DISCLAIMER: I own zip-natta-nothing! Except Spy is a real cat and she lives with me and my family – she belongs to my dad (or my dad belongs to her). Resident Evil was created by and is owned by Shinji Mikami and Capcom.

A/N: This story contains a spoiler pertaining to RE5. It's a rather big one, I think, (which I am kind of mad about) so you have been warned. And, sorry for any OOC-ness that may have occurred. Also, I wouldn't say this story is my greatest work, it was just an idea I had. I wrote it, and now I'm sharing it. Maybe if people like it, I'll write some kind of sequel. No promises, though.

PRESS START

He knew he'd never answer to humans. He knew he was so much better, put bluntly; he was practically a god! The point, anyway, was that he'd never answer to humans. But what he didn't know and didn't expect was that he'd answer and tend to the every need of a cat. Albert Wesker, ruled by a feline!

And currently, she slept on his lap, her tail hanging off between his knees; it flopped happily as Wesker stroked her back. Her main color was white; her fur was splattered with bits of black; her ears were solid dark save for the tips which were white; and her one side had almost a bat-shape and the other looked similar to paint spatter. Her adorable face had a mask-like pattern over her commanding moss-green eyes; which cracked open when Wesker let out a sigh.

He remembered the first time he saw her. She looked up at him with such large, innocently devious eyes that he knew he belonged to her. Her furry little face had this superior look on it that seemed like if he didn't take her in, she'd bloody well murder him; definitely his type of girl.

Yet, somehow still he found himself wondering how something he'd acquired was so magnificent, despite the fact she was ridiculously adorable; how could something so small control someone so powerful?

He lifted his beloved feline carefully and she protested, though where he was taking her was her idea in the first place. His hand gently brushed over her while she let out a soft meow and began purring in comfort; he cradled her and stood up straight.

Then her commanding eyes locked with his. She mewed again, and Wesker thought it was freakishly reassuring; sometimes, he swore she could read his mind.

He proceeded to leave the building, after setting the feline down to walk beside him. She enjoyed this, twisting around his legs and purring loudly.

They'd gone out onto the crowded streets of the city. He found only a few pathetic humans watched in awe as the cat stopped at all the street lights. After scaring the shit out of some dogs (quite literally), Wesker and the cat were at the front door of a currently being-renovated house.

The cat centered her moss green eyes up to Wesker and mewed. With a nod of approval from Wesker, (not that the cat needed any approval) she carried herself on her four furry legs and to the door. She put a paw on it and scratched it.

When no answer came, Wesker uttered "Hm," and went up to the door. He gave it a swift smash with the palm of his hand and it burst open, the lock busting off and clanging to the hardwood floor on the other side. Sure enough, Chris came running down the flight of stairs across from the door, with his old survival knife at the ready. All these years and he still has that damned knife. Wesker couldn't help but to laugh, like Chris was stupid.

Chris cocked an eyebrow, looking straight through Wesker's ghost. He looked down at the broken lock and mouthed, what the? And then he saw the cat sitting in front of him, giving Chris the exact same look she'd given Wesker; the I own you look that captivated him.

Whatever she wants is best.

Clearly still eyeing the surroundings for any suspicious people, Chris bent down and petted the cat. She purred loudly and happily, suddenly content with her situation.

Even though he was dead, Wesker was more than a little angry to see this. His cat wanted to be taken care of by the man that killed him. Although Wesker knew that Chris was the only person he'd trust with his cat, he still felt resentment and hate towards him. Nothing has changed between them; he still wanted to tear his throat out, and he really should have done that back in '98. Resisting the urge to attempt to slaughter flesh and bone (which ghosts couldn't do, as he'd figured out when he'd first ended up floating around [takes a while to figure out how to stand]), Wesker just focused on the cat's happiness.

Chris was the most disgustingly nice person he'd ever come across, so despite the fact Wesker wanted to snap his head off, there really wasn't anyone else he'd trust with his furry girl.

The cat continued purring as Chris flipped her collar up so he could read her name.

"Spy, huh? Well, Spy, where's your owner?" Chris stroked her again. "Guess I'll have to find out myself…"

Wesker snorted. Isn't it obvious, you imbecile? She's you're owner. Spy suddenly darted through Chris's legs and up the stairs.

"Whoa! Sheva! Beware of cat!" He shouted as he started back into his house.

Certainly didn't take them long to get hitched. Wesker thought bitterly. He hated happy endings; with red hot passion. And when Sheva came down the stairs holding Spy, clearly eight or nine months pregnant, Wesker fumed. THAT certainly didn't take them long at all! Though Spy's old servant was angry, she purred happily in Sheva's arms.

Chris then shut the door, saying something about the lock and stupid kids.

Despite everything he'd just learned in the last thirty seconds, Wesker believed somewhere deep inside what was left of his heart, that Spy was in good hands.

Just you remember, Christopher. She'll never answer to a human. She is better than that. She is a goddess.

(CREDITS ROLL)