Chapter Text
John wasn't very sure what had happened. But he had become a cat.
It sounded absurd, but it was true. He was a cat. And he had a tail and auburn-coloured paws in front of him.
John looked around the hotel room and meowed.
And then he got a huge urge to jump on top of the ceiling fan.
So he did. First on the bed, then he jumped on the wall and from there leaped through the air and landed on top of one of the wings.
He was now content.
*~**~*
The door opened after he had been balancing himself on the fan for about ten minutes. He wondered if he should get worried of the fact that he was a cat, but then again, what was there to worry about? They would leave Leeds tomorrow and there would be a day to rest before the next concert. John was happy to be a cat. He didn't have to worry.
He met Ringo's eyes which were staring at him from the door.
"Hello mate," he said. Ringo stared at him.
"I'm not sure what happened," he continued, "but I have become a cat."
Ringo stared at him.
"This might be confusing to you," John finished and then yawned, because he was tired. They'd just come to the hotel from that night's concert.
"Um," Ringo started and John tried to adapt an understanding look on his face. "Paul???" The drummer shouted over his shoulder and then returned his gaze on John.
"What?" came Paul's answer from the shared living room. Ringo frowned.
"There's a cat in the room."
"Excuse me mate, that's rude," John stated.
"What??" the bassist's voice sounded bewildered and John almost rolled his eyes. He wouldn't have questioned if Paul had become a cat. He would've taken him and babbled about something stupid because he loved cats. Cats were nice.
He was a cat and it was fab.
"Yeah," Ringo said again, not taking his eyes off of John, "there's a cat in the room, on top of the ceiling fan."
"Maybe John brought it in?" Paul came now behind Ringo and frowned too at John. John almost felt offended.
"I didn't bring me in!" John said now, almost desperate because his friends were so stupid.
But then he realised that ah, maybe they didn't understand him. He was a cat. He meowed. He didn't speak.
He blinked and fell off the fan.
Ringo and Paul let out alarmed shouts, but John's body twisted itself around naturally and he landed on his front paws, his two other ones following behind. He didn't feel a huge need to move and so he just sat down and started licking his left front paw. He was sure it had somehow become dirty.
"There's a cat in the room," Paul said slowly and Ringo nodded. John shot them a suffering look and said 'God, you two are stupid'. It gave him a certain amount of satisfaction, knowing that they wouldn't understand. He felt powerful.
"But where's John? He was supposed to be here," Ringo looked around, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "I wanted to ask him if he'd know where Mal is. I broke a drum stick and that was my last pair."
"Mal is packing the instruments as far as I know," Paul answered, his eyes never leaving John.
"Okay," Ringo said and fell quiet. They still stared at the rhythm guitarist.
"I don't feel very good," John decided and then he vomited a ball of fur on the floor. Paul and Ringo stayed quiet, just watching.
"Ew," John meowed brightly and stood up, getting away from the ball. This made him end up in front of his bandmates. He looked up and sat down, not very sure what to do.
Paul stared and then picked him up.
"Okay," John said and then felt a huge need to purr when Paul's hand started sliding down his back. So he purred.
"Maybe George knows about the cat," Paul wondered and turned around, John still in his hands. John saw tablecloth on top of the sofa table. He got a huge urge to pull it down on the floor.
He bolted away from Paul's hold, ran around the sofa and pulled down the tablecloth. The glasses and the wine bottle that had been on top of it hit the floor, not breaking but pouring the wine all over the blue fur carpet. John felt a sick feeling of satisfaction coming over him in waves.
He loved being a cat.
"Jesus Christ!" there was a shout from Ringo and then arms grabbed him and lifted him up. He smelled Paul and purred again because it felt appropriate.
Paul carried him far from the carpet, his eyes wide and mouth twisting into a thin line.
"What the fuck was that all about???" Ringo questioned and he looked at John angrily, waving his finger in the air in front of John's face.
"Bad cat!" the drummer tried to tell him but he didn't quite grasp the concept of how he was being bad. He was perfect. He couldn't be bad.
"I guess that... I guess that we need to find John first. The cat was in his room. It must be one of his... things," Paul said, voice tight. John nuzzled Paul's shirt and purred again.
"He likes you," Ringo muttered and Paul raised his eyebrows.
"'He'?" he demanded and Ringo shrugged.
"Can't really say but I think so."
"Of course I'm a 'he'," John said and then nuzzled Paul again. Paul sighed and started walking towards the door that would lead them out in the corridor. John felt a need to run through the corridor as fast as he could.
"Paul," Ringo said before they got to the door, "you stay here with the cat, I'll go and search for Brian."
"What?" Paul asked, "why?"
John wanted to know the same thing.
"I don't trust the glint in his eyes," Ringo nodded his head towards John, "he's planning something again."
Paul looked like he doubted Ringo's words but then apparently decided that he was probably right. He let out a deep breath and lowered his gaze on John, who tried to look innocent.
"Yeah," he said," you're probably right. I'll be in the room. There's nothing he can destroy, except the wallpaper and the pillows and... stuff."
"Yeah," Ringo echoed and then Paul was carrying John into his room. John wasn't going to stand such behaviour towards him.
He started squirming and Paul yelped, tightening his hold on him. John meowed furiously and tried to jump away from Paul, but didn't quite manage. Paul threw him inside the hotel room and then closed the door behind him, panting with cheeks red. John threw him a hateful glance from where he had landed (on his feet, of course).
"Where on earth would John find a monster like you?" Paul looked disbelieving and John snorted (mentally, though).
His eyes swept over the room nonchalantly, but then his gaze came to a stop when he saw John's clothes on the floor in a pile. He frowned and tilted his head, looking wonderous.
“But-” he started then, the frown deepening still. “Buuuuut-” he looked around the room again, looking confused. Then his eyes fell on John and his eyebrows rose, rose-
He shook his head with a sigh and walked through the room to sit on the bed.
John got a huge urge to be petted.
He sneaked on the bed and on Paul's lap and lied down there, yawning contently.
Paul let out a deeo breath and started petting him. John purred,
"This is just crazy. I didn't even see John leave the room," Paul muttered after a while, the frown back on his face, and John thought that his friend was crazy for speaking with a cat.
"Why would he take his clothes off? Why would he even leave the hotel," the dark-haired man sighed and lifted John a bit, bringing his legs against his chest and holding John really close. "Or do so without telling us."
He buried his face into John's fur and even though John felt a huge need to move and get away, he didn't. He couldn't. Paul was holding him in a body lock.
"He always gets into trouble," Paul continued, his voice a bit muffled by John. "I can never know if he's just messing around or actually in need for help."
"Usually just messin' around," John said cheerfully and Paul clutched him tighter. John felt a need to claw Paul into a pile of bloody limbs. He didn't do it.
"Your fur is the same colour as John's hair," said Paul then without emotion in his voice. John meowed.
"Jesus Christ," Paul stated and lifted his head abruptly. His eyes widened when he looked at John's brown cat eyes and then he suddenly grabbed John by his armpits and lifted him in the air, staring at him.
"No," he then said quietly, "Just my imagination," he frowned and started putting John down again when he stopped and looked closer.
"I must be crazy," he mumbled. John grinned mentally.
"Nothing surprising, really," he informed his best mate. Paul blinked.
"Do cats normally respond to people speaking?" he asked and John made a cat-shrug.
"Sometimes, but very often no."
"I am speaking with a cat, aren't I."
"It would seem so," John said happily and whisked his tail around a bit. Paul's face started to get a slightly whiter shade.
"You must be a lot smarter..." he started carefully, as if doubting something. Probably his sanity. "...than other cats."
"You said so, pal," John meowed. Paul looked at his eyes, John stared back, and the guitarist could pinpoint the exact moment when something seemed to hit his friend.
"No," the bassist gasped and brought his face closer to John's whiskers. John felt a need to sneeze. He didn't know if cats could sneeze.
"It's just not possible. It's not possible!" Paul wheezed and John answered:
"Aye, mate, and here I am."
Paul looked at him in the eye, his face washing pale all over, and then he threw John on the other side of the room.
"Man, that was rude," John shouted from where he had landed, on top of a drawer. Paul was now standing and pointing at John, shaking all over.
"You... you... cat," he gasped and John hoped dearly Paul wouldn't get a heart attack. Not good for PR.
"Yes, I am a cat at the moment. Thanks for noticing," he answered cheerfully and started licking his paw. There was a mirror behind him on the wall and he glanced at his reflection from it. He was a handsome cat too!
"Listen," Paul's breathing was heavy and very uneven. "If you... oh, this makes no sense. If you're John, can you..." he looked over the room and his eyes landed on John's dirty suit that was lying on the floor, his tie next to it. John had left it there when... well. He had become a cat.
"Can you bring me your tie?" Paul's eyes snapped back on John and John huffed.
He contemplated for a moment not to do it; let Paul live in a false hope that he was actually just a cat. But then again, in his situation it might be helpful if there was someone who knew that he actually wasn't just a cat.
He hopped down from the drawer and brought his tie to Paul.
Paul looked ready to faint.
John sat down on the bed in front of the bassist and said:
"So what's now? You gonna buy me a collar? I'd like a black one, please. And soft leather, preferably."
"Oh. My. God. You're in so much trouble."
*~**~*
Ringo came back with Brian to find Paul shouting at the cat. He could distinguish words like 'idiot', 'double-faced rat' and 'Lennon's bastard' and deduced that the cat hadn't remained peaceful for the time Ringo was away.
"Paul?" he called and the shouting stopped like a train would have run over Paul. Ringo glanced at Brian who eyed the ruined carpet with sad eyes and then opened the door.
White feathers covered the room, the bed, John's clothes on the floor and... Paul as well. The said man was standing in the middle of the room, looking alarmed and somehow relieved. Ringo searched for the cat with his gaze before he realised that he was sitting on the bed, with two ex-pillows in front of him.
The drummer sighed and turned to Brian.
"It seems that the cat likes to... cause as much destruction as possible."
"Typical of John," Paul started, " if I may say so, to find a cat that responds to his own personality so well."
Ringo found it a little odd how Paul was eyeing the cat with murder in his eyes, as if the words were meant for him. But maybe they were. After all, regarding on the room's state and Paul's stressed form, the lad had endured quite a hard ride in this short while that Ringo was gone.
"So, nobody knows where John is?" Brian asked and Ringo started shaking his head when the cat meowed furiously and Ringo turned just in time to see Paul grabbing him from the neck and throwing him inside an empty closet, eyes filled with disgust and rage.
He turned to look at Ringo, his expression dangerous and feathers sticking out from his hair. It would've been hilarious if Paul hadn't had such a scary look in his eyes.
"No. I mean, yes. He called," he said, voice trembling with... shock? Ringo was slightly confused, but felt relief that John had actually called.
"Well, where is he?" Brian raised his eyebrows, sounding a bit confused.
"Uh." Paul started and glanced at the closet, "um, he went to... He went to see... er, I mean, he went to Liverpool. To-"
"Liverpool??? Ringo asked, bewildered, Brian echoing him. Paul looked sheepish.
"Yes! He went to see Mimi!" he now seemed to be reassuring himself.
"But- but how come he didn't inform me before going??" Brian stuttered and adapted his worrying chicken mother -expression. Paul's eyes widened and he glanced at the closet again, opening his mouth and closing it again
"You how he is," he finally said, grimacing. "He'll get something in his head and he won't stop to think about the consequences."
"...Fine," Brian sighed, "I'll have to call him however, can't have him running around like that-"
"NO!!!" Paul yelled out of sudden and both Ringo and Brian jumped. "No, you can't. Because... because... because Mimi's phone is broken! John called from the street, there's a phone box... just down the street! He... he promised he'll be on time for the next concert!"
Paul was gasping now, babbling something, his eyes bulging and Ringo suspected he was lying at least a bit. Well, probably John had went to visit a bird and had told Paul to figure out how to keep Brian from crumbling to the floor with desperate cries.
"Well, if you... if you say so," Brian muttered and turned to look at the carpet again, a lost look in his eyes. "But he's in trouble when he gets back."
He started turning away, still looking a bit lost and worried, when Ringo piped up.
"What about the cat? Did John say anything about it?"
Paul was sweating. Ringo narrowed his eyes.
"The cat... the cat... he found it wandering about. Said he'd taken it because he liked the colour. He was being his usual carefree arse."
"Okay..." Ringo frowned, "so what do we do about it?"
"Told me to take care of it," Paul mumbled and then he looked at the closet once again before turning to face Ringo.
"I'll just... pet it enough. Or stuff," he grimaced and somehow the thought seemed to make him very uncomfortable.
"O...kay," Ringo raised his eyebrows and heard a meow coming from the closet before Paul unceremoniously slammed the door in his face.
Well. That had been odd.
*~**~*
Paul slammed the door shut on Ringo's bewildered face and sighed with relief. He could tell that Ringo hadn't really bought anything he said, but so far hadn't raised any of his suspicions. Maybe the lad would just think that Paul had a good reason to lie, and right he was! How many times a lifetime did your best mate turn into a cat???
'Why,' he thought desperately, 'i s it always me?! '
It had been just John's quick thinking that had saved them. Paul had been furiously pacing around the room and talking to John when the... guitarist had suddenly just... torn the pillows apart. Paul had started screaming at him but then Ringo had called him and... Well, the relief that Paul had felt at John having a superb cat ears was indescribable.
A meow made him sigh and he crossed the room quickly, already anticipating the moment when a wild cat would attack him madly.
He opened the closet door and peered in.
John was sitting calmly in front of the door, looking up at him with big, brown eyes, tail slowly moving from side to side. Paul swallowed and nodded faintly.
"Thanks," he whispered, "you probably saved us both."
John meowed and Paul was sure he said something inappropriate. Then the cat (his best friend!) jumped out from the closet and right away on the bed, curling up there comfortably. Paul stood and stared at him.
"We gotta... we gotta figure something out," he said with a quiet voice, "what if you don't turn back?"
There was, of course, always the possibility that he had become mad and this was, in fact, an actual cat that just happened to meow at the right time...
...and had very lennonesque eyes with that very John-ish, knowing look in them.
"What am I supposed to do if you don't turn back? Spit out some bullshit of you becoming ill and staying in Liverpool till you're better? We're walking on thin ice here, John."
John looked at him pointedly and meowed, probably saying 'you're walking on thin ice, mate. I'm a cat. There's nothing I can do. Cheers'.
Paul sat down on the bed. John crawled instantly in his lap.
"You're one weird cat," Paul sighed and hesitantly started stroking John's back that was very soft and very warm. "One moment you're ruining furniture and next you're-OUCH!"
He almost threw John away as he felt the cat's claws pierce his thighs, but held himself. It was- it was after all ver- very n-natural for cat-s to d-do, EVEN IF IT H-HURT LIKE- H-ELL. Paul gritted his teeth and let John slowly turn him into a pate.
"I'm g-gonna k-k-kill yo- you," he breathed deeply in and out his nose and John purred, making himself more comfortable in Paul's lap.
Paul groaned and let himself fall on his back, staring at the ceiling and wondering what had he done to deserve this.
*~**~*
"Just keep quiet," Paul whispered at John and wrapped his long coat around him, John tightly nested inside his shirt. It was actually quite comfortable, at least for John, who had always liked warm and cosy places. The cat in him loved hiding, even if hiding inside a jacket wasn't that much fun.
He meowed quietly and thought how hilarious it would be if he now became a human. Brian would have a fit.
"Paul, do you possibly have a cat inside your jacket?" he could hear Ringo's careful, low voice asking from him. Brian would have wanted the cat into a cat box for the time they travelled, but Paul had decided that even if it sounded quite nice (for everyone but John), John didn't really deserve it and so he attempted to snuggle him into the van with the rest of the band. John liked the plan, as it brought along a lot of excitement that wasn't usually included in moving from one town to another.
"As a matter of fact, I do," Paul whispered back and John felt his chest tremble with the words. He purred.
"Christ, Paul, what if he starts tearing the car apart?"
"He won't," Paul answered, though John could hear doubt in his voice. Pfft, John would never do something like that. Probably. Maybe. Perhaps.
"I hope you know what you're doing. George still doesn't know."
"We can tell George once we're far away from Bri."
Ringo hummed back, a worried tone in his voice. John purred again when Paul's hands tightened around him. It felt so nice. A bit like being engulfed by a... by a jar.
John wanted to climb inside a jar that could barely fit his head in. He wanted to do it. He felt like he wouldn't have lived before he knew how that would feel.
Paul and Ringo dragged themselves into the small bus, onto the backseat. Usually Paul and John would, at least partially, take over the back of the van and try to work on new songs. If it was cold and the journey was long, they would all four just make one big Beatle sandwich and try to catch some sleep.
Now, Paul and Ringo were the rulers of the back, and as soon as the van's doors were closed and Brian was out of sight, they motioned George to come closer.
Paul opened half of the zipper of his jacket, and John looked how George's eyes bulged in his head.
"What is that," George said blankly after a while. Paul and Ringo looked at him with equally lifeless expressions.
"It is a cat," Ringo deadpanned and George stared at John before turning to slowly look at Ringo.
"Why does Paul have a cat inside his jacket." It was not even a question; George had his monotonous voice in full use. He did not look impressed At All. John felt slightly hurt. He would have been in ecstasy had there been a cat inside Paul's jacket.
"It's John's," Paul said and only John (probably) noticed the slight quiver of his voice that told of rage buried deep within. Paul's heart was beating fast and John could almost smell his... anger? Worry? Nervousness?
"John's?" George repeated. Ringo nodded.
Silence fell and then Ringo, slowly, turned his head towards the cat.
"Paul. How do we know that he didn't just pick up someone's cat?"
Paul seemed to pale all over. John snorted with a laugh.
"Yeah, tell 'em pal," he said cheerfully and Paul shot him a furious glance. John loved the way the warmth of Paul's jacket was wrapped around him and he pressed his paws against Paul's chest, his claws coming out.
Paul shivered all over, jerking violently. He squeezed John against him a bit too forcefully and his breathing got ragged.
"Mate, I'd say you were turned on if I didn't know better," John stated joyfully and continued clawing at Paul's chest slowly and satisfyingly.
"H-he-" Paul stuttered and Ringo and George looked at him questioningly. Paul was turning red from his face, which was always a sign of lying.
"Here," George then said and offered his arms, his hands coming closer and closer to John. "I can take the cat-"
John was in the air, out of his warm cocoon before he knew it. He let out a small hiss before catching Paul's look.
Maybe it was better if he just played nice for a while. After all, Paul had saved him from spending the whole journey in a cat basket.
He let George take a hold of him and when he finally was in the guitarist's arms, it was not so awful. He wished George would have put him inside his jacket.
Paul let out a deep breath and cracked his neck, looking uncomfortable.
"He, uh... He... I don't..."
"So actually," Ringo seemed to catch on, "we don't even know if he's got an owner somewhere back there."
Paul seemed to be sweating. John purred when George started stroking his head absentmindedly.
"I- John-" Paul started waving his hands in the air, trying to look like he wasn't thinking of an explanation quickly. Finally he just let out a desperate huff, his expression similar to when he was fighting with a girl and tried to come up with something that wouldn't destroy the relationship.
George and Ringo glanced at each other.
"So basically John has stolen a cat," George said in a voice that was probably supposed to be reasoning, "and has fucked off and left us take care of the problem."
John let out a furious meow. He had not left his friends alone! He would never do that! Well, maybe sometimes, yes, but not in a situation like this! Besides, he was a cat. That was not a problem.
"He," Paul tilted his head painfully slowly, fixing a steely gaze on John. "Exactly. He left us with the problem."
The coldness that seeped through Paul's voice made John shudder and he felt his ears press down against his skull. His eyes, as a result, looked infinitely larger.
Paul felt uncomfortable. John could be a pain in the arse and still be forgive, but this time Paul felt that this was way too big. Still, when the cat looked at him with such a cute face, pupils made larger with the dimness of the van, the ears pressed down and the eyes huge...
"What are we gonna do then?" George asked. Ringo was looking at the cat with a frown.
"I have no idea," Paul sighed and shook his head slowly. "I'm just gonna-" he grimaced, "-take care of it or something."
"Does Bri know?" George raised his eyebrows. Paul nodded. Ringo was still looking at John, who was now glancing at the drummer every now and then, turning smaller and smaller every passing second.
"He does-" Paul started, but then Ringo suddenly leant forward towards John, looking at him with wide eyes. John looked immediately alert, and... scared?
"Ringo?" Paul asked carefully, not liking the lad's expression. It was mixed with feelings of astonishment, unsureness and above all, incredulous.
Ringo glanced up at Paul, then looked back at John, and then shook his head.
"It's nothing. I was just lost in me thoughts."
"Aaalright?" Paul said and felt cold sweat break the skin in his neck. He had a feeling they'd have to be extra careful around Ringo.
The rest of the journey went quite peacefully. Paul took John back inside his jacket, and at some point the lad (the cat?) fell asleep. Paul knew that John had always liked warm and dark places, like snuggling under the covers. Maybe there had been a bit of a cat in the man before this as well.
The original plan for them had been that Paul would sleep with Ringo and George with John, but now they agreed in silence that Paul would have the whole room for himself and... the cat. Brian wished them good night and everyone disappeared, and so only the three lads were left in the kitchen/living room that joined the two bedrooms.
"Do we have a name for the cat?" George asked when he poured himself a glass of wine. Tomorrow they would have a free day (thank God! shouted Paul's nerve-wrecked mind) and they would all use it for doing nothing.
This sure had been the longest day of Paul's life.
"No..." Ringo said and looked at John who was currently playing with a piece of toilet paper. Paul couldn't understand how John, who at least usually had the mind of a human could find that amusing. "I've been calling him the cat."
"We could name him Arsehole," Paul muttered with venom in his voice. John meowed protestingly, Ringo frowned and looked suspicious and George was just confused. Paul swallowed and forced a smile on his lips. "You know, after the lad who made him our problem."
John threw the toilet paper towards Paul, stood up and then jumped on the coffee table, walking dangerously close to the wine bottle. George seemed to think the same as he reached out and took the said object into his arms, hugging it like it was his firstborn child. John stretched and lay down on the table, turning on his back and stilled there.
Paul had never had a cat, and every moment he spent with John made him sure that he never would want one on his own.
Then again, it was possible that this was just John being himself and it had nothing to do with the fact that he was a cat.
"Not bad, actually," George said slowly. "I'm getting more and more convinced that this cat is a real arse."
John's body twisted itself into a position that should have been impossible and his paw pushed a half-filled wine glass on the floor before anyone could do anything.
All three humans let out shouts, but it was Paul who acted first.
"How fucking dare you!?" he more or less screamed, took a hold of John's neck, marched over to their bedroom and threw John inside the room, slamming the door closed. He didn't care whether John would destroy both of their beds, their luggage and the walls. He didn't care. He only needed to have the animal out of his sight for a while.
George and Ringo sat still, looking at him with confused (George) and suspicious (Ringo) eyes. Then Ringo stood up, picked up the wine glass and eyed at the carpet with a sigh before he turned to look at Paul again.
"You know Paul, he's just a cat. I feel like you're overreacting to everything he does."
Paul felt his spine get washed over by cold and he let out a laugh that sounded nervous even to his own ears.
"What d'you mean. Eeheheh. He's just a cat. Indeed."
George frowned.
"Paul, your eyes are bulging funnily."
Paul slammed his hands over his face.
"I gotta pee," he stated and then rushed into the loo, closing the door before he sank to the toilet seat, burying his head into his hands.
John would have a hell to pay when he turned back to a human.
*~**~*
John was hiding under a chest of drawers when Ringo came inside the hotel room. Paul had announced earlier that he was going to get masterfully drunk and George had opted to join him, and the two men had left with Neil an hour ago. Ringo had said that he would keep company to the half-full wine bottle they had on the sofa table again, now that John was kept inside the bedroom.
He hadn't been bored. He had played under the bed for a while, then under the other bed because it was somewhat different, then under the chest of drawers. Then he had played a bit with the pillows (not causing any real destruction -he hadn't had the urge when there was no one around) and now he was hiding under the chest of drawers just because it was so fun. He still hadn't tried the jar thing, but he knew that he had to do that soon or he would burst from anticipation.
Ringo pushed his head in first, looking around before spotting John's head that peeped out. Then the drummer stepped wholly in, closing the door carefully behind him. He sat on the bed and looked at John with a gaze that John didn't like at all.
Earlier in the bus John had sensed it -how Ringo had become suspicious. John didn't know what had given him away, what had made Ringo think that he wasn't a normal cat. But he knew that Ringo was getting more and more suspicious every passing moment.
He couldn't help it; when Ringo looked at him like that he reacted automatically by making himself smaller and trying not to look guilty. He tried to lift his ears so that he would not look that much like he had got caught, but failed. He supposed that his ears were straightly linked to his feelings. And as a cat, he knew that he had done things wrong.
He didn't feel guilty about those, though. He still felt the excitement from the wine glass. But he knew that he was actually a human, and Ringo didn't know that. And the way he was scrutinising John just screamed that John had been a Bad Cat™.
"Y'know," Ringo said then, his voice stern and full of suspicion, "I've spent time with cats before."
John tried to look like he didn't understand a word.
Ringo titled his head and placed his hands on his thighs, looking way too intimidating. John was never going to make fun of the drummer again; he was just glad that Ringo didn't have his teddy boy -look at the moment; with the soft Beatle bowl he looked slightly less dangerous.
"I've never seen a cat that would respond to words that someone said," Ringo frowned. John turned smaller.
"Back in the van it was clear that you were somehow aware of what Paul was saying," the drummer continued and John had enough. The fur in his neck turned up as he sensed the upcoming danger and he pulled himself farther under the chest of drawers, so that he was entirely pressed against the wall. He was ready to bolt any moment, though. Ringo didn't move.
"I don't know what this is, everything's so odd at the moment."
"Maybe you should just go back to the not thinking -way of living," John commented and then immediately snapped his mouth shut. He and his big mouth! He should have to learn to control his natural need to respond to everything people said to him.
Ringo fell quiet. Then he moved, crouched down on the floor and leant forward, resting his cheek against the carpet.
He stared at John, who stared back, and John could smell Ringo's disbelief.
"I can't fucking believe it," Ringo said quietly, still with the frown on his face. John blinked, his tail swept from one side to another, and then a thought rose up from the deepest of deeps of his mind.
'What the heck. I'm a cat .'
He was, indeed, a cat. And a perfect one of those. He wouldn't have to care what other people thought, and especially not what his mates opinions were. Why was he so afraid of Paul's rage? (Well, a more sensible, human part of him reasoned that it was because Paul could bloody destroy him with one look filled with cold fury.) Why couldn't he tell (er, show) Ringo and George as well that he was, actually, a Perfect Cat.
A cat that sported the name of John Lennon .
He jumped away from the chest of drawers, ignoring Ringo's alarmed shout. Then he leapt on the bed, turned and sat there neatly, his tail curiously up in the air. He looked at Ringo who was crouched on the ground and thought what a pathetic, stupid creature a human was compared to him , a cat .
"Y'know, I just came to realise that I'm a cat," he meowed and continued to stare at the drummer with unmoving eyes. Ringo looked uncomfortable and sat on the opposite bed, crossing his arms over his chest.
"If I didn't know better," the man muttered, "I'd say you were trying to talk."
"Bloody rude . I'm trying my best, okay?" John narrowed his eyes, his speech coming out in some sort of a hiss. Ringo looked even more uncomfortable.
"Besides," John continued and started licking his paw in the progress, " Paul certainly knows better. Hah."
Ringo frowned.
"What was that?" he asked with a slightly strangled voice. John tried to look understanding.
"Paul knows better-" he repeated, but couldn't finish the meowing before Ringo suddenly scrambled on his feet, stumbling away from John. His blue eyes were wider than ever and John had a fleeting moment of worry for the man's health.
"Er... Everythin' alright there, mate?" he tilted his head when Ringo started slowly shaking his head in disbelief.
"Did you just," the man wheezed and John had a fleeting déjà vu to how Paul had been yesterday, "say ' Paul' ???"
John paused and blinked. Wait, what?
"Paul?" he said in a careful voice (in his head, anyway). Ringo's face turned pale.
"Yeah," he said shakily. "Yeah, exactly that."
Then he paused as something seemed to occur to him.
"Weren't John's clothes on the floor yesterday?" he asked quietly, now talking more to himself. John somehow found the whole spectacle really amusing. He had to give credit to his friend, though. Even though Paul's train of thought had been slightly (greatly) faster, Ringo seemed to be catching on.
John had no need to hide who he was. He was perfect. His auburn fur shone beautifully every time he moved, his body was long and graceful and his eyes were big, heart-meltingly brown and his eyesight was better than ever .
He had a huge urge to be petted by someone , but he suspected that Ringo might just kick him dead if he tried approaching the man now. He let out a (mental) sigh, yawned to show that he was bored and lay down on the bed, thinking about the jar of his dreams.
"I wish Paul was here," he stated and turned on his back, stretching his front paws out from the bed. How he didn't fall was a miracle, but he had a perfect control over his body. "He would surely pet me."
(At the same moment, in the bar where Paul and George were getting masterfully drunk, Neil hovering over their shoulders to make sure they would get back to the hotel even if they were pissed as dead, Paul held his head in his hands and repeated repeatedly "I will never fucking touch him again," while George tried to look both sympathising and compassionate, while in truth he was confused as fuck and had no idea that Paul was talking about a cat. The next morning he would have a hazy memory of Paul going through a Big Gay Crisis and hoped that the lad would get over it. And present his boyfriend to everyone sometime in the future.)
"John's clothes on the floor," Ringo muttered to himself and John let out a mental huff. And then the drummer looked at him, looked at him in the eye, his expression changing.
A smile spread on his lips and Ringo snorted before bursting out laughing. He threw his head back and laughed. John stared at him quietly, turning back on his stomach and sitting up.
"I'm getting slightly worried here," he called out and Ringo's laughter just increased. John frowned cat-like.
Then Ringo came forward, towards John, and every cell in John's body screamed that he had to get out of the way. He didn't, though, only readied himself mentally, and Ringo's hands grabbed him and lifted him in the air.
"No wonder," the drummer giggled, "that Paul was in stitches. Of all the things you've done, this tops 'em hands down."
"I didn't even do anything," John commented and Ringo sat down on the bed, his legs seemingly giving over from laughing so much.
"God, I never thought I'd see a day where John Lennon becomes a cat," the man almost howled and John deduced it had to be hysterical laughing caused by shock. "I can't imagine all the rude things you've said to us past these twenty hours."
He paused and tilted his head, staring at John in the eyes.
"I can, though," he then shrugged and then grinned. "But I tell you, you're in so much trouble."
"I've heard that before," John grumbled and Ringo started laughing again, probably only because the situation was so hilariously absurd.
*~**~*
Next morning Ringo was the first up. He stalked quietly out of the bedroom and heard a meow coming from behind the other door, accompanied by a small scratching sound.
Yeah. Right. It was John. Who was a cat.
There were a lot of things Ringo had seen and heard during his 23 years, but this one beat them all. He should have been in shock or something, probably, but for him the situation was hilarious. All the things John was trying to say, but could only get feeble meows out of his mouth! It was ridiculous.
Paul and George dragged themselves to breakfast an hour later. Ringo was sitting at the breakfast table with the day's paper. John was sitting on top of the breakfast table, slowly destroying a piece of said paper.
Paul threw a hateful glance at John before he sagged into a chair, mumbling something about tea being the way to heaven. George looked at John with bleary, confused eyes.
"Why is the cat on the table?"
Ringo shrugged.
"Where else would he be?"
George just looked even more confused and then sat down as well, reaching for a piece of bread. From the looks of it he was nursing a massive headache, and apparently Paul was not very far behind.
John looked around at the three people at the table, lay down peacefully and knocked a bottle of milk on the floor with the biggest, most innocent eyes Ringo had ever seen.
The silence that followed was overwhelming. John started licking his paw like he had done nothing. George just seemed too tired to care at all and Ringo wasn't far behind. Now that he knew what everything was about he felt awfully calm. John would have probably been able to make the whole hotel apartment explode and Ringo would have just thought 'very John-ish'.
It was Paul, however, that seemed to be close to breaking.
The seething, raging slow stare that was directed towards John would have made Ringo pee his pants. He feared that Paul would at some point throw the cat out of the window.
"Well," he said, deciding to smooth things a bit, "that was a very cat-like thing to do."
George looked at him confusedly. Paul turned his eyes on him, a vein in his forehead close to snapping.
John meowed and his attention seemed to move elsewhere at that moment. He jumped off the table to the kitchen counter that was behind Ringo's back. Paul nor George moved their eyes from the drummer.
"You know," Ringo lowered the half-torn paper, Paul's bloodshot eyes glancing at it, "cats do stuff like that."
"Yesterday you yelled as well," George muttered with a feeble voice. Ringo felt slightly sorry for him.
"Well, yesterday I thought he was only a cat."
Silence followed. Paul stared at Ringo with eyes that were full of pure horror. George looked even more confused.
"Wait, what?" George then asked, frowning. Then he turned his head, his eyes probably searching John. Ringo turned his head and suppressed a laugh.
On top of the kitchen cabinets there were stored different sized plastic bowls for salads. There were also a few jars, and apparently those had caught John's attention.
However John had got himself up there, Ringo didn't know, but John was currently fitted inside a jar that should not be able to do that. The cat was wholly squished and by the looks of it, John seemed to be in his new favourite place in the whole world.
"That really looks like a cat to me," George muttered, narrowing his eyes. "No matter how hard I look."
"Ringo," Paul said with a voice that was dead. Ringo shuddered and turned his head to look at the bassist. "Did he tell you."
Ringo raised his eyebrows.
"Well," he frowned, "he did meow a lot."
Paul squeezed his toast in his hand so that it crunched up to little pieces. Ringo started getting really worried for the lad. It was true that John was being an arsehole even for a cat, but it was not so bad. Ringo worried more what they'd do if John wasn't back to himself tomorrow.
"So he told you," Paul hissed more to himself than anyone else. George frowned, shooting a glance at Ringo that shouted help.
"Look, George," Ringo said, "that cat is John."
"Meow."
Ringo rolled his eyes and looked at John who closed his eyes in response, looking at last peaceful and content.
"Wait. What ??" George's eyes widened and he looked between Paul, Ringo and John with slight disbelief. "Man, am I still drunk?"
"No," Paul sighed and seemed to finally get a grip of himself. He placed the smashed toast on his plate and leant back in his chair, waving a hand towards John and the jar. "That cat is John."
George didn't say anything, just stared at Paul. Paul stared back.
"Yeah," the man then continued, "you can test it by saying something rude about him and he'll probably destroy something as revenge."
His voice was terrifyingly blank and Ringo dreaded for the moment John turned back into a human. He'd have a hell to pay.
"So you mean to say," George started and then looked at the cat, "that that cat is John ?"
"That cat is John."
"It's John," Ringo added, just to make it clear.
"Huh." George turned his eyes down and stared at the table for the longest of time before he looked at John with an empty expression.
"You're in so much trouble, mate," he stated and the meow that John let out sounded much like hysterical laughing to Ringo's ears.
*~**~*
Paul was extremely tired and pissed off. Very pissed off.
That didn't stop him from feeling a slight tug at his heart when he saw how disgustingly cute John looked in the bloody plastic jar. What a pity all the fun things had to end some day.
"John," he called and the cat turned his head, opening his eyes, but only barely. Paul felt slightly guilty for having to stop such a peaceful-looking slumber, but it could not be helped. They were moving towards the living room part of the room and from there they couldn't see John; Paul wanted to have his eyes on the cat all the time. "We're moving to the sofas."
John meowed faintly which sounded like a faint protest. Paul sighed and leant on the wall, blinking the last remains of a headache away. That didn't stop the tiredness, though.
"C'mon, mate. I can have Mal search for some squeaky toys."
John let out a sound that might have been a snort, might have been just a normal cat noise. Then he yawned and started slowly stretch himself out from the impossible knot he was in. His eyes were still half-closed when he pushed his head out of the jar, looking for a minute like that was his new favourite position and he was going to fall asleep there.
Paul had never seen John look so content before and he thought for a second if he should climb on top of a chair and take the jar down, so that John could continue his sleep in it.
Just as he had the thought John moved again, this time starting to climb up from the object, leaning dangerously towards the edge. Paul frowned, but said nothing. John was a cat at the moment, so he should be aware of his surroundings.
He was so wrong.
(The truth was that John was a cat, and sometimes cat could be clumsy as hell. John had also just woken up from a very satisfying nap and simply had forgotten where he was. He knew that he was in a place that was tight and ridiculously comfortable, but he had no idea that he was on top of a kitchen cabinet and that his tail would touch the roof had he lifted it up. And so, he felt totally comfortable with pushing his feet out on the floor, except that there was no floor. There was just empty air.)
Paul stared with his eyes widening from horror as John started falling, the cat's eyes opening a second too late. He reacted, but he could sense that it was way too late.
"JOHN!!" he yelled and dashed forward, reaching out his arms. John hit the floor just before Paul could make it to him and the cat immediately leapt away from the spot, disappearing from the kitchen with a mad, scared jump.
Paul gasped for breath, bringing his hand to his chest. Shit. Shit . Anything could've happened!
"John," he called, his voice quivering. He hurried into the living room when he regained his balance. He was shaking all over, now that the momentarily shock was leaving. "John!"
George and Ringo were standing up, looking alarmed. Then Ringo pointed quietly at a small ball of auburn fur in the corner of the room.
Paul's heart ached and he ran forward, soon kneeling next to the cat.
"Hey," he said, swallowing a dry lump in his throat. "You really gave me a scare."
John lifted his head and looked at Paul with big cat eyes that for once didn't hold a satisfied look in them. He looked terrified for life, to be truthful.
Paul sighed, tried to regain his composure and picked John up, the cat curling into his arms like he never wanted to get away from Paul away.
Well, if it kept him from destroying places, Paul was content.
*~**~*
It was in the middle of the night that Paul woke up to a small sound that he had not heard in a few days. It was a sigh; a very familiar one of those.
John had attached himself to Paul for the rest of the day, being the kindest and cutest cat ever known to the world. Brian had came by and had said that no one had been asking after the cat. Then he had proceeded to pet the animal for the following three hours, cooing and oohing, saying that he had never seen such a beautiful creature. Paul had finally kicked Brian out when John's meows had started to take a pleading note.
In the evening when Paul came from the loo John had already been curled up on his own bed, looking so adorable that Paul had to take a photo with John's camera. As far as he knew, the cat was still sleeping peacefully on the bed.
He turned his head around and blinked a few times before switching on the bedside lamp.
There, under the covers but clearly naked, lay John. His hair was sprawled over the pillow; his hands were half under his head, mirroring the image of how a cat would sleep.
Paul got up, walked over to John, lifted his leg and kicked at the very humanly man.
John let out an alarmed, tired noise and then, after frowning for a moment, opened his eyes.
"You fucking bastard, " Paul hissed. John blinked and then yawned, getting up on one elbow. He rubbed at his eye with the other hand before stilling and looking at the said hand.
"Holy hell," he then said, his voice raspy, and Paul for all his anger had to admit that he had missed that sound.
"You're in trouble ," he growled and John blinked, still looking like he hadn't grasped at the situation.
"Paul," he said and Paul had a fleeting urge to jump against John and give him a bone-crushing hug. That could wait, though. "Can't we wait till morning?"
Paul tilted his head, considered it for a moment and then nodded.
" Fine ," he muttered and kicked John one time more just to make sure that the man got the point. "And you're fucking buying me bevvie for the rest of our lives ."
"Alright," John yawned, scratching at the back of his head. "I liked that jar though."
With that he pressed his head against the pillow and crawled properly under the covers, wrapping them around him tightly. He seemed to fall asleep immediately and Paul was left standing there with a strange, aching feeling in his chest.
'Maybe I'll have one manufactured for him for Christmas,' he thought as he got back on his bed, switching off the light. 'He was kinda cute in it.'
But it would have to be one that could not be place in high places. That was sure.
*~**~*
It was one week later that John entered their hotel room, looking around the suite tiredly. George and Ringo were sitting on the sofa, George playing about with his guitar and Ringo reading a book. They both glanced at him as he walked closer, cracking his neck with a sigh.
"Alright, John?" George asked and Ringo cracked a grin.
"Yeah, not too many fur balls in yer mouth?"
"Fuck off, Rings," John groaned. "I'm sorry, okay?! I've said it a million times."
"I don't think million times is enough for Paul," George snickered and John rolled his eyes, throwing himself on a free armchair.
"I just had these urges, y'know," he muttered and the other two men in the room rolled their eyes, looking at each other with a wordless 'yes, we've heard that'.
"You guys haven't lived before you've been in a jar, though," John then said gleefully and they all started laughing quietly, like schoolboys drawing dicks into a wall of a loo.
They fell in silence after a while and George continued doodling with his guitar. John sighed again and looked around.
"Where's Paul, anyway?" he asked in a curious voice. Ringo didn't react, his eyes sweeping over the text. George shrugged.
"Was in the room, I guess."
"Okay-o," John jumped on his feet and clapped his hands together, "I'm gonna try and write a song."
"Be careful," George called after him as he walked towards the bedroom door, "he might just bite."
John laughed and knocked on the door, opening it.
"Nah," he started and turned to face the bedroom, "Paul, you wouldn't-"
His brain came to a dead stop.
A dog.
In the middle of the room, there, on the floor, was sitting a dog.
A dog .
On top of a pile of clothes.
A dog that was looking at John with the dirtiest, smuggest smile ever known to human (or dog) kind.
'Well,' was John's first thought, 'I am just fucked .'
"Lads?" he said in a shaky voice and the dog let out a bark that just sounded like a laugh. George and Ringo lifted their heads and seemed to slightly get paler in the face. John took a deep breath, closed his eyes and counted to five.
"We have a problem."