Wilbur often found himself imagining what people would say if he was in human form.
He became a regular to the school children, responsible for bringing smiles to their faces after their monotonous days. It became indispensable to him; he found himself beaming whenever he brightened their days with a simple flick of his tail. No one questioned anything, and parents often came up to him as well, brushing off their own stress momentarily with each stroke to his fur. 'He's just a friendly cat,' they'd claim to strangers, 'not a hybrid, just a street cat wanting company.'
Wilbur would return home after that, curl up into his carboard box down a cold alleyway and watch as people strolled past. Occasionally he'd make an appearance, mewing softly when he could tell someone needed him. Humans and hybrids were alike in more ways than they'd think, and Wilbur knew that giving company to perturbed individuals helped more than people liked to admit.
He couldn't help but have favourites either; simply choosing to always make an appearance when he noticed the familiar blond hair of a raccoon hybrid hanging around. They both seemed to be comfortable in the routine they'd developed; habitually lingering in their usual meeting area until the other showed up. Wilbur wasn't sure why the hybrid was so insistent on seeing him every day, but he simply assumed that the content expression on his face meant that he enjoyed the company of a feline.
Their routine continued for weeks without a hitch, and Wilbur soon found himself knowing more about the raccoon hybrid than he did about himself. He seemed to love to talk, babbling away about various topics while stroking his fur and waffling on about everything and anything until his phone blared with messages. Months passed quickly and Wilbur still hadn't learnt the teenager's name despite knowing the names of everyone close to the hybrid. He seemed to talk about his adoptive family the most, sharing memories and little stories with Wilbur about their hybrid types and favourite things.
Wilbur often zoned out whenever the raccoon hybrid left, the memory of their first meeting often resurfacing. The teenager had been suspicious, accidently cornering Wilbur as he demanded to know if he was a hybrid. He had been terrified at first, his back curling into an aggressive stance as he was shuffled further and further into the alleyway. The day had ended with Wilbur curled up in the hybrid lap; unsure of how they had gotten that far from the earlier intimidation. He'd even began purring when the teenager started apologising profusely, clearly haven't forgotten that he still believed Wilbur was a cat who supposedly couldn't understand what he was saying.
He never shifted anyway; he may as well not be a hybrid.
Wilbur had doubted that he would ever return; wariness mixing with surprise the first couple of days that he noticed the hybrid waiting around for him. He allowed himself to become comforted by the routine, getting used to the soft feeling that bubbled inside him whenever the teenager smiled at Wilbur's head butting against his legs, grasping his attention easily.
He pushed aside the realisation that they'd get along better if he shifted into human form, purring louder as he settled in the raccoon hybrid's lap for another day of one-sided conversations.
--
Wilbur tried not to let the feeling of despondence engulf him as he shuffled inside the carboard box, the bitterness of the weather causing him to huddle even closer. It was the first day in months that the raccoon hybrid didn't turn up, and he couldn't even place it down to the rain. The teenager often turned up with an umbrella on those days, balancing Wilbur in his arms and coaxing him to curl closer for heat as he attempted to find a dry spot for them. The fact that raccoons didn't mind the rain made it even more dismaying and he was forced to accept that the teen most likely didn't turn up out of choice.
He drifted to sleep slowly, the sensation of water occasionally dripping down his back and sliding off his name tag feeling mildly uncomfortable despite being used to it. He was a cat hybrid after all, it was practically in his nature to dislike the rain. It didn't help that the box was already damp, sticking to his white and brown paws no matter how he settled down.
'Tommy, are you sure the cat's even around here?'
'First the doubt about him being a street cat and now doubt about him even being here? Do you have any trust in me big man?'
Wilbur had barely drifted off before he heard the familiar voice, slowly stretching downwards as two figures arrived in his view.
'Look, there he is!' The hybrid pointed at Wilbur, heading his way over towards his box with his usual energy. He greeted the teen with a small meow, allowing himself to be picked up and huddled under the umbrella. Wilbur closed his eyes again as he purred softly, uncomprehending that a second figure was around in his somnolent state.
'Tommy!' Wilbur's eyes snapped open at the second voice, startled so much that he almost jumped out of the hybrid's arms. He gradually relaxed again once he examined the taller figure, his green and white bucket hat contrasting the solid grey of his wings.
'Phil, you scared him!' The teen exclaimed, holding him tighter as the realisation that Wilbur finally knew his name settled in.
'Tommy, he has a name tag...'
'I know? His name is Soot apparently. A cat hybrid must have brought a tag for him like all the other cats.'
Wilbur zoned out of their conversation, the sounds of rain pattering onto the umbrella relaxing him even more. 'Tommy' had been correct with his assumption, and Wilbur still couldn't help but feel bad for the cat hybrid who named him. He constantly claimed that he didn't need a nametag and that they were wasting their time, but eventually allowed the hybrid to fit the tag around his neck. It had been the last time he conversed with someone, and Wilbur could remember how unfamiliar it felt.
He snapped back into reality when a white gun was pressed against his neck, and he instantly growled at the figure. Phil dropped the item in shock, clearly startled by Wilbur's sudden shift in moods.
'Bloody hell Phil, it's okay Soot it's just a chip scanning device.' Soothed Tommy, stroking Wilbur's fur in a futile attempt to calm him down. He allowed himself to relax slightly, pretending that it was the raccoon hybrids attention that placated him instead of the knowledge that he wasn't being threatened by a real gun.
Wilbur was still wary when the device was held by his neck, freezing completely in Tommy's arms as Phil moved it around his curled figure. He remained still until it was removed again; the object held close to Phil's eyes as he tried to read something. 'He- He doesn't have a chip...'
'Yeah, cause he's a street cat! Honestly Phil, you should trust me some more-'
He once again tuned out of their conversation, recognising when Tommy was about to babble on about something useless. Wilbur probably shouldn't of, after all there was still a complete stranger within strangling distance, but Phil didn't look like a threat. Though he couldn't be too careful, he was yet another hybrid and Wilbur didn't want to risk being found out.
Wilbur was startled when Tommy started moving with him still curled tightly in his arms. He didn't do much, assuming that he was searching for a dry spot as it was still chucking it down, until they were a couple minutes away from the alleyway. Tommy held him tighter when he started to fidget, attempting to leap from his arms before he was carried too far away. He wasn't looking forward to the walk back already, but it seemed that they were adamant on making him trek a long distance.
He started to panic when they started walking towards a house; the common sense that was concealed within his brain started shouting at him to leave. Wilbur took his chance when Tommy was distracted, leaping out of his arms with limited resistance and forcing his paws to hit the ground at a perfect angle.
'Shit!' Tommy shouted when Wilbur hit the ground, his thoughts swarming as he tried to scramble away. He barely moved a foot before arms were around him again, forcefully stilling him their warm hold with surprising care. Wilbur quickly started wriggling when he comprehended that Phil was the one holding him, his grey wings stretching to their full length and resting above his head to shield them from the rain.
Tommy's hand was threading through his brown fur soon after that, whispering reassurances as he gently stroked the area next to his eyes. Wilbur instantly started purring, his eyes closing with rapture at the attention. He had always been extra sensitive there, and his cat instincts took control instantaneously as he lost awareness of what was happening.
The raccoon hybrid was still stroking him when warmth suddenly engulfed him, a small part of his human brain resurfacing with the acknowledgment of what had happened. It was absorbed by his cat instincts, and Wilbur couldn't help but continue purring and ignore the sound of a door closing.
'How are you doing that so easily?' Phil asked, his voice barely clear in Wilbur's occupied mind.
'He's always really liked it... It calms him down.'
'Gees Tommy, how do you know so much about a stray cat?' A third voice interrupted his train of thoughts, his awareness snapping back to him within a second. He looked up rapidly, glimpsing at the new figure and taking in every detail. The piglin hybrid looked older than Tommy, his long pink hair platted neatly and soft eyes watching him with fondness.
Wilbur paused for a few seconds, his brain still swarming with thoughts. Piglin hybrids don't like rain, it's raining, he can't be in the rain anymore. Phil gently lowered him to the ground when he started twisting again, glaring at the closed door as his paws scrambled around against the wooden floor.
He did what every human would do in that situation, and abruptly dove under the nearest sofa.