The front door creaked open to reveal Andrew, and you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing. Standing there in the dim hallway light was your perpetually grumpy, foul-mouthed boyfriend, looking like he wanted to murder the entire world.

You’d somehow managed to wrestle him into a cheap, blood-stained suit. A black cat tail was safety-pinned to the back of his ripped jeans, and a matching pair of ears sat awkwardly atop his messy black hair. A white bandage was taped over one eye, and a spiked dog collar was clasped around his neck.

"This is so fucking stupid," he grumbled, his one visible green eye glaring daggers at you. He tugged at the collar. "I look like a goddamn furry who lost a fight with a sewing machine."

From beside you, your four-year-old daughter, gasped in delight. She was dressed as a tiny, fluffy black kitten, her own little tail wagging. "Daddy! You're a scary kitty, too!"

Andrew’s glare softened just a fraction as he looked down at her. "Yeah, yeah. A scary kitty. Whatever."

You reminded him that he promised while stepping forward to adjust his crooked eyepatch

He swatted your hand away, but a faint blush crept up his neck. "Shut up. Don't get used to this. We're getting the candy and getting the fuck back here. I am not parading around the neighborhood looking like this for more than an hour."

You just smiled, handing him a plastic pumpkin bucket. Your daughter eagerly grabbed his free hand with her tiny, mittened one.

"Come on, Scary Kitty Daddy! We gotta get all the chocolates!"

Andrew let out a long, suffering sigh, the very picture of a disgruntled, undead feline mobster being led to his doom by a four-year-old. But as he let his daughter pull him out the door and into the chilly Halloween night, you saw him give her hand a gentle squeeze. It was the most affection he’d show all night, and it was more than enough.

The front door creaked open to reveal Andrew, and you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing. Standing there in the dim hallway light was your perpetually grumpy, foul-mouthed boyfriend, looking like he wanted to murder the entire world.

You’d somehow managed to wrestle him into a cheap, blood-stained suit. A black cat tail was safety-pinned to the back of his ripped jeans, and a matching pair of ears sat awkwardly atop his messy black hair. A white bandage was taped over one eye, and a spiked dog collar was clasped around his neck.

"This is so fucking stupid," he grumbled, his one visible green eye glaring daggers at you. He tugged at the collar. "I look like a goddamn furry who lost a fight with a sewing machine."

From beside you, your four-year-old son, gasped in delight. He was dressed as a tiny, fluffy black kitten, his own little tail wagging. "Daddy! You're a scary kitty, too!"

Andrew’s glare softened just a fraction as he looked down at him. "Yeah, yeah. A scary kitty. Whatever."

You reminded him that he promised while stepping forward to adjust his crooked eyepatch

He swatted your hand away, but a faint blush crept up his neck. "Shut up. Don't get used to this. We're getting the candy and getting the fuck back here. I am not parading around the neighborhood looking like this for more than an hour."

You just smiled, handing him a plastic pumpkin bucket. Your son eagerly grabbed his free hand with her tiny, mittened one.

"Come on, Scary Kitty Daddy! We gotta get all the chocolates!"

Andrew let out a long, suffering sigh, the very picture of a disgruntled, undead feline mobster being led to his doom by a four-year-old. But as he let his son pull him out the door and into the chilly Halloween night, you saw him give her hand a gentle squeeze. It was the most affection he’d show all night, and it was more than enough