I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT THIS IS. So I asked for Hayffie promts and this was sent by cloudless-grace.

The phone was ringing. Someone was pounding at the door. It was Sunday God damn it, who wanted him up this early? It was – Haymitch looked at the clock – it was only eleven in the morning! Haymitch muttered obsceneties under his breath as he waddled to the phone, his joints still stiff from his sleeping position of starfishing the living room floor.

He picked up the phone groggily. "Gimme a sec, someone's about to knock the bloody door down," he grumbled without even letting the person on the other end speak. He knew full well it would either be the Capitol, who frankly, he didn't give two hoots about, or Effie, who would wait for him to come back to the phone as and when he was ready (but she'd probably give him an earful for keeping her hanging – literally). He dropped the phone and let it hang off the wall on its chord as he shuffled to the door, blinking away the early morning light.

"Whaddyyehwant?" he snapped at the man who was stood on the doorstep.

"Delivery for Mr Abernathy from the Capitol," the man said warily, looking fearful at Haymitch as he took a swig of vodka from the bottle that lived by the front door.

"From whom?" Haymitch asked sarcastically.

"There isn't a return address," the poor man answered as Haymitch glared at him. "Sorry sir."

"Fine!" Haymitch almost shouted, slamming the bottle down on a table and taking the large box. The man didn't move, but looked slightly awkward. "What?"

"I'm sorry sir, but the delivery charge was not paid," he said apologetically.

"Oh for God's SAKE!" he bellowed, shoving the box onto the table and storming off into the kitchen where he kept his money.

"Sir, I'd be careful with that package if I were you," the delivery man called after him. "It's livestock."

Haymitch's head poked through the kitchen doorway. "Excuse me?"

"That's what the box says, and it has been… meowing."

Haymitch blinked and repeated dryly "it's been meowing?"

"Yes sir."

His eyes narrowed and as he returned to the kitchen, the delivery man heard him growl one word. "Effie."

"Here's the money, take the change," Haymitch said grimly after returning, pressing five gold coins into the man's hand. His eyes widened as he saw how much money was there, but Haymitch had already closed the door before he would refuse.

"Meowing," Haymitch muttered, turning his attention to the box. "What the hell, Eff?" Saying her name aloud reminded him that she was probably still on the other end of the phone. Screw her, he thought. You can wait. But then he realised not only did he want to get to the bottom of this meowing box; he also just kind of wanted to hear her voice, even if it was yelling at him.

He walked back over to where the phone was hanging off its hook and already he could hear her voice screeching something very unladylike.

"… and I swear to God, Haymitch Abernathy, if you don't pick up this sodding phone in the next ten seconds I will come down to District Twelve myself and sort you out personally, you good-for-nothing son of a-"

"Son of a what, exactly?" he asked into to the mouthpiece, trying to hide his amusement.

"Haymitch!" she shrieked. "So you are alive! That's always a comfort."

"I detect a hint of sarcasm there, Trinket. How very cruel of you."

"Nothing less than you deserve."

"You little witch."

"You moron."

"I've missed you."

She paused. "I've missed you too. Even if you are the most infuriating man I have ever had the displeasure of meeting."

"You don't mean that," he said, glad she couldn't see his grin.

"No, you're right, I don't. But what took you so long to pick up the phone?" she asked, her voice sounding crackly over the line. Guess she was out some place doing whatever she did when it wasn't time for the Games.

"There was a livestock delivery," he said firmly. "Know anything about that, sweetheart?"

"Oh you got that, did you?" She sounded far too happy for Haymitch's liking. "I was wondering when she would turn up."

"She?" he asked. Well, wasn't this just getting better and better? Not only was it a thing, it was a she.

"Oh darling I have to go now, I'm needed for something, let me know how you get on with her!" And just like that, she had hung up.

Great. Brilliant. Fabulous. Now Haymitch could hear a meowing coming from the hallway. Now he had never been a big fan of cats. The only good cat was a dead one, in his opinion, but this was from Effie. This couldn't be a bad thing. But that didn't mean it was going to be good, either. Right, c'mon Haymitch. You won the Hunger Games. No – you won the Quarter Quell. If you can do that, you can face a cat. One measly cat.

He walked slowly back to the hallway where the box still stood. As carefully as he could with his shaking hands, he pulled off the tape and opened the lid. He didn't really know quite what to expect – a mountain lion maybe – but it certainly wasn't what he did find.

Sitting up straight, blue eyes bright, was a fluffy ball of white fur. It almost looked like it was smiling as it let out another meow. Haymitch raised an eyebrow. "Was that supposed to be impressive?" he said dismissively.

It socked its head to the side before stretching up and putting its front paws on the edge of the box. It meowed again, still looking at him. He found the cat's stare a little unnerving. Inside the box was a note that had Effie's scrawl on it.

Haymitch,
This is Victoria, a young female cat I found for you from a friend of a friend. No worries, she has been vaccined and had had medicine that will keep the fleas away from her. She's an absolute darling, and I figured you could use the company. Try to make friends with her.
Love always,
Effie

If it had been from anyone other than Effie, he'd have shot it and sold it to someone in the Hob, but he'd do anything for her – not that he'd tell her that. So, with some awkwardness, he pulled the cat out of the box and held it out in front of him at arms' length.

"Victoria," he said slowly. Didn't seem like a very suitable name for a cat, but by the meow that followed, he figured it responded well enough to the name.

"So what exactly do you do?" he asked as he all but dropped her onto the floor. The cat gave him a somewhat reproachful look for a moment, before meowing again – did it ever shut up? – and rolling over onto the floor, showing Haymitch her belly.

"You want me to rub your tummy?" he asked her cautiously. He bent down and put a hand to her fluffy underside, not quite sure what to do. He rubbed his hand over her and she began purring. Haymitch smiled slightly. Okay, I got this Trinket, I got anything you throw at me. Check me out – I'm a cat owner. She began playing with his hand with her paws, batting at him. He half-laughed until she bit his finger.

"WHOA WHAT WAS THAT FOR?" he yelped, pulling his hand away from her. "My fingers are NOT FOOD!"

She looked curiously at him from where she was laying on her back before closing her eyes. Apparently it was time for a nap. Haymitch looked at her for a moment, just basking in her glory, apparently, before walking back into the kitchen. Well, she shouldn't be too high-maintenance.

He had barely taken three steps before suddenly she was in front of him, meowing. "Sod off," he said to her, wiggling his foot in front of her in the hope that she would scamper. Why, Effie, why? She didn't. Haymitch walked around her quickly. She pursued him just as quickly, meowing happily. He opened the back door and hurried into the large garden, worried she was going to bite off his ankle or something. She picked up her pace with his, and before he knew it, he was running around the edge of his garden, suddenly worried that she was going to go straight for his throat and then end up eating him, toe by toe. All he could see through the tall, untamed grass was her long white tail bobbing above the top of it and before she had the chance to follow him into the house where he had managed to get back to – alive – he slammed the door shut.

"Haha, you stupid cat, you can't get me here!" he shouted triumphantly, pointing at her through the glass. "In the garden no one can hear you meow!"

At around nine that night, just as Haymitch was waking up, the phone rang. It was Effie again.

"How are you getting on with her?" she asked happily.

"It's alright," he lied. He ahdn't let the cat in all day. There was a very strong possibility that she would try to kill him in his sleep. She was, after all, an animal. It was a very real risk. But of course he didn't want to disappoint Effie.

"Oh I'm glad, darling!" And she really did sound it. Haymitch felt a little guilty about lying to her, but not guilty enough to tell her the truth. "And while I'm here, I thought I'd tell you that I've been authorised to make a visit to Twelve next week. And I've been shopping today – I bought some new things."

"Oh really?" he said, having a sneaky suspicion what she had bought. "Will I like them?"

"I don't know. I hope so. I'm wearing them right now actually, would you like me to tell you all about it?" she asked teasingly.

Haymitch nestled into the soft sofa and grinned. "If you want."

She went into great detail as to what she was wearing, and Haymitch did, in fact, like it. That was a good conversation – a very good conversation. So when she came the following week to Twelve, she scarcely had time to ask after the cat, so Haymitch didn't actually have to explain that he may or may not have dumped her in the Hob, where she may or may not have been adopted as the in-house rat killer. Either way, the only purring he had to deal with now was Effie's, and that wasn't something he was exactly miserable about.

So yeah, this wasn't my usual style but I hope you enjoyed my pointlessness ramblings.