Hello friends! Allow me to present to you an absolutely useless drabble. :D I honestly have no idea where the inspiration came from. Please enjoy the ridiculousness that exists inside of my brain.

Please, do me a huge favor and drop a review. I'm working on honing my writing skills and constructive criticism is marvelous.

Love you all!

Butterscotch, Mrs. Ramstead's sleek, black-cat, sat on a warm cushion, sunning herself on the patio. Her pink, crystal adorned collar glinted glamorously in the sunlight, attracting the eyes of a certain runaway, pilfering niffler.

The small, magical animal quietly scurried towards the patio. He snuck up behind the cat (who was napping contently) and reached out a webbed paw to snatch the collar, when suddenly—

Butterscotch lifted her head and stared at the niffler with an expression that displayed nothing less than absolute done-ness. The niffler, feeling both sheepish that he'd been caught and completely determined to complete his quest for the collar, returned the stare with a blank expression of his own. For a moment, he was frozen; unsure of how to proceed, and secretly hopeful that the mighty black predator wouldn't see him if he didn't move. Butterscotch, however, did see him, and growled at him to demonstrate her displeasure.

Niffler, sensing that his small, magical life was probably going to be in mortal peril if he didn't let the cat be, backed away. However, the niffler, Hufflepuff-ian in nature and loyal to the end, simply couldn't abide the thought of leaving the sparkling pink collar behind. Then, with a burst of reckless valor and bravery-borderline-stupidity that would've given even a Gryffindor pause, the niffler lurched forward and grabbed the collar.

The cat, however, was having none of it.

"Butterscotch!" The sweet voice of the elderly, mostly-blind, Mrs. Ramstead reverberated through the house. The old woman in question appeared at the door. "Butterscotch, I have your milk ready. Where are you? Oh—!"

Butterscotch looked up at the withered human with an expression that practically screamed: "Move along, human. There is nothing to see here." The cat had the niffler expertly pinned, with his limbs firmly secured under four paws, and his throat held firmly in the cat's mouth. The magical mammal made a "kkkkkkkkktchhhhh" sound from deep in its throat as it lay helplessly paralyzed by the cat's strategic choke-hold.

"Butterscotch, what have we here? Are you making friends with the neighborhood kitty-cats?" Mrs. Ramstead asked, picking up the niffler.

Niffler stared at the human, panicked and very much confused.

"Do you have a home, Ms. Kitty-Cat?" Mrs. Ramstead asked.

Niffler blinked in confusion. He inhaled sharply and got a good breath of Mrs. Ramstead's perfume (which smelled of mothballs, roses, and concentrated old-lady.) He sneezed and pawed at his nose.

"That's alright Ms. Kitty. You can find a safe haven here with Butterscotch and I," Mrs. Ramstead said with a gentle smile and carried him into the house.

Niffler made a series of unhappy protesting noises, reaching out desperately for Butterscotches' collar. Mrs. Ramstead, however, had a tight hold on the animal and refused to yield. "I think I'll call you Tabitha," the old woman said as she brought the unhappy animal inside.

Butterscotch practically smirked, and laid her head down, content to continue her blissful laze.

Newt Scamander was an anxious mess. He had spent hours and hours scouring the streets of London, searching desperately for his missing niffler. At first, he was incredibly irritated that the tiny, swindling larcenist had disappeared yet again.

An hour passed by, then two, and still no niffler. Newt's irritation dissolved into concern, which dissented into worry, which was quickly evolving into panic.

What if he's gotten himself into trouble? What if a poacher's gotten to him? What if he's been struck by a car and he's lying out on the road somewhere, hurt and cold and hungry?

Newt's mind was a whirlwind of anxious thoughts. It was nearly dark now. Newt was desperate to find his beloved, filching, animal friend. A cold wind blew and the lonely magizooligist pulled his blue coat tighter around him. He was beginning to feel empty and somewhat hopeless. After all, London was a grand place and the niffler was such a small creature. How would he ever find him?

Newt stood alone in the middle of a street and sniffled a little. He shook his head and pushed the worried thoughts from his mind. No, niffler was fine. If anything, he ought to be more worried about the financial security of the people niffler was around.

But still, how was he ever going to find him?

Tap! Tap! Tap!

Newt froze. It was such a strange, quiet sound, almost like something tapping on a pane of glass. Slowly, he turned around. Niffler was sitting inside of a house, tapping on the window, trying to get the wizard's attention. He looked positively miserable.

Newt's heart filled with glee. "Niffler!" he exclaimed jovially. He did a happy little jump in the air and spun around gleefully. Then, once the initial relief had worn off, he put his hands on his and pressed his mouth in a tight line of displeasure. "And what in the name of Merlin's beard are you doing in there?" he asked, gesturing widely to the little house.

The niffler pressed his paws against the window and shot Newt a scarred sort of look that practically said: Help me, I'm being held captive. They're torturing me.

Newt rolled his eyes and scurried over to the window. Upon reaching the house, the wizard froze, immediately overcome with a fit of laughter. Niffler was wearing a plain pink collar and had a dainty pink bow on its head.

Niffler ducked his head and growled, clearly trying to be menacing.

Whipping out his wand, and trying to stifle his laughed, Newt magicked the glass away and tucked the poor, humiliated niffler into his coat.

"Tabitha? Are you opening a window? It's a bit gotten a bit brisk in here!" Newt heard Mrs. Ramstead call out as he replaced the glass.

Relieved, the niffler settled against Newt's chest, happy to finally be home. He was somewhat disappointed that he hadn't managed to steal Butterscotch's collar, but allowed the thought to drift from his mind as he slowly fell into a peaceful sleep.

Newt chuckled and gazed fondly down at his niffler. He shook his head and heaved a relieved sigh. "One of these days, you're going to give me a stress ulcer," Newt whispered. "But I don'y know what I'd do without you,"

The niffler nuzzled closer to Newt and twitched contently in his sleep. Newt's heart melted. He smiled down at his niffler, all irritation and anxiety forgotten and forgiven. It was one of those endearing moments when he resolved never to be mad at his niffler again.

Until, that is, Newt discovered all of the valuables he had robbed from Mrs. Ramstead.