This has been inspired by @Greta_Gaul_Wood, who came up with the lovely idea. This one's for you, Greta.
-Some information has been made up.

Cats

He lay his bag on the shag carpet as he worked the key to his door. He'd been to this hotel in the past and knew just how finicky everything was. Didn't bother him; he was in no hurry. Being the bassist for AC/DC, one might think otherwise.

Stepping into his room, Cliff tossed his bag to the side with the notion of, 'I'll pick it up later.' The trip from Carson City was rough; a real highway to hell as Bon would call it. The heat was pressurized, the traffic was frustrating, and the two boyish founders of the band complaining only made matters worse. A single second to sit down was all he could ask for, even if it meant being a bit messy.

The man took a good look around the room once he was settled on the couch. Try hard works of art covered the walls, each of them portraying the same message: What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. A nice crack ran through the front door like a canyon that Paul McCartney himself couldn't fill, and the ceiling fan above him swung loosely. The sweat on his arms tempted him to turn it on, but the volume of the squeaking was enough to leave it alone.

The couch he was sitting on was torn and stained, springs announcing their visability by sight or unfortunate seating. Cliff didn't seem to care as he reclined the length of it, pure exhaustion the cover of his apathy. Rehearsal was in a few hours, the man could stand a good chunk of it sleeping.

Rehearsal wasn't the highlight of anybody's day. Though it paved the concrete path for the real show later, which couldn't be met with success if rehearsal was skipped. The band was on a rough edge with that lately. They had been getting careless, letting their talent take over their performance instead of practice. When one note was mistakenly played for another, all of them would stumble; like the whole tower collapsing when the bottom is chipped. Malcolm made sure nothing like that happened again.

The bassist also remembered from his last visit here how lonely it was. The hotel was built where the casinos and restaurants weren't. Tourists for the city wouldn't dream of staying there, but a band stopping for a concert might change their mind. The night was quiet aside from the distant ambiance. A poor engine would drive by, make a u-turn and drive by again. The roads were full of circles and dead ends. Cliff didn't mind the quiet. It was different than his usual day of rowdy mates and screaming crowds. A good different.

His eyes opened to a small sound in the back of the hotel room. Quickly he glanced at the clock to see he had almost dozed off; a minute had passed. He supposed he was more tired than he thought. A second attempt had been interrupted as well, and a third was pointless as the sound grew more constant. Dragging himself off the couch, he made his way to the kitchen for a long glass of water. His hand grasped the cup from the cupboard when the noise resounded behind him, resulting in broken shards on the floor. "What on earth..." he muttered glancing around him. As he bent over to pick up the pieces (an idea he would soon regret), an eerie scraping sound emitted behind a door on the far wall. The glass pieces were stained red as the bassist cut himself, not paying attention to his activities and instead cringing from the scratching. He didn't remember this hotel being haunted, but perhaps his bad luck got the best of him.

The cut needed a bit of medical attention, or at least some tap water from a bathroom faucet. Unfortunately for Cliff, the bathroom was the room where the scratching came from. Facing the unknown cause of his confusion and slight terror was not how he wanted to die, but neither was bleeding everywhere, so he took his chances with the noise. Slowly and quietly, the door was opened. Nothing popped out at him, and a couple glances around the room assured him that he was overreacting.

Once a Band-aid was wrapped around his finger he made his way to exit when the noise echoed behind him. Turning around, he saw nothing. The sound seemed to be coming from one place he never expected a monster to hide in. With a careful hand, he opened the lid of the toilet and braced himself. There in the bowl, soaking wet and shivering, was a tiny kitten, no bigger than a baseball. "Oh shit," he muttered to himself. The kitten mewed again, seeming almost insulted by his choice of language. "Well, you're not shit, but-" Cliff didn't finish. He looked around for anything he could use to pick the innocent creature up with. A towel under the sink would work, but there was only two, and those would be used for his hair and person.

Cliff took a look at his hands. The same hands that would be playing bass in front of thousands that night. Each second he stared at them, the less appealing the idea was. But if he had nothing else... And the poor kitten was shivering so bad he was simply asking for empathy. Cliff couldn't give him any as he had no experience being trapped in a toilet but the least he could do was lend a hand.

Slowly and carefully the kitten was pulled from the water and held at a distance. Toilet water dripped all over the floor and Cliff made the uneasy sacrifice of using one of his towels to dry him off. Once settled in the bathroom sink, Cliff took a look at him. He was fluffy with swirls of pattern. A predominant ivory coated his underside while a black and brown topped his back. Two downcast green eyes blinked at the man. The man blinked back at him. He couldn't deny the cat's cuteness. But a critter like him didn't belong in a hotel room or on a tour with a famous band. Besides. Phil was allergic to cats and would never allow such an inconvenience to bunk with him.

Cliff sighed. A critter like him also didn't deserve to live a life of struggle on the streets. After all, the poor thing had just been taken out of a toilet! Making sure the towel was secure around the kitten's body, he took him into his arms and brought him to the kitchen sink where there was more room to clean him up. He just had to make sure he wouldn't cook anything there for a while. "Alright, little man. Let's clean you of piss water then, huh?" The kitten mewed in response.

With some dish soap under the sink, Cliff poured some on his hands and massaged the kitten. A look of relaxation came on the kitten's face as he was pampered. The soap went deep in his fur and clumps of it came out when he was rinsed off. "You are a gross little thing, aren't you? But I guess you can't help it. Ah ah ah-no don't climb out yet, you're not done." One more rinse and the kitten was again wrapped in the towel. "There you are, all clean now. Don't worry about paying me back," Cliff laughed.

"Mew."

"Hungry little fella?"

"Mew."

"Okay, let's see." The bassist went to the pantry for any suitable kitten food. The shelves were lacking anything fresh for human or animal. "You uh, want some cereal?" Cliff shook the box. "Cornflakes." The kitten only stared at him. "Alright, I guess not. That's more Angus' thing anyway," he said placing the box back. The fridge was searched next. "Well we have water. That's a start." A bowl of water was placed in front of the kitten and he sniffed it with curiosity. The man observed silently as a paw was dipped in, then a nose, then a tongue. Cliff smiled and turned to search for a meal to go with it right as a splash sent water in every direction. Cliff laughed when he saw two dangling back paws poking out of the bowl. "Hey now, calm down son. I just got ya' dried off!"

After removing the kitten, he closed the refrigerator door in annoyance. He had never been in charge of an animal before except when he took care of Bon when he came back from a night of drinking. Upon further examination there wasn't much difference between the two. Both were poor of mobility, and fluffy as hell. But the kitten was cuter, Cliff decided. In a last attempt to fill the kitty's stomach, he checked his suitcase. "Don't suppose you want a glass of wine, do ya'?" he chuckled. Containers of food were pushed aside in search of something-anything at this point.

"Mew!"

"I'm lookin', I'm lookin'... ah, here we go." On the plane ride to Nevada, the boys were given cans of sardines as a joke to "fish for women". They were thrown out as soon as they got the chance, but Cliff forgot to toss his. Good thing too. "Here you go, little man." Happily the kitten gobbled down his dinner. The minutes ticked by with Cliff happily watching his new friend enjoy his meal. Finally the man looked at his watch and cursed, accidently scaring the kitten. "Sorry buddy, it's already time!"

With shoes tied and bass in hands, Cliff reached for the doorknob and stopped when he heard the mew. Taking the kitten to rehearsal was frowned upon, but leaving him here was neglectful. With a sigh, he glanced around the room.

"Oi, Bon! Plug that in, will ya'?" Malcolm asked.

"Where should I plug it in to?"

"The fuckin' amp, mate, Christ don't give me that look!" Malcolm laughed as Bon made his way to plugging the cord in. The band was on stage making sure their instruments worked for the show. Angus scoped the stage, observing where he could and couldn't walk, and where he would just plain fall. Phil twirled a drum stick in one hand while playing a steady beat with the other. Cliff came running up just in the nick of time.

"Hey Mal, I made it."

"Good. Hook up your bass, we'll get play-" Malcolm stopped short. Turning around, he wasn't expecting his band mate to show up wearing a fanny pack around his waist. The shorter man cocked his head. "Uh, Williams?"

"Yeah."

"What uh...what's that?" Malcolm pointed at the bag and Cliff looked down at it. During his rush he grabbed the first thing laying around that could conceal a kitten. Which happened to be a spare fanny pack abandoned in the closet. Phil raised his head to see better which made Cliff nervous. If he found the kitten, it'd be the end of his stay. The bassist cleared his throat.

"Well- Angus wears a bag onstage, I thought maybe I'd wear one too."

"He wears a school bag with his school uniform. What on earth do you want a fanny pack for?"

"Well uh, I thought-"

"Hey Clifford! What's with the crotch purse?" Phil asked walking up to him. An amused look spread his face as he looked up at the worried one. "Don't tell me you've taken up a likin' of the sort."

"Of course not!" the bassist replied firmly. "It's not-"

"Then why d'ya' have one then, huh? Makin' a fashion statement, are you?" Cliff pushed Phil's hand away as he reached for it.

"Hands off, Rudd!"

"'Ey, quit playin' girls, we gotta practice. Phil mate, quit laughing at his crotch," Malcolm said trying with all his might not to laugh. Cliff begrudgingly plugged his bass in as Phil snickered his way to his drum set. Malcolm glanced around for his brother to see him sizing up the rafters he would eventually scale. "Ang! Get yer arse over here!" Angus shook his head and headed over.

"It's too damn high Mal. One wrong step and I'm butter on toast!"

"I'll call and have the stage hemmed up Ang, now on your side." Once everyone was in their spots, each of them would play a bit while nearby roadies made sure they sounded okay from different points in the stadium. During Bon's mic check, Cliff felt a struggle down south. The kitten seemed to be getting stuffy in the cramped space and demanded to be out. Cliff attempted to hide his discomfort but Phil had already seen.

"Hey Elvis! What the hell are you doin'?"

"Nothin'!" The drummer stood up and walked down to meet him. The opportunity to pick on his mates was just too tempting.

"Didn't look like nothin'." The two men got in an argument not two seconds later which annoyed Malcolm to no uncertain terms. He turned to face them.

"Would you two knock it off? No sense roughin' it out over there when we got things to get to. More important things!" His voice reached them in an echo and they backed away from the other.

"You heard him, back to your spot," Cliff said quickly. Phil gave him a suspicious glare and turned to leave.

"Mew!" Phil stopped in his spot. He looked back at the bassist with a wary frown.

"Did your dick just meow at me?"

Pssh, no," he dismissed.

"Mew!"

Malcolm got sick of watching the two get after each other. It happened on more than one occasion, and a harmony between them was a diamond among rocks. But that wouldn't stop the guitarist from trying. "Fellas? When I say knock it off, what part don't your thick heads get reception for?"

"Cliff's meowing at me with his dick!" Phil pointed at the taller man.

"Cliff, stop meowing at him. Can we get back to work now, please?" Phil looked quizzically at Malcolm at his lack of shock from the statement. Had he seen stranger things than this? But the drummer wasn't gonna let it go so fast. He stared the bassist down and Cliff swallowed in response.

"What's in the purse, Cliff?" No response. Malcolm sighed.

"Come on, Phil we can't just-"

"What's. In. The purse?" With a shaky hand, he removed it from the neck of the bass and down to the bag to pull out the tiniest kitten they'd ever laid eyes on. Phil stepped back a bit knowing what would happen if he got too close. Malcolm on the other hand, became a changed man.

"My God Cliff, how long were you gonna hide him from me?" he asked as he took him and snuggled him. Cliff smiled and looked at Phil, rubbing the reaction in.

"Well, I wasn't sure. But Ruddy here convinced me to bring him out. You like him?" The kitten purred as Malcolm kissed his head.

"Of course I do. Where'd you get him?"

"From my toilet." Malcolm's face dropped as well as the kitten. Cliff immediately picked it up, made sure it wasn't hurt, and scolded the shorter man. "What the hell you doin'?"

"You got him out of your fuckin' toilet?" Malcolm asked. The commotion brought over Angus and Bon who had been watching the fighting and betting on who would win. Malcolm turned and wiped his hands on his brother's shirt, much to Angus' distaste.

"Calm yourself Young, I washed him before I took him here."

"You washed him yourself?" Phil asked. Cliff nodded. "Oh yeah, he's completely clean now," he added with sarcasm. "You can't keep that thing here while we're practicin'. You know what happens if I touch him."

"I couldn't leave him alone Phil, you know that."

"Why was he in your fuckin' toilet in the first place?" Malcolm asked. Cliff shrugged.

"Dunno, just found him there. Cleaned him, fed him, time to go so I took him. You all understand, right?" Angus reached out to pet the kitten. It backed up a little remembering the last time he was loved, but soon gave in to his touch. Bon rubbed his paw for a moment, then looked at the current owner.

"What's his name, then?"

"How 'bout Mitchell? Ya' know, after me?"

"What about after me?" Angus asked, wanting to oppose his brother. Malcolm frowned.

"You want to name him McKinnon?" he asked with an air of disbelief. His younger brother shrugged.

"It sounds nice."

"How 'bout 'Never Gonna Happen So Take Him Away'?" Phil asked with a sigh.

"It sounds like an old cat's name, not a tiny kitten," Malcolm replied ignoring the drummer. Angus pointed a finger at Malcolm.

"Sounds better than Mitchell, that's too human." The boys argued about what to name it so fervently that Angus thought Cliff was still holding it, and Cliff had thought Angus had taken it. All of them started going at each other attracting the attention of the roadies. But none of them saw the tiny kitten scamper down the stage to the rafters. And none of them saw him climb the rafters like a monkey and certainly no one saw him walk along the beam above the stage. He stopped in front of a light which cast his shadow on the opposite wall. A huge grey kitten was projected behind the band which caught Phil's attention.

"Holy shit! Cliff, your cat..." The group followed Phil's point and trailed the path where the kitten had gone to. There he was on the highest rafter mewing with utter horror.

"Mew!"

"Fuck, how'd he get up there?" Cliff asked, his voice rising with panic. Phil snickered at his motherly attitude. He couldn't resist the incoming joke.

"I don't know Williams, why don't you head up there an' ask him?" Cliff shot him a look.

"How do we get him down?" Angus, who had been dreading to climb up them for the show, backed away hoping no one would put two and two together. But Malcolm knew in an instant.

"Ang! You can get him." The youngest boy shook his head. "Come on, you're the best climber out of us."

"Get one of the roadies to do it, isn't that their job?"

"I don't think this was included in their contract, Angie," Bon smiled. Angus crossed his arms and shook his head.

"Nope. Not happenin'."

"Please Ang? I can't bear to have him fall," Cliff pleaded. Angus widened his eyes.

"What about when I fall?!"

"You won't. Now help a mate out," Malcolm said. Angus looked at Cliff who looked legitimately worried for his pet. Angus couldn't help but feel sympathy, and decided to comply.

"Fine. But you're gonna have a hard time findin' a new guitarist in time for the show," he said as he walked to the pole.

"It's Vegas Ang, we can find anybody," Malcolm laughed. Angus climbed up the beams as far as he could go without throwing up. The world below him swayed back and forth and he reminded himself not to look down at least a thousand times. He reached the beam where the kitten was sitting and called him over. Being the cat that he was, he ignored him and walked further away.

"Damn thing, come here!" Angus whispered. He slowly inched his way to the other end of the beam, continuing to call the kitten over. Eventually he got close enough to grab it, but taking the cat in one hand means you only have one left to balance on. The world was spinning twice as fast, and the french fries he had for lunch that afternoon were threatening to fall.

"You got him, Ang?" Malcolm's voice barely reached him. Angus began to see stars, even while looking down below him, where he would end up one way or another. The idea of injury or possible death leading to a promising career cut short didn't sit well with him, so with all his careful might, he inched his way backwards on the exceptionally attenuated wooden beam. A slip here and there sent his life flashing, but only for a moment; he caught himself every time.

On the stage where it was safe, Cliff was wringing his hands like a mother goose whose egg was rolling down a hill; a hill filled with rocks and holes. Anything could go wrong and with his luck, would go wrong. Even after knowing him for an hour or so he had grown soft toward the kitten. His heart would be crushed if anything should happen to it.

Oh, and Angus too.

Minute by nerve wracking minute, the guitarist scooted off the beam and onto the crossbeams which carried them both up there in the first place. Closer and closer came the ground, which came in a much better fashion than Angus had feared. Finally-finally his feet touched the floor and his breath was released. The band came running over and the kitten immediately taken from his shaky hand. "You alright?" Malcolm asked. Angus shook his head which earned him a pat on the back. "You did good, Ang. A damn good job." Angus only wheezed.

"Thank God you're okay," Cliff whispered to his feline friend. Malcolm cleared his throat and jerked his head to the more dead than alive schoolboy, and Cliff grabbed him in for a hug. "Aw, come here, kid." The sound of the creaking wood was still ringing in Angus' ears, and he held his breath again so he wouldn't release anything he shouldn't on the bassist. Luckily for both of them, he didn't.

Phil had stood back the whole time the two were coddled. He didn't want to stare at that clump of allergenic fur Cliff was holding, but Angus wasn't a pretty sight to look at either so he was almost forced to. It could have been his imagination, but the kitten seemed to be looking at him; full of malicious intent. Wait till they're gone, and roll all over his bed... the kitten appeared to be thinking. Just you wait...

The drummer shook his head of the thought and weaved his way through the group. "Alright, alright, everyone's all safe an' sound now, so you can take your pet back to the sewer or wherever you found him, eh Cliff?"

"What are you talking about?" Cliff asked almost mortified. Surely Phil wasn't that nasty with a living being. At least, not outside of a bedroom. "No way in hell am I throwing a poor, defenseless creature out to the sewers like a monster!"

"And no way in hell am I allowing that thing," Phil pointed at the kitten. "to come with us on the tour. If I get one whiff of it I'm as good as dead. Don't you care Cliff? Don't you care that I might die?" Cliff tried to answer him but couldn't get a word out. "You send a boy up to save its life and barely even thank him when he comes back down? Look at him back there." The bassist turned around to see Angus lying on the floor, while Malcolm fanned him. Bon had to help hold his head up so he might regain some form of consciousness. Cliff turned back to see Phil, his lips in a thin line. "Bet ya' didn't even notice."

"Look, I see where you're scratchin' at, I get it. I don't want anything bad to happen to ya'." He snuggled the kitten tighter. "But I can't let him die either." Phil scoffed. "Look, whaddya want me to do? Flush him down the toilet again?" The drummer considered this leaving Cliff in a dilemma. "Mal, what should I do?"

Malcolm stood up leaving Bon on his own. Angus' limp arm dropped to the floor and the singer picked it up to check for a pulse. "What do you mean?" He turned around to see Bon give him the thumbs up then turned back. "With the kitten?"

"Phil wants me to kill it."

"I never said kill, Williams, there's a lot of ways to get rid of a cat without killing it," Phil called walking over. "Use your imagination."

"You son of a-"

"Alright then, knock it off will ya'?" Malcolm intervened before a fight ensued. It wouldn't be the first one either, and surely wouldn't be the last. "Both of ya' actin' like kids, then. Phil's right now, we can't keep a kitten on tour with us even if he wasn't allergic already."

"But we ain't gonna kill it."

"That's right, Cliff. Phil? Don't touch this cat," Malcolm warned. Phil raised his hands up.

"No problem," he muttered. Malcolm turned back to Cliff. The latter had a glint in his eye, one that worried for someone's well-being. The thought of a cruel owner or shelter would weigh heavy on his heart and conscience. Malcolm wouldn't allow that.

"What do we do?"

"Well-first we have to get Angus back in his right mind, then we have to find this little guy a new and safe home," Malcolm said shaking the kitten's paw. "One that isn't a toilet."

"There's three hours till the concert Mal," Phil reminded him. "How are we gonna find a safe home in Vegas?" Malcolm shrugged with a smile.

"Guess we'll use our imagination. How's Ang over there?" he called to Bon. The singer fanned Angus' face a little more, before slapping him hard. Two blue and dreary eyes opened to see four other pairs looking down at him. His hand reached up to comfort the delayed sting of his cheek and Bon laughed.

"He's alright now."

"Good. Hey, ready to find Mister Kitty here a new home?" Malcolm asked. Bon gripped Angus' shoulders and stood him up from the floor. The guitarist still looked a little green, but better than the ghost he was a few minutes ago.

"Now?" Malcolm nodded. "Uh, sure. But Angus over here might need some help walking, Vegas is a big town."

"Oh, he'll get over it," his brother muttered. His attention turned back to Cliff. "So. You ready then?" Cliff glanced down at the treasure in his hands.

"You promise he'll be safe?"

"Cross m'heart." The bassist nodded in agreement and the band started out for the town.

"Hey Cliff!" Cliff turned around. "What's his name?" Bon asked. Numerous possibilities swarmed though his mind but only one stuck out. He turned to the singer with a smile.

"His name is Maximus."

To be continued...