A/N: Is this what a writer's existential crisis is? Writing a story about cats and laughing at its title for a solid half hour?

Bow Chigi Meow Meow:

Argh! My head hurt like a motherfucking bitch. With my eyes still closed, I grit my teeth, feeling something sharp and not quite familiar. Hmmm. Maybe if I just went to sleep again all my problems would go away. Besides, this hangover wasn't going to nurse itself anytime soon.

I only remember small bits and pieces from last night. I remember travelling to New York for a world meeting. All of us countries then went to the Hamburger bastard's favourite night club. England got drunk and started casting off spells left and right. The CIA then stepped in and did memory swaps on every human who had witnessed the event.

Things only got crazier after that. We had the entire night club to ourselves, after all. I drank to numb the sting and cringe from watching those hormonal dumbasses break everything in sight, including each other's bones, which only took about five minutes to heal, naturally. Hungary had broken Prussia's nose a record of seventeen times, something that I had taken a profound amount of amusement in watching.

It was only when the alcohol kicked in that I became reckless myself. I laid my emotions flat out on the bar table, sobbing to anyone who would listen to me about how that Spanish bastard would never see me as anything other than his precious tomato love child. The rest of the night blurred together from there on in. The last thing that I remember was blacking out, that and a lot of darkness afterwards.

Well, right now I certainly wasn't in darkness. I was lying on the ground, which was burning hot for whatever reason. I shifted my position and nuzzled my chin against something soft and furry. I could feel the morning sun pour onto my skin.

Hmmm. I should probably get up now. Feliciano was sure to be worried sick about where I had ended up, ahem, not that I actually cared about that airhead or anything. He had his stupid potato to take comfort in anyways. As for me? I was just the jackass loner country with a shit ton of emotional baggage that no one bothered to speak to, let alone sympathize with.

Well, no one except for Spain. But then again, he, like many others, was completely oblivious to how I felt about certain things. For example, he was too dumb to realize that I was head over fucking heels for him. I mean seriously, I can't count how many times I've purposely bent over in front of him, hoping that he would take the hint and initiate the first move. I was too much of a coward to do that, so the onus of sparking the passion was all on his sorry 'fusoso' chuckling ass.

Eh…Spain did have a pretty fine ass, er, not that I would ever admit that out loud to him. I at least had some pride, you know. Not much, considering the fact that I'm most likely lying alone in some dingy alleyway in New York, but if you dig deep down under the layers of self-loathing and pestering insecurities, you would find a bundle of nerves that somewhat resembled confidence.

Balls, I've totally just put myself in a bad mood. It didn't look like I would be able to fall asleep again. I lifted my head off whatever furry pillow, or sweater, or Dio knows what else, and opened my eyes. Wait…this wasn't New York? Last time I checked, the States didn't have alder trees.

I turned my head, my foggy, muddled mind trying, but failing miserably to make sense of my surroundings. I was in Spain's backyard? But how? A garden bed full of tomato plants laid to my right. I looked up and found the familiar, worn down, and dare I say ugly, pink shingles of his house's roof top. The patio stones were still cracked from years of that bastard tripping and clumsily dropping things. Tch. Idiot.

Perhaps Spain had dragged my drunken ass here on a plane last night? Si, that was the only possible explanation for, well, this 'predicament.' But that still didn't explain why he had left me outside like I was his fucking pet or something.

I cocked my head to the side, which oddly felt much lighter than what I remembered it being. I stood up and nearly fell over from the surprise of how light my entire body was. I looked down, and that's when I realized how fucked up my situation truly was.

My feet were paws. Actual fucking paws! What the fuck!? I opened my mouth to scream, but the only sound that came out was some sort of strangled meow. I opened my mouth again only to close it out of embarrassment. I was a motherfucking cat and I had no idea why, damnit!

I scurried across Spain's patio, making a beeline for the back entrance of his house. I hopped up the wooden steps of his deck and stopped before a glass see-through door. A reddish-brown tabby cat with a dominant brown patch on its backside stared back. The fur on my dorsal area was raised, presumably in fear. Sticking out near its, ahem, my left ear was that same annoying stand of hair that always managed to stick up in a rounded curl. Fuck, that cat really was me.

I meowed with defeat and plopped down to sit on my hind legs. Okay, maybe if I just think back to what happened last night I could figure out what had caused all of this. As you can see, I'm still having a difficult time acknowledging the fact that I'm a motherfucking cat!

I flicked my tail back and forth in both agitation and contemplation. The swinging motion must have triggered something in me because a fragment of a memory quickly came to mind. I saw the brief flicking of a pale wrist, followed by a bright green light, and then…blackness.

I sat there for a whole two minutes. It was all the time that I really needed before the events of last night hit my small and now feline body like a freight train loaded with the heavy weight of my own desperately pathetic stupidity.

I last remember talking to England before I blacked out. I remember him sobbing to me about how France never noticed him (as to why he wanted to be noticed by that baguette butt-muncher, I'll never understand), and us bonding over the fact that we were constantly snubbed by our 'crushes.' Next thing I know, England was drawing a casting circle with red wine on the grimy bar counter.

Apparently, the spell he casted was supposed to turn me into something so cute that Spain couldn't possibly resist me. The fault in that logic had now come to bite me right in my furry ass. And, well, here I am now, a disgruntled, hungover cat scratching at the back door of my old charge's house.

Let me just pause this story to say: FUCK MY LIFE.

*Deep breath and resume*

It wasn't long before a sleepy-looking Spain, adorned in a baggy green long-sleeved shirt and tomato print boxers, trudged over to see what was making such a racket in his backyard. The Spaniard's brown curls were messily sticking up in all directions. If I actually had the courage, let alone a hand to do so, I would have raked my fingers through it. Keh, that bastard always took care of himself so poorly. Heck, if I didn't scold him for not brushing his hair, he probably wouldn't have even bothered to tame it in the first place.

Green eyes widened with delighted surprise when they latched their sights onto a grumpy-looking, mewling cat. "Oh! How cute~!"

My ears perked with a new-found sensitivity. Jesus fucking Christ! He didn't have to shout so loud! I was right fucking in front of him!

Spain, the bastard, pulled open the glass sliding door. I sat there and meowed pathetically. There was no point screaming if I would just end up sounding like a weasel on crack. The last thing that I needed right now was for him to call animal control on me.

Spain bent down and held out a tanned hand for me to sniff. I considered biting it just to spite him, but in the end, I relented and gave it a quick whiff. The familiar scent of tomatoes, with a hint of garlic, clove, and dumbass wafted through my slitted nostrils.

I jolted when Spain ran a hand along my back, reaching out to gently grab my tail. I hissed, causing the bastard to chuckle and recede his hand. "You're a touchy little guy, aren't you?"

I blinked at the bastard real hard.

"Um, okay, I'm going to take that as a yes."

If a cat could smirk, I most certainly did.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

I let out an indifferent meow, the human equivalent to a shrug. It was only a matter of time before the spell wore off, right? All I had to do now was get into that bastard's house and wait for the magic to unfold; literally. Whether I liked it or not, I would just have to play nice for the time being.

"You know," Spain smiled, running his hand behind my ear to scratch it. I inadvertently leaned into his touch. It felt good, too good. Dio, this was way too fucking weird for me to wrap my tail around. "I don't think that I've ever seen a real life grumpy cat before. What's the frown for? Did you get a chica pregnant?"

I shook my head.

"So you're a bachelor kitty then, eh?"

I nodded my head.

"Wow! You're really smart for a cat!"

I rolled my eyes and growled under my breath when Spain stopped scratching my ear. The growling halted when he resumed scratching. I huffed and puffed and suppressed the urge to lick my hind leg.

PURRRRRRR.

What the fuck was that?! Did my throat just vibrate?! Chigi!... Did I just purr?!

"You like that, huh?"

Hot fucking damn, did his hands ever feel good!

PURRRRRR.

Before I knew it, I was lying on my back, rendered completely helpless to the Spaniard's bastardly magic touch. Apparently, I was also a slut for a good belly rub.

"Fusoso! You're not so tough after all, huh? You remind me of someone very dear to me. He always frowns and pretends to be angry, but deep down he's actually really sweet and quite caring. I can definitely see you two getting along."

Spain's words fell on deaf ears.

I was too busy purring up a storm.

The purring stopped when Spain receded his hand once more. I whined low in my throat. What was even dignity anymore? Shit, this really was an all time low for me. I don't even want to think about how I'm going to explain this all to him when I change back. A horrifying thought then struck my mind: What if I'm unable to change back?! What if I'm stuck eating tuna and throwing up kitty pubic hairs for the rest of my shitty life?!

Spain tutted at me with a patronizing look on his dopey face. "Aw, don't be like that! How about I get you something to eat now?"

Spain's ginormous figure hovered over me, and without much say in the matter, I was subsequently picked up and slung over his shoulder.

I pouted inwardly.

How sad is it that this is the closest I've ever gotten to him?

The glass door slammed shut, and with that, my chances for escape were diminished entirely.

There was no going back now.

….

I was curled up on top of Spain's lap as he sat on the living room couch, absently flicking through different sports channels with a remote.

Feeding time was a bust. I had absolutely refused to eat those tiny brown pebbles of shit that he typically fed his own cat with, who by the way, was currently running amok in the streets. Obviously, Spain trusted his cat a lot to let him roam free like that.

Just when I was about to doze off, Spain's cellphone began to ring. "Hola~!" Spain chirped, answering the call on the second ring.

I perked my ears to listen in on the conversation.

"England?! No, no. I'm just surprised. That's all."

"Oh? How did you know that?"

A sat up on my hind legs and pawed Spain in the chest. "Meow."

Translation: What the fuck is that pompous 'fish n shit' bastard saying?!

The Spaniard patted my head and placed a finger over his lips. "Shhhhh."

"Si, I just found him on my back porch."

"Que? You want to have a kitty play date? Isn't that kind of random?"

I facepawmed. None of this conversation made any sense.

"Um, sure I guess. When will you get here?"

"Tomorrow?!"

"No, no. I'll be ready."

"Okay, see you then…I guess?"

"I won't forget, I promise! Ay! Just because I'm in debt and sometimes pretend to forget about it doesn't mean that I have memory problems!"

A bitter, gravelly voice could be heard on the other end of the phone.

"Mmmhmmm, yeah." Spain didn't sound very interested. "….Adios!"

Spain hung up the phone and sighed. "Egotistical puta," he darkly muttered under his breath.

I headbutted Spain's chest, something that I always used to do when I was tubby little chibi fuck.

"Heh, look at you, trying to cheer me up! I don't know why, but this guy I know, his name is England by the way, he's a country, but then again you're a cat so you probably won't even understand what I'm saying right now…eheheh…" Spain scratched his head, looking at a complete loss for words.

"Er, what was I saying again?"

Oh, for the love of fuck. I waited until Spain used what little brain cells he had to remember where he had so dumbly left off.

"Oh, that's right! Basically, my friend…" Spain paused to correct himself, which was far from necessary considering the fact that I was still a cat in his eyes. Tch, that dumbass.

"…Er… 'acquaintance' wants to see you for himself. I don't know how or why, but somehow he knows about you. He has what'd you'd call a sixth sense. It's best not to question him when he gets all worked up like this. Last time Prussia did that, he had several burnt scones shoved down his throat."

Spain and I both shuddered at the thought of England's scones. I didn't even like Prussia, and yet, I still felt sorry for that obnoxious albino dipshit upon hearing that.

"Heh! Did you just cringe? How adorable~!"

My eyes bulged out as Spain pulled me into a rib-crushing hug. I mean, I wanted to be close to him. But not fucking part of him, damnit!

Let. Go. You. Stupid. Jerk. Bastard. I. Can't. Fucking. Breathe.

I blacked out not long after that.

Spain cooed and continued to pet my now unconscious furry form, wrongly assuming that I had spontaneously decided to take a nap.

"Sleep tight, mi furry amigo!"

I'll repeat myself again: THAT DUMBASS.

To be Continued...