A/N: Sorry sorry sorry, my first one was all messed up I've never done this before sorry here ya go much inner facepalm. Also! This is also crossposted on AO3 and I don't own anything but the idea, credit goes to creators of England and Americat.
Something was twitching in the corner of his vision. A malicious attacker!
Like a wild tiger, he sprung upon it, but at the very last second it vanished. Blast!
Once more, slowly creeping, silent as a cloud and just as fluffy.
AHA! Alfred chewed on his prize, before letting out an indignant and confused meow.
Someone bit my tail.
Alfred slowly turned to look at his reflection in the glass.
Oh.
He sheepishly curled up into a ball.
Nap the shame away.
…
Arthur stared down at the kitten, who was obviously pretending to sleep.
"I'll take that one," he announced.
A car ride later and Alfred was home.
…
The man was reaching for the thing. Alfred remembered the thing, it had tipped once and drenched himi in strange-smelling fluid.
Alfred hissed at it. Don't you dare tip on the man, you hear me?
No reply.
Have it your way then!
With a frenzied leap and a wild yowl, Alfred jumped onto the thing, knocking it from the man's hand and watching in approval as it shattered on the floor from the safety of the counter.
"BLOODY HELL ALFRED, THAT WAS MY FAVOURITE MUG!" the man shrieked, stumbling back before storming off to find a dustpan.
Alfred curled up on the counter, content that he had done his duty.
…
A rustle. The smell of something suspicious wafting through that of moist grass and old leaves.
Alfred padded forward, low to the ground and tail waving like a flag before pouncing upon his prey.
Leaves rained from the sky, the neatly raked pile of leaves scattering once more across Arthur's lawn.
"Bloody cat," Arthur muttered from the porch, before sighing. "My bloody cat."
…
Alfred stared down at Arthur from the headboard.
The man had something on his face again. The two strange things above his eyeballs, like tiny fur rugs. What if they grew over his eyes and blinded him? What if the man fell down the stairs and hurt himself?
Alfred hissed and pounced.
The bout of swearing that followed could be heard from the street.
…
"I SWEAR I'VE HAD IT WITH YOU! TRYING TO CLAW OFF MY BLOODY EYEBROWS, I'LL DECLAW YOU IF YOU KEEP THIS UP, OR- OR SOMETHING DRASTIC!"
Alfred was cowering in a corner, trying his best to understand what he'd done wrong. Well, the man was obviously in pain, but-
Oh. What if he hadn't been helping? Was that why the man was yelling at him?
Had he never been helping?
Oh.
Oh no.
…
Arthur woke up the next morning to guilt in his stomach and his face free from cat appendages.
Strange. Alfred made a habit of sleeping on his face-maybe he was hiding from last night…
Ah well. The cat could handle himself well enough.
Off to make a cup of tea~
…
Arthur was beginning to get worried. He had opened the mornings' can of cat food and Alfred had failed to sprint into the kitchen and watch him like a vulture while he emptied it into his dish.
Come to think of it, there'd been no sign of the cat all morning. No ticking claws, no rubbing against his legs to be picked up, no purring on the television.
He furrowed his eyebrows.
…
An hour later, and Arthur was truly concerned. He had searched the entire house and there was no Alfred to be found- even when he shook a bag of treats.
Arthur trudged up the stairs to search the bedroom once more.
…
Open window. Missing Alfred.
Oh no.
Five minutes later, Arthur was on the streets, shaking the treat bag and calling for Alfred as the neighbours closed the curtains. Typically whenever Arthur was outside, it was to cuss someone out for something trivial.
…
Alfred was huddled underneath a car, soaking wet and not coming out no matter how many treats Arthur offered.
The poor cat must've gotten drenched in a sprinkler in someone's yard or something, and he looked like he had been through something incredibly traumatic.
Arthur finally resorted to crawling on his belly and grabbing the struggling ball of fur.
"Come on, Alfie. Let's get you home, alright?"
No response.
Arthur just sighed before wrapping Alfred in his coat and heading home.
…
As it turned out, Alfred really, really hated baths.
Arthur felt a lot like he was drowning the sorry thing instead of bathing it, but finally the job was done and Alfred was buried underneath a mound of warm, fluffy towels.
The man sighed, carrying the cat into the living room so he could watch the local news for once. The newspaper would have to wait until after Alfred had uncurled and eaten.
"Last night: a pair of burglars were stopped by an unlikely force; a large cream coloured cat that scratched them up before disappearing in the night. The thieves were about to exit the house with hundreds of dollars worth of jewelry and technology when the homeowners were alerted by loud yelling- the cat has been nicknamed "the Hero" and has now prevented three robberies over the past year."
Arthur's jaw dropped, and he would've stood up had it not been for Alfred on his lap.
Alfred the Hero.
Bloody hell.
Bloody hell!
Arthur was going to have to start watching the local news more often.