He couldn't have known what it felt like to hear those terms of endearment.

He couldn't grasp the pain that the feline felt when Francis brought another man or woman home, or why Arthur insisted on scaring away Francis's many bed partners.

Francis never seemed particularly hurt by it; he would always chuckle and say, "My fiery, little, British cat."

He must of believed that Arthur hated everyone when he only hated the ones that tried to take his Frenchman away.

He didn't know why Arthur insisted on sneaking in to his bed, but he would pet him anyway.

Arthur would relunctantly start to relax and purr.

Francis was a comfortable bed anyway, so why shouldn't he enjoy it?

Arthur doubted that he could ever tell his human how he felt about him.

How could he when he was sure that he couldn't understand how a cat could feel this way about a human?

Arthur crept towards Francis on the bed; Francis was crying.

Arthur crawled on to his lap, and nudged Francis's stomach.

Francis finally held the small cat close, and petted him.

Arthur hated to see his owner cry; it looked wrong on his face as he was supposed to have that gentle smile that he only wore around the people that he cared about which did include his cat, Arthur.

Francis did not say much in that moment or directly after it, but Arthur could tell that Francis was grateful for the comfort.

Upon some exploring after Francis left for work, Arthur discovered the reason behind his master's sorrow.

The newspaper announced that a local fire had killed Jean; she and Francis had been going out for months no matter what Arthur had done.

He couldn't help but think, 'What if I had died?'

He was determined to never leave Francis's side except when he left to go to the store or work, because they never let Arthur no matter how much he begged.

Time moved on, and Arthur could not figure out why Francis hadn't dated in a while.

Did Jean leave him broken up when she died?

It was impossible for Arthur to tell.

Arthur was also getting much older in cat years.

Arthur was nervous; it was now or never.

He paced back and forth; his fluffy tail swaying behind him in his agitation.

Francis was watching him curiously from where he sat on the couch.

Arthur stopped, and focused on the spell.

He trembled as his body grew and changed.

A thin, short, young man appeared in his place.

Francis gasped.

"Hello Francis." It felt odd for Arthur to speak the way that humans did.

"What happened to my cat?" Francis asked Arthur.

"I am him, and I love you." The last part had been said hesitantly.

"You love me?" Francis seemed to be trying to come to terms with and understand his former feline.

"I love you like you loved Jean." Arthur answered him.

Pain flashed in Francis's eyes yet again, "Do you have a name?"

"It is Arthur." Arthur's eyes held the mischievious sparkle of a cat's.

"Mon dieu! Arthur is human and in love with moi." Francis muttered, letting some French slip through.

Arthur's cat like hearing allowed him to catch that, "Of course I love you, you bloody moron! You were always telling me nice things which I had never heard before!"

"It was platonic; are cats always this stupid?" Francis argued back.

Arthur stormed off, and locked himself in Francis's room.

It had taken a long time for Francis to fall for Arthur after his transformation, but he eventually did.