"Parents sucked," Chat decided as he hurried through the streets of Paris with his fur soaked to his skin. "Always bossing you around, forcing you to do homework… turning you into a cat."

AU: Kind of based on this prompt here: post/182899827109/a-demon-banished-to-the-human-world-is-mistaken

To explain it simply: Chat is a demon. His father is a demon. As for his mother… well that's up to your imagination.

IN ALL HONESTY he should've seen this coming a mile away. Really should have. Hawkmoth was usually the type of person to punish others majorly for even the tiniest of misgivings about whether or not his followers were going to be loyal. Now Chat Noir was no follower — or Akuma — by any means. No, a follower he was not. He was his son.

And apparently that was all the more reason to punish him.

"You don't wish to act like a real demon then, son?" His father had spat at him, the way he'd said 'son' sounding like a curse too vile and poisonous to sit on even Hawkmoth's tongue for too long. "Fine then. You don't have to be."

It wasn't as nearly as nice as it sounded. He was hardly ever one to be compassionate.

Sure enough, as he'd been told, he wasn't a demon anymore.

He was a cat.

Laughable really considering his preferred form took the likeness from that of a cat. Perhaps that's why his father chose this form for him. A mere cat. A ball of black fur that any cat enthusiast may have pointed at and said "well isn't he adorable." He shivered at the thought of it. He was a demon! A god forsaken demon (despite what his father would tell you.) One shouldn't describe him to be 'cute'.

Alas, cute he was.

Cats, this exile was going to be a nightmare. Chat could only hope it would be temporary.

He lifted up a paw, greasy from the pile of filth he'd found himself dumped in when he'd entered the mortal world. He wrinkled his button nose at the stench, mind briefly wondering where a cat could get a bubble bath around here. Or maybe a hot shower. Though, he firmly doubted that anyone would be pleased to find a cat in a shower cap hiding out in their bathroom.

He clambered forward, swaying slightly from his position on the fence. It wasn't high up by any means, but excuse him if he wasn't exactly used to walking on four legs. Thinking back, he hardly walked at all. He was a demon. Floating around was his prefered mode of transport.

The fence creaked and groaned a bit but miraculously he somehow managed to keep his footing all the way to the end where he leapt off into a garden. It wasn't anything special, really. Just a large expanse of green presumably for people to walk their dog on or for children to run around and play. But Chat couldn't help but blink at it all, knowing fully well that Hell didn't have places such as this. His home was, well, a hellscape. This — now this was beautiful.

It was one of many of the things he loved about the surface land.

(Not that he'd ever admit this out loud. Nope, you dear reader are probably going to be one of the few to hear this. Tell anyone else… and Chat would firmly deny it. Oh, and curse you with a lifetime's supply of bad luck when he became a demon again. What can he say — it's simply what he does.)

He paused, momentarily, paw hovering just a smidge above the ground as he debated whether or not he should sink it into the cushion-like grass much like how one stares at snow and wishes not to ruin it with their footprint.

A foot spared him the decision. More accurately, a foot to his side.

He let out an undignified yelp followed by a hiss as he flew through the air, landing for the second time today in a heap. Really now, he thought cats landed on their feet.

"Dumb cats," The voice seemed to be coming from the left of him, no doubt belonging to whoever had had the audacity to kick him. Ah, if only he were still a demon. They'd have just earned themselves the plague (and not by accident this time. He really wished people would stop blaming him for the last outbreak. He had allergies, okay! Was it really his fault if he sneezed out the plague after someone had decided to prank him by leaving feathers in his territory?)

He winced in pain as he picked himself up off the floor, though he still kept his head held high, making sure to glare in the direction of his attacker. Could cats even glare? He was ashamed to admit that he'd never even thought to check.

Chat Noir was a little disappointed to find that whilst his head had been thrumming with the pain of being whacked against the wall, they'd already left. No doubt to go home and laugh about how they had harassed a cat to their friends. Or just forget about this whole thing entirely. Shame, he'd have liked to scratch some decency into them.

From there, things didn't exactly get any better. Chat found himself hurrying along the streets, moving with the fluidity and grace of a cat which he supposed he now was. If you asked him what he was looking for… he wouldn't have had an answer. Some food maybe? A—

He recoiled at the impact of droplet of something cool but icky and gross and so, so wrong get it off get it off—

Rain.

Cats, it was rain.

Ironic considering how he'd longed for a shower earlier, but once again he really shouldn't have been surprised? He was the embodiment of bad luck, chaos and destruction, was he not?

Of course he'd be stuck in the rain. And by the looks of things, the way the clouds had clustered together in grey clumps, the sound of distant rumbling as if the angels up above had decided to start a tap dancing contest (he wasn't kidding, they'd actually done this before)... it was a storm.

And it held no sign of letting up any time soon.

He shivered, a mixture of the forceful winds that whipped at his fur and the angry pelts of rain that just got into all of the wrong places make it stop make it stop—

GAH!

He swerved his body, just in time to avoid being trampled on by yet another foot (lately proving to be his arch nemesis) of some man in a trenchcoat and holding up an umbrella as dark as his own fur. He'd emerged by some busy street, many citizens bustling, each in a hurry to get out of the rain.

Something he should probably do… if only…

His nose twitched, the scent of sweet, buttery pastry overwhelming him and and leaving his stomach grumbling. A small, pink tongue poked its way out of his mouth as he instinctively licked around where his lips would have been. Instead, he tasted only the fur that made up his face.

He ignored the unwelcoming taste of grimey fur in favour of slipping in unnoticed through the bakery door just as some customer opened it. True to the marvellous smell, the pastries looked simply divine. Croissants golden brown, baguettes which looked to house the softest bread you could ever taste. Chat Noir was left, understandably, in awe.

This feeling of hunger was new to him as (needless to say) a demon didn't have to eat. Sure, he had eaten in the past. Food was too delicious to pass up. But he didn't need it to sustain himself. That was what souls were for.

Hmmm… if only he could get into that glass casing…

As he eyed the treats, he felt the pinprick of his fur stand up on end. Almost as if someone was watching him…

He looked up to his other side and almost jumped up in surprise. Two eyes of the most purest blue he'd ever seen glared down at him. They belonged to a girl of fourteen or fifthteen at most, with raven black hair pulled back into twin pigtails at either side of her head. Everything about her appeared completely normal, and yet there was something about her that—

"Just what do you think you're doing there, kitty?"

Not really happy with how I ended it? But it's high time I posted something.