A/N: And onward we heedlessly plow. Just in case you're wondering, the reason I decided to use a kitten is because Erik, especially Kay Erik, has a deep affection for animals. The kitten is female because, first, I wanted to make Christine jokes, and second, because Erik (mostly Kay Erik) feels that females are especially vulnerable. He has a special place in his heart for vulnerable, innocent creatures. Thus, I have created a character that has an immense amount of leeway as far as annoying Erik. She could probably get away with nearly anything. :)

I'm afraid I'm deviating a lot from Erik's character. I'll try to stop doing this but because this is a humor fiction, even a parody of Erik, I'll have to make him a little silly. It would be no fun if he were rational the entire time. :)

Thanks to all of my reviewers out there. I honestly didn't think anyone would like this fic so much. Erik inspired the birth. You guys continue the growth.

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Christine had begun to hunt. While this led to a significant decrease in the amount of small furry things making their homes in Erik's lair, it also inevitably led to small furry things making their graves in rather unexpected places. Like his coffin, for instance. Erik found he rather preferred them alive and under his coffin instead of dead and sleeping with him.

He'd had multiple one-sided conversations with the little creature that begun something like, "Christine, dearest, you flatter me so, but…"
Only to trail off in a sort of despairing adoration as she turned her huge empty eyes at him and the ridiculousness of the situation overwhelmed him. It was like talking to, well, he wasn't sure. Something charming but with ignorance to such shocking depths that it practically shone out of those big beautiful eyes.
"Rather like a certain tragically obtuse Vicomte. Though you are by far much more aesthetically pleasing," he paused. "Well, to me at least." The Phantom concluded sadly. Christine gave him a kitty-kiss on his hand.

As time went on, however, Erik's rock solid fortitude began to develop tiny fissures. The day he reached for a bar of soap and brought it to his face only to realize that soap shouldn't stare with two beady eyes was the day the wall of rock finally came tumbling down. It began, almost like a scale, with a soft growl in the back of his throat that steadily crescendoed higher and higher into a full-throated roar from deep within his diaphragm.

Tearing from the bath he blew like a rampaging rhino into the…well, he ran into a lot of things including a wall he hadn't even realized he had. It is done up with dreadful wallpaper. He thought to himself as he bounced off. I must remember to remedy that later.

But eventually he ended up next to a fireplace. Next to this fireplace, as logically goes with story telling, was curled Christine. She regarded him with a serenity of remarkable proportions considering that he'd entered backwards and had reached a pitch of such height that the real actual soprano Christine would have been put to shame. Somewhere above them a mirror shattered into Carlotta's face causing much hilarity but, unfortunately, no lasting damage.

Erik would have yelled something vague about assuming felines and their unwelcome attentions but he'd used up all of his air. So he flailed about instead; another skill of many he had perfected over time. Perhaps not quite as useful as ventriloquism but when employed with a long black cape, was a very impressive spectacle indeed.

Christine, having used up her quota of quiet composure for the day, arched her back and hissed. Finding this to have no effect what-so-ever on the frightening figure that flapped (alliteration is a useful tool, children) at her like a giant crazed bat, she switched, like her namesake, into a flight mode. Only, the real Christine had never had the option of somehow finding her way onto the ceiling to cling perilously upside-down above her maestro's head. Cat-Christine, however, did seem to have this option. The sight of her gravity defying feat (puns can also be useful) shocked Erik enough for his second mode of action to kick in: remorse.

Like in another time before with another Christine Erik was suddenly consumed by guilt and sorrow. Ashamed by his sudden violent lack of constitution, he ceased his flailing and beseeched the poor creature above him, which quivered with what he supposed was either fear or anger. He rather hoped for the first.

Pleading failed. Temptation by saucer of milk failed. And an attempt involving a frantic clawing leap failed spectacularly when it ended with a 6 foot plus man rocketing himself headfirst into his coffin. (And by coffin I mean literally, not figuratively. He did not kill himself and thus end up in a coffin but actually ended up jumping quite alive into the coffin that served as his bed.)

Weary and resigned, Erik sat down under Christine with his arms open to her and began to sing. There is no doubt that the beauty of his voice would have compelled the little feline to relinquish her grip upon his ceiling had he not been very suddenly and very embarrassingly interrupted.

"Ahem." The word was coughed in the sort of cough one uses when they want to express their presence before the person they are watching does something that would embarrass both parties even further. And no doubt, the situation was embarrassing.

Erik's song came to a grinding halt much like a series of gears would if you threw a wrench in. A series of gears lying in a bed of silken roses and dipped in honey. Erik's voice, no matter in what situation, always managed to taste sweet going down.

He became suddenly aware that here he was, standing utterly naked in the middle of his bedroom doing what looked to be his level best at seducing his ceiling. This would have been okay if he had been alone but he wasn't alone because a very dark, very embarrassed man was standing in his doorway, jade eyes wide in astonishment. The fact that he had his mask would have been a consolation except that it had somehow ended up on his right hand where it was of no use at all. Erik liked his hands. Christine had liked his hands, heck, Erik was ready to bet that even Raoul had liked his hands. No, the mask was definitely of no use there.

"Well…" Said Nadir who, of course, was the dark man with jade eyes. "Well…" He said again.

Erik waited for him to go on but he didn't.

"There is a logical explanation-," sighed the harassed Phantom with amazing coolness. And he would have gone on had Christine not chosen that particular moment to drop onto his head.

Ten minutes and one cup of tea later found Nadir sitting comfortably across from Erik who sat gripping the table across from him.

"Why on earth are you so tense?" Asked the Persian.

"There is a particular quality to you that makes me wince." Replied the other testily before going on. "Because she gouged my face, you idiot."

"Considering your peculiar habit of covering your face, sure, I should have been able to determine it from the unblemished mask."

"That cat…"

"Will be the death of you." Finished Nadir for him.

The other man nodded, leaning back and touching his mask.

"I think she's good for you."

"Vegetables are good for me too. That doesn't mean I enjoy them."

"You enjoy vegetables just as well as the next man."

"But vegetables is not the point we are discussing."

Fortunately, further painfully out of character conversation was put to an end by Christine's sudden appearance at Nadir's feet. She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, nudged gently at his leg, and then promptly tore a chunk of his flesh out with her tiny razor sharp teeth.

"Dear Allah!" The man cried, reeling back to fall from his chair and hit the floor.

Initially Erik said nothing and maintained a grim sort of silence that seemed to say, "I told you so." But after a moment, he realized that a.) Nadir was as close to a friend as he had and far more importantly, b.) The blood was really messing up his rug.

"Felines have never been your expertise." He commented, crouching to examine the wound. Impressive, He thought to himself privately. The length and breadth is quite unusual for a domestic feline of her age.

"She has an awfully big mouth for a kitten." Said Nadir simply. Erik silently agreed, long fingers probing gently at the tear in Nadir's pants.

"Well," he sighed at length, "The wound is definitely of a mortal nature. You know how dangerous these little kittens can be. You can borrow my coffin if you'd like."

The other man covered his eyes with a hand. "No thank you. But I'd say yes to another cup of tea."

And that's how Nadir met Christine. The cat, that is.

A/N: So I've just proven that I can't play Erik worth beans. As far as dialogue goes…well, we'll just hope I won't have to resort too much of it later. I added it in this chapter for a change of pace. Now I know I probably shouldn't do that again.

I'm leaving for China soon so my fanfiction will be on hold for a while. And then, two days after I return, I'm leaving to New York to see Phantom so, again, on hold. I'll try to start my serious Phantom fic soon but I can't make any guarantees

And I'm reading all of your reviews: never fear!