

Manon stomped out of the kitchen, muttering angrily. “That’s it. I’ve had it. Tomorrow, *we* are going to find him a new home. I’ll post on every adoption site if I have to. That cat’s days in this apartment are numbered.”

Rody followed her, cradling Vincent in his arms. “Aw, come on, he’s just getting used to his surroundings. He doesn’t mean any harm.”

Vincent stretched in Rody’s arms and gave Manon what could only be described as the *smuggest* look possible for a cat to give.

“Look at that face, Rody!” Manon shrieked. “He knows exactly what he’s doing!”

Rody glanced down at Vincent, who immediately switched back to innocent mode, blinking up at Rody with wide, sweet eyes. “You’re reading too much into this, babe. He’s just a cat.”

Manon stood there, fuming. “A cat that’s clearly out to ruin my life!”

Rody sighed, trying to ease the tension. “Tell you what, I’ll keep Vincent with me tonight. He won’t cause you any more trouble. We’ll have a little *man-to-cat* talk, and I’ll get him to behave. Deal?”

Manon stared at him for a long moment, her frustration finally ebbing into exhausted defeat. “Fine. But if one more thing goes wrong, he’s out.”

Rody saluted her. “Got it. No more disasters.”

Vincent purred contentedly in his arms, as if to say, *We’ll see about that.*

###

Later that night, Rody and Vincent were settled on the couch, the cat curled up comfortably on Rody’s chest while Rody mindlessly scrolled through his phone.

“You really stirred things up today, buddy,” Rody muttered, scratching behind Vincent’s ears. The cat purred louder, nuzzling his face against Rody’s hand, like he hadn’t just spent the entire day terrorizing Manon.

Rody chuckled softly. “You’ve got some nerve, you know that?”

Vincent stretched luxuriously, then resumed purring, clearly unbothered by the day’s events.

As Rody flipped through TV channels, he started to doze off, the rhythmic sound of Vincent’s purring lulling him into a state of peaceful drowsiness. He was just about to fall asleep when he heard a faint noise—a sort of scraping sound—coming from the hallway.

Rody blinked his eyes open, still half-asleep, and looked around. “Manon?” he called out softly.

There was no answer.

Suddenly, something darted across the hallway. Rody jumped, fully awake now, heart pounding. He squinted into the darkness of the hallway, and out of the shadows… came Vincent.

Rody stared at Vincent, who was now purring like he’d just solved world peace, completely ignoring the chaos he’d caused in the past few hours. Rody shook his head, chuckling softly.

“You’re one lucky cat, you know that?” Rody whispered, scratching Vincent’s chin.

Manon, meanwhile, paced back and forth in the hallway, muttering to herself. “I’m going to stage an intervention. Call the animal control or a priest. No, better—*both*.”

“Come on, babe,” Rody called from the couch. “You’re blowing this out of proportion. Vincent’s not evil, he’s just… spirited.”

“*Spirited?*” Manon said, her voice rising with disbelief. “Rody, he sabotaged the vacuum, broke three of my favorite mugs, *and* somehow managed to rearrange all the shoes in the closet. Who even *does* that? That’s serial-killer-level thinking!”

Rody shrugged. “He’s creative.”

Vincent, seemingly enjoying the conversation, stretched lazily on the couch, as if daring Manon to keep accusing him of crimes.

Manon groaned. “I swear, this cat is a tiny, furry *agent of chaos.* Look at him!”

Rody, holding back laughter, gazed down at Vincent, who gave a slow, innocent blink in response, perfectly embodying a cat who was “but a humble creature of the night.”

“Well, to be fair,” Rody began, trying to maintain a straight face, “he does have a lot of energy. But I’ll take him on some walks or something, get him one of those laser pointers. He’ll be too tired to plot your demise.”

Manon gave him a skeptical look. “Walks? You’re gonna walk a *cat?*”

“I could train him! People do that all the time.”

“Yeah? And what’s next? You gonna teach him to drive too?”

Rody, getting into the joke, leaned back smugly. “Hey, if anyone can do it, it’s me. Vincent and I are already planning our first road trip.”

Manon’s expression softened slightly, but she still crossed her arms, clearly unconvinced. “I’ll believe it when I see it. But I’m warning you—one more ‘accident’ and he’s going up for adoption faster than you can say ‘bad luck.’”

Vincent, as if sensing the moment of truth, suddenly jumped down from the couch and pranced across the living room, tail high, before stopping directly in front of Manon. For a moment, the air was thick with tension. The two stared at each other, neither blinking, like they were locked in some cosmic battle of wills.

Then, in the most absurdly adorable move possible, Vincent *flopped* onto his back right in front of Manon’s feet, exposing his belly.

Manon stared down at him, dumbfounded. “What… is he doing?”

Rody grinned from ear to ear. “That, my love, is the ultimate peace offering.”

“Yeah, or it’s a trap,” Manon muttered, but despite her words, a small, reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “Seriously, Rody. I can’t stay mad when he’s like this.”

“That’s the plan,” Rody said, watching as Manon crouched down, carefully, to scratch Vincent’s exposed belly. Vincent immediately began purring again, louder this time, like a tiny motor revving up.

Manon sighed. “Fine. He can stay. *For now.* But the minute I find my jewelry missing or the stove mysteriously turning itself on, it’s over.”

Rody gave her a playful salute. “Deal.”

Vincent rolled back onto his feet and trotted triumphantly back to the couch, hopping up next to Rody as if to say, *Victory is mine.*

As the evening wore on, the apartment settled into a rare moment of calm. Manon finally sat beside Rody, pulling a blanket over them both. The flickering candlelight illuminated their faces as they watched TV, the soft hum of Vincent’s purring acting like white noise in the background.

“Alright,” Manon murmured after a while. “Maybe he’s not the *worst*.”

Rody smirked, glancing at Vincent. “Told ya. He’s growing on you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Manon muttered, her tone softening. “Just… no more naming future pets after random French chefs, alright?”

Rody laughed. “Deal. Next one will be, like, Napoleon or something.”

Manon groaned, but the corners of her mouth twitched into a smile. “I swear, if you bring home a parrot named Napoleon, I’m moving out.”

Rody wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer. “You know you love me too much to leave.”

Vincent, sensing that his human duo was settling in for the night, curled up at their feet and closed his eyes, satisfied with his reign of chaos for the day. But as Rody and Manon drifted off into contented silence, Vincent opened one eye ever so slightly, watching them with a hint of mischief still lurking behind those golden eyes.

There would be more adventures tomorrow.

And he was ready.