By Racheld@aol.com
Chapter 1
It was the kind of morning that came once in a lifetime. The air was clear, crisp, but not cold. The leaves had just started the transition from a sun drenched summer green to the red and gold hues of August. Sunlight filtered through the trees, playing on the ground, and a breath of wind stirred the dust into tiny whirlwinds, which settled almost before they had begun. The morning was still, as most people had chosen to sleep through it, instead of admiring nature's splendor. In fact, only a rare few were witnessed to that morning, out early, walking, and they held an unspoken pact of silence. Yes, it was truly a glorious morning, and remained so for about five minutes...
"NO! Bad girl! Stop!" A voice broke the stillness.
A large english sheep dog bounded into view, happily careening off the pavement as she raced with her shadow.
"Martha, SIT!" Martha sat, as it was one of the few directives she understood (the other being "food"). A girl jogged by, and Martha happily followed. Noting a follower, the girl turned around.
"Grab her, would you?" The girl looked up and saw the speaker, most likely also the owner of the dog. She slipped her hand under the collar and took a firm hold. The owner walked toward them, a leash dragging from his hand. When he reached the two, he snapped the leash on the collar, and turned attention to the rescuer.
"Thanks, sometimes she just--" He paused as the girl looked at him strangely, "She likes to, y'know, run and I--" He was cut off as the girl hauled his head in for a kiss. Martha, appalled at the sight of someone trying to eat her master's face, jumped up between them, barking disapproval. This separated them, and after that it was an easy job for her to haul him away. This happened a surprising amount of times.
There was a reason.
Her master was Paul McCartney. Once they were farther away, Paul paused, and squatted down beside Martha, "You're a bad dog. Don't do that! You get me in too much trouble!" Martha gave a puppy dog grin and licked his face, she saw right through him... "But I love you anyhow!" Paul laughed, and Martha accepted the answer as valid.
"What say you we take a trot over to John's there an see what he's up to then...hear he's in now...The verdict?" Paul looked expectantly at Martha awaiting her decision. Martha only cocked an ear and returned the stare.
"Right. Scrap the verdict. Smart girl. Let's go."
Some odd minutes and tree/fire hydrant breaks found Paul and Martha at John's temporary domain. Paul walked up to the gate and knocked. No response. He hadn't expected one...if only John would give him a spare key...Luckily it was too early for birds at the gate.
"Hey! I've got a smashing idea, Martha! Find a way, like the dog on that show! You can do it!" Paul said, gesturing emphatically. Martha just looked up at him, puzzled.
"Ok, so maybe it wasn't quite as grand as all that..."
Paul and Martha walked around the gate, hoping to find a door, perhaps one marked "Beatle entrance only" Paul joked. Finally, finding no way in, they went back to the gate. Paul picked up a couple of stones. Hitting on an idea, he tied the leash to the nearest tree. Then he hefted one of the stones into the air, to test its weight, and threw it at John's window. It hit, but did not break the glass. He waited a second, but there was no response. He chose another stone, and threw it with about the same answer. Paul picked up a bigger rock, he hoisted the massive stone into the air and threw, only to have the rock land just over the fence, making a tremendous thud. John just had to be awake by now. Paul decided to move on to the more direct approach.
"JOHN, YOU ROTTEN NO GOOD BUGGER!! OPEN THE STUPID BLOODY GATE, AND LET ME IN!!" The gate opened. Paul, smiling, grabbed Martha and headed in, closing the gate behind him. Finally Paul walked over to the door and let himself in.
"Sorry John, would've scaled your castle walls, but m'lady here can't handle it." Paul explained in a loud voice as he walked through the almost empty house. "Anyhow, I haven't broken one of your windows in an awfully long time, so I figure you owe me one man." Paul unhooked the leash from Martha, and she snuffed off in pursuit of a cat.
"John? Are you alone? 'Cause I can always come back--" John walked down the stairs, cutting off Paul.
"Can't a feller sleep around here?" he asked, yawning.
"Not today." Paul replied, grinning. Martha chose that moment to come trotting in, in pursuit of a feline who did not seem to be enjoying the chase as much as Martha. She paused and woofed as she saw John.
"Don't tell me you brought along that--" John started.
"At-at-ah," Paul scolded with his finger, a smile playing across his lips, "Don't want Martha pickin' up your nasty words and repeating 'em, now do you?" He broke into a grin.
"Female dog," John finished, he walked over to Martha, "How is the ol' lunkhead anyhow?" He scratched her ears, and she promptly sat on his foot. "As long as she doesn't mess my house."
"Come off it, she hasn't done that in at least--"
"Two days, I'd wager." John filled in.
"How the kid?" Paul asked, changing the subject. John walked into the kitchen and sat down. Martha, feeling snubbed, walked away into the parlor.
"Had his birthday a bit ago. Four years old already. Time flies when you don't pay attention!" John grinned, then his smile started to fade, "--Wasn't even there. Poor kid. I'm not good for him."
Paul walked into the kitchen to join him, "If you're gonna do the depressed funk ritual, I can just take my puppy and leave!" He smiled and sat down, "John, the kid loves you, an' no matter how rotten you are, he loves ya' anyhow. You're his dad. You're not a bad father...just a busy one. You know that!"
John sighed again and slouched into his chair, "No, *you* know that. *I*, on the other hand, aren't quite sure..."
"You, my friend," Paul continued, pointing, "Are a pain the bum to try and cheer up. If you don't stop, I'm going to pour whatever you have in that icebox over there on your sad little head." This managed to make John crack a smile.
"Pudding."
"What?"
"That's what's in there. Chocolate pudding. Don't pour very well you see, it's been in there since last---" he was cut off by a loud crash, resonating from the parlor. This was followed by several smaller crashes. Both ran from their seats to see the cause of the commotion. The scene was not pretty.
A cat was aternating hissing and meowing at Martha, safely out of reach from the big dog. All the small pictures and glass items John had accumliated on his mantle had crashed to the floor and, mostly, broken. A potted plant had fallen over, dumping dirt on the floor, which had been used to make various paw prints all over the rug. Books are pillows were strewn all over the floor, and the lamp swung crazily, as if someone had used it as a platform to jump from. And, in the midst of this mess sat the obvious troublemaker, with dirt smeared across her nose, looking almost like a moustach and beard.
Martha.
John immediately went to check on the pictures that had fallen, cursing the dog and his luck with various words. Paul looked at Martha.
"BAD girl. Go in the kitchen." He said, pointing. Martha's ears drooped and her head and tail went down. Seeming to understand his words, she walked out of the room. Paul walked over and started helping John pick up his things. Martha looked over her shoulder once, and continued to leave the room. She nosed the door open, looking very unhappy, and proceeded to walk, heavy hearted, across the yard and, not glancing back, through the gate and down the street.
Now, some people may say that dogs can't understand human emotions, but that's not entirely true. They understand, to some extent, and at that moment Martha knew only that Paul was mad, at her, and he didn't seem to love or want her anymore. So she was doing the best thing. She was leaving...
A bird flew by. As Martha was a dog, and a puppy at that, she looked up at the funny thing and woofed a greeting. She sat on the sidewalk, waiting for the bird to come down and play, but, to her dismay, it did not.
Chapter 2
"Hey John, have you seen Martha...you know, my dog? " Paul looked up from the floor he was helping to clean, noticing that it had been quite too silent for any house that Martha occupied to be.
"Huh? Dog..." John carefully replaced the few picture frames that had not broken, and walked over the wall to straighten a picture, "No, I don't have a dog." he said absent-mindedly. "Oh. That black and white rug you brought in here. No-no, haven't seen that around. Go make sure she's not destroyin' another place there, would ya'."
"Right." Paul got up and walked out of the room. As he did so, the phone rang.
"Should I get it?" Paul asked, turning his head.
"Yeah, but don't say I live here. You're Not Paul. I'm not John and we aren't here. This is a wrong number. Don't use your real voice either. Got it?"
The phone rang again.
"Yes, 00J. Wouldn't want your Auntie knowing that you're actually in, now would we?"
The phone rang again.
"It's no one I know. They're not as daft as you. THEY don't go around waking up me in the bloody mornin' an' bringin' round their big, bloody, un-housetrained, slobbering, hairy, half-wit mongrels!"
The phone rang again.
Paul bit his lip and picked up the phone, "Wrong number!" Paul jammed his voice up his nose and came out with an approximate of a woman's voice.
"How do I know when you haven't told me who you're calling for??" Paul asked the phone reciever looking distressed. He motioned to John for help.
"GETOOFTHEFHONE!!" John supplied help.
"It's--uh--my husband...he's----"he stalled, unable to come up with the right application, "---Drunk!" Paul finished with a flash of brilliance.
"Hey Honey, let's go upstairs..." John draped himself about Paul.
"Yes, he's quite terrible. I know you had a wrong number because you couldn't be calling here! No man would be calling me--because of my husband.." Paul lowered his voice to a hiss, "He's insanely jealous!"
"Hey, woman, who you talkin to?! Ar' y' timin' me?"
"No of course not--No. Stop that! Put that down, No, NO. AHHH!!!" Paul slipped the phone back into it's cradle.
"John luv, you'd better hope that fella never calls back, 'cause he'll think you're one screwed lad there."
"Same to you. Pal."
By this time, Martha had made a new friend. He was rather short, rather young, and rather freckled, but he was serviceable just the same. They had met when he tossed his ball in the road accidentally. Martha, by no merit but her own instinct, tracked the ball and brought it back. The boy, upon receiving his misplaced toy, made a formal bow to Martha and introduced himself as Jared, all the while talking to Martha as he would a person. Jared then proceeded to throw the ball a few times, (not into the road I might add) and exclaimed with delight and pleasure when Martha showed any interest, and even more so when she actually retrieved the ball. Jared was so much happier, so much more carefree than Paul had been in Martha's most recent memory of him, so she decided that he would do as a companion.
After a while, Jared tired of throwing the ball and checked his watch. He turned to go, then turned back to Martha,
"Hey dog, y'wanna come with me? Bet I could keep ya' if you followed me home." He whistled and snapped his fingers, "C'mon boy! C'mere!"
Martha followed. After all, what was there for her on the street?
Back at the house, Paul was starting to get a little concerned. After the phone call, John and himself had started to banter back and forth, and he had forgotten all about Martha, but now he remembered.
"S'cuse me John, gotta go see what Martha's up to."
"Y' better do that son. Next thing she breaks is commin' outta your allowance!" John threatened, grinning.
Paul checked the living room. No Martha. Next the still rather messy parlor. Again no Martha. He check the bedrooms. No Martha. He checked the upstairs with the same result. As he was coming down the stairs, he noticed the front door open a bit. Paul frowned as he imagined John's lawn, plants torn up, a hole where the garden had been, trees chewed on, but he had to smile as his minds-eye panned over and lit on Martha, who's fur was a mix of dark brown and grass green. Through the crack in the door, Paul saw fans gathered around the gate, and decided to go around to the back door. He opened the door and gasped at what he saw...
No mess!
It was neat. Plants still firmly rooted in the ground, leaves still attached to the trees. Martha had NOT been in the yard. As Paul happened to gaze around the corner of the house, his eye caught on the gate. It wasn't locked. Sheer luck that the people outside it didn't observe that! He ducked back into the house and rounded up a quick costume. What he ended up with was a cross between a gardener and a secret agent, wearing a hat, overalls, and a fake moustache, with his shirt collar turned all the way up. In this, he walked up to the gate (with a plant as his pretext). He received only minimal screams before being recognized as "Not a Beatle". He placed the plant next the gate, locking it unobtrusively as he did so. He walked back into the house.
"John, looks like I'll be stayin' bit longer, as your castle is under siege--" Then suddenly, something in his head connected. The gate was open and Martha....Martha wasn't around! Something else clicked. She couldn't have--she wouldn't--she didn't! Then he corrected himself. The gate wasn't locked. She could have. She's a puppy, she might have. She's nowhere to be found. She must have, and apparently, she did.
Paul walked back in the house, and, after suffering quite a few tugs on his disguise, explained what he believed had happened, wringing his hands, after which he started to pace...
"You do realize that wearing a hole in me rug will not magnetically attract the dog, right?" John asked cautiously.
"Ha ha." Paul continued to pace.
"Look man, you aint got no way to get out right now, we've got a recordin' session at noon, an' you can go after that an' search to your little heart's content! But if you're askin' me, I'd say your dog is sitting outside your gate, most likely pissin' on it! --And stop that! You're makin' me dizzy!" John finished and looked at Paul.
Paul stopped pacing and looked at John, "You're prob'ly right--"
"--Always am!"
"--but I just can't help it, I mean, what if she got run over by a car, or ran into a dogcatcher, or got killed by some maniac, or got kidnapped, or fell off a bridge or--"
"We are talkin' about a DOG. Right? She 'taint doing nothin' 'cept maybe eating some bugs and dirt!"
Paul sat down and put his hand over his eyes, running it up through his hair. "It's almost noon right? I'm goin' with you then?" Paul grasped at his last strand of hope of leaving, "Can we cut out early? Then maybe we could get out and start looking! Right then. Let's go!" He jumped up and grabbed his coat. John sat, looking at him.
"C'mon, get it in gear! We've gotta go. I'll drive. Hurry up." Paul walked briskly out of the room.
"That man's gonna be the death of me yet, tell ya'," John sighed as he spoke to an imaginary audience. He yawned, "Yep. Cracked head...that's his problem..."
A loud honk from a car horn interrupted John's monologue, and he looked up in irritation, "--And a terrible temper!" He got up, brushed off his pants, and, muttering something about Paul being a eccentric fart who didn't know when to quit, he walked leisurely to the car.
"Mum! Mum! Can we keep him?? He followed me home!" Jared jumped up and down as he displayed Martha (who had indeed followed him home) to his Mother, as she stood at the doorway.
"Jared, we don't know where that dog's been...She can't go in the house...put her out back and close the gate. We have to find the owner."
"Can I keep 'im if we can't?? Please??" He whined plaintivly, and Martha helpfully slurped his mom's shoes. (Perhaps it wasn't as helpful as she believed.) Jared's mom looked down at her soggy shoes then, shaking her head with distaste, she looked back at the shaggy owner of the saliva.
"Put her in the back. First we have to try and find the owner."
Jared turned, with Martha's collar in hand and started to leave.
"Wait a second--" Jared turned around at the sound of his mother's voice, praying that she had changed her mind about keeping the dog, but she only grabbed Martha's collar and looked for a dog tag. After a search through the doggy mane, she found one.
Bending down, she read the tag, "Martha McCartney. No address." She sighed, "Must be a thousand McCartneys in london*..." She let go of the tag and walked off to the phone directory. Jared walked Martha to the back.
"Now you gotta stay here, 'k? I'll be right back with some water." Jared walked into the house, and soon returned to play with Martha.
"What is wrong with you today man? That's the 15th time you've screwed up...just on this song!" George walked over and looked accusingly at Paul, who sat at the piano of the recording studio.
"I'd say 17--" Paul glared at Ringo, who had started to correct George, "But who's counting?" He backed off.
"And not to mention that crazy get up you showed up in! What's the deal..."
"It's his bloody dog." John filled in. "See, it was this mornin' and--"
"Boys, tape's running. What's the problem?" George Martin came over the call button, looking with a worried stare from his little box.
"Look George, we can't do it today. Paul's over here bein' unprofessional. No way he'll get it today. Might as well call it quits and pack up."
"John--"George Started
"Geo--rge." John mocked, "It's no use. Not now. Later maybe. Forget it" John stated in a tone that said his words were final.
"Is it anything I should know about?"
"No. Turn off the tape."
"Fine boys, but we have to get this done. We'll have to work tomorrow." George turned off the tape and explained to the rest of the staff that they'd be quitting now. They started to clear out, and George and Ringo gathered around John to hear tell what was up.
"Ok fellas get over here." John looked up to see that they already were. "Paul lost his dog, and we gotta help him find her, or he'll be no good to us at all." Paul ignored the fact that they were talking about him as if he wasn't there, and spoke up.
"She must've gone somewhere, probably 'round John's house, so we've gotta get out there an' look!"
"Paul. Your head isn't on straight! We can't go out there. Not only wouldn't we find Martha, we might not come out alive!" Ringo pointed out.
"We could send somebody." George suggested.
"I suppose we could..." Paul mumbled slightly, unsure of this plan.
"Great then, we'll find her, and you, my friend, will get back on the ball." John finished. They proceded to select a man for the job, finally settling on someone, they sent him out with orders to 'Get Paul's dog back'. The man acceded, and was off. Proffering hopeful thoughts to Paul, they settled down to wait for results....
*McCartney is a common enough name. In East Syracuse, there are 2 McCartneys. In London I imagine that there would be many more. (In case you wonder, there are also 7 Lennons, 8 Starkeys, 20 Starrs and 84 Harrisons (2 Georges) in East Syracuse)
The results came back soon enough. The man they had sent out returned. He entered the room, grinning.
"You've got her?" Paul asked anxiously. The man nodded. Paul picked himself up from the floor and ran into the hallway, all smiles. His face fell. Paul walked back into the room, holding the leash....and a terrier.
"This is not Martha."
The boys quickly realized their mistake. They had sent the man with no clue as to what Martha looked like! Then, after concluding that another guy might mess up similary, they were faced with the prospect of going themselves.
"And what shall we go as?" John remarked, hearing this proposal, "The Beatles?"
"What a novel idea. Too bad the girls won't fully apreaciate your wit as we get killed!" Ringo remarked, flashing a smile at John.
"We could go as girls--" Paul suggested.
"Yeah, hairy ones," George said, indicating his moustach.
"Hey! I've got it!" John shouted, with a grin, "Hows about Paulie here distracts 'em with a strip tease while we run!"
This was just one of those many times Paul wished for heat vision. He settled for an icy glare.
"It'd keep them busy, man!" John added, "You'll be no worse for the wear luv. Blow 'em a kiss and half the city'll faint. I promise!"
"Let me think about it." Paul responded,"No." he finished, without thinking.
"John could die his hair blond! That would disguise him." Ringo suggested.
"To bad we don't have the dye," John said, feining dissapointment.
"I think you'd look nice as a blond, John," George said.
"And you'd make a lovely girl," John responded, "I can just see it now. 'Georgetta: The foxy female.' Gentlemen pounding down her door and drowning out her radio with their love songs." John spread his hands, as if displaying headlines, " Who is this mysterious Juliet? Why does she shun all adorers? Is she saving herself for the man of her dreams? And why has she never been photographed with rock star George Harrison? Does she know him? Does he care? Are they having an affair? The world must know!! Is she--"
George finally reached over and shoved John, cutting off his speech, "This isn't finding Paul's dog," George pointed out.
"Right." Paul said, "Let's go now. In pairs. George, come with me. John, go with Ringo. If anybody sees you, split up. If you split up, each come back here, so as we don't have to find you too. And don't be daft. John you are NOT to take a detour and pick up some girls--"
"Hey! I'm a married man!!" John shouted after Paul as he walked out the door with George.
"Never stopped him before," Paul whispered as they exited.
* * *
"How'd Martha get lost anyhow?" Ringo asked John as they walked down the street.
"Well, y'know how Paul is. So he comes 'round at like, sunrise, wakin' me up, comin' for a visit. Anyhow, I get up, an' he's brought along that mutt. So we get to talkin' and suddenly that horse comes lopin' int' the parlor chasin' Paul--"
Ringo stopped. "--Paul? Paul was running from Martha? Why was she chasing him? Weren't you talking--"
"No, Not Paul the person. Paul the cat. Anyhow--"
"Paul the cat?!"
"Yeah. Anyhow--"
"Do you have a cat named George?"
"Um.."
"You never said anything about this!!"
"You never asked." John turned around to face Ringo.
"Am now."
"Ok, I got this little black kitty, and he wakes me up at about five EVERY morning. So I named him Paul. George is this little calico one. He kinda fades into the background...and sleeps a lot. Then there's a while fluffy one named Ringo. He's just annoying."
"Thanks!" Ringo replied.
"Well, you asked." John retorted.
"I think I'll get a dog and name it John. It'll probably be very loud, and get drunk a lot, and stay out all hours, depend on me to keep it alive, have no regard for others--"
"Yeah. But it'll be handsome!"
* * *
"Paul, do you really think this has a chance of working? I mean, the dog could be miles from here by now--" George caught Paul's look, "Sorry."
"Why don't you just, well, get a new one. It's just a dog. There must be thousands of 'em. And London isn't the perfectly beautiful place for stray dogs to sit 'round waitin' to be found."
"No."
"A dog is a dog." George continued.
"No."
"Alright. Fine. Just promise me that you'll get back to normal after this. There are enough problems already without this. If this thing doesn't work out, I'll get you a puppy."
Paul frowned.
* * *
"Ring, where d' ya think you're goin'? That's my house there." John pointed to the house Ringo was heading towards. "Paul said not to go there."
"Since when were you a choir boy? Look, maybe Martha went back there. Besides, Paul said for you not to be thick. He didn't say anything about me!" Ringo finished with a gusto, "Don't worry John, none of your fans have enough brains to recognize us. They like YOU after all." He grinned.
"Don't come running to me when they kill ya' for insultin' me." John stated calmly.
"On then."
Ringo and John walked up to the gate together. John had no clue as to Ringo's Plan, but, whatever it was, if it wasn't any good, he'd know soon enough.
"Excuse me--" was as far as Ringo got before the girls surged towards him. Ringo held his ground.
"Ringo!"
"Ohmygosh--"
"--Why are you--"
"--will you sign my--"
"Hi!" Eventually the girls quieted down, unlikely as it seemed.
Ringo could see John on the outside of the ring of fans. Upon seeing Ringo, they had run directly past John in all their excitment. He was looking very annoyed. After all, they were supposed to be HIS fans, and they had pretty well ignored him.
"Have any of you seen a sheepdog? 'bout this big, slobbers a lot..." Ringo started to ask his question, but the girls were more occupied with questions of their own.
"Ringo, do you really have two kids?"
"Would please sign this "Your adoring lover Ringo"?"
"I love you!"
"Would you divorce for me?"
"Do you have a cat? If it has kittens, can I have one?"
"Can I have your tie?"
"Where is that adorable John?!" Ringo looked for the owner of the last question. He found 'her' leaning up against the Lennon's gate. It was John.
"Yeah, is he here?" John echoed, in a different voice.
"I just love him!" He said, in another.
"Why, I'm right here!" John said, in his voice, stepping forward. The girls turned to look at him. "Oops." John grinned sheepishly, "Forgot that I can't make 'em faint without Paul. Off we go then." Ringo and John took different directions and high tailed it back to the studio.
"No luck either?" Paul asked John as he and George walked back into the studio. Ringo got up and exchanged a look with John.
"Nope," John said, wisely choosing not to disclose just how very short their hunt had been.
"Ah, well, maybe next time," George said hopefully, "But as for now, I've got to get back home. What is it, five already? I've knocked on too many doors for quite a while."
The others quickly concurred. Paul got a ride with John.
"Maybe she'd be at my house," John suggested to Paul, who was absently starring out the window.
"You don't suppose that she'd be at your house?" Paul asked, as the driver was pulling up to John's.
"Now why didn't I think of that!!" John's words were tinted with a bit of sarcasm that Paul couldn't quite identify. He followed John out of the car, and it drove away. Paul jogged up the walk and grabbed John's spare key, letting himself in.
"OH SURE!!" John cupped his hand over his mouth, "I DON'T MIND!! JUST MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME!"
Paul had.
Muttering under his breath, John walked through the door, closing it behind him.
"Alright with you if I stay the night?" Paul asked.
John glared at him.
"You know that I've built up an immunity to that look. C'mon, you'd help out a mate in trouble right? That's a chap. Thanks."
"I've got half a mind to--" John started, making a demonstrative fist.
"Really John?" Paul asked, cocking his head at him, "I'd've figured you for a no-brainer!"
"Watch it or you'll be out on your ears..."
"Ears?" Paul asked.
John scratched his head, pondering the expression for a second, "Whatever. Fine, you can stay. But you're cooking dinner."
Half an Hour and two fire extinguishers later....
"I changed my mind," John said quickly, "Martha couldn't even eat this stuff."
"It's not that bad really..." Paul said, looking at it.
"I noticed that you haven't had any!! Paul, the stuff is Black!"
"Some food is good when it's blackened," Paul protested, picking up his fork and managing to bend one of the prongs on it against the food.
"Paul. It's BREAD! It's PRE-MADE bread. You tried to fry the whole package...still in the wrapper."
Paul looked down at it, "Hey, that's why it was makin' that funny noise!" He sighed, "I guess I'm just kinda preoccupied--"
"Not so you'd notice!"
"--I just keep remembering that I haven't found Martha, and she's probably out somewhere, alone, and cold and--"
John cupped his hands over his mouth, making static noises, " *crkkk* Earth to Paul. *ckkkkk* Come in Paul, yer ship is going straight into the sun!!"
* * *
As Paul bedded down on John's couch for the night, Martha too was settling down in another part of town.
"Sorry boy, we can't let you in the house. Mum says you prob'ly have fleas." Jared stood in his back porch light addressing Martha, "Maybe we'll find your owner tomorrow. Anyhow, g'night." Jared walked back into the house, the light flicking off a moment later. The night suddenly seemed a lot darker than before. And lonesome. Feeling that she had been abandoned again, Martha started to whine. She paced back and forth for a minute before deciding, and taking a short sprint to build up speed, she jumped the gate and started down the street.
* * *
"Do you actually think that she'd find her way here?" Paul asked anxiously.
"She couldn't find her way out of a dead end alley. Goodnight. I'm going to bed," John suited action to word and left.
Paul switched off the light, but couldn't sleep. Martha had been gone a whole day. He wasn't sure how he felt. All day he'd been trying to decide, for a moment he'd forget and be happy, then he'd remember and wonder if it was wrong to be happy....
"Mrrrow?"
Paul looked down and a small calico cat jumped up on the couch.
"You're a poor substitute for a dog." Paul said quietly, scratching behind the cat's ears. It responded with a purr that resembled a pepper grinder with rocks stuck in it. It was rather soothing actually. Paul was soon almost asleep. The cat stretched and Paul decided that he didn't quite like having something that pointy on him. He scooped the cat up and dumped him off the sofa. Soon after, he managed to get to sleep.
After being assured that Paul was asleep, John crept downstairs to use the phone that was on the table behind the couch.
"Hi," He whispered tensely, "I think it's time for the--" Paul stretched on the couch and John stopped talking. After a few moments, he resumed, "Yeah, he's here, so I think that you can--" John stopped again, as Paul rolled over....off the couch. John crouched down behind the couch and held his breath.
"Whaz?!--huh...."Paul looked around, bleary eyed, wondering what had made the floor jump up so suddenly. As he was getting back on the couch to go to sleep, Paul knocked a little glass figurine of a lamb off the table with the phone. Sighing sleepily, he walked around the edge. John's heart rose into his throat. Paul was bound to see him, then he'd probably ask some questions. The whole thing would be ruined! Paul reached down to pick up the lamb. John closed his eyes hoping that it was dark enough so that Paul wouldn't see him.
"Hey John," Paul yawned, "g'night." And then, without another word or thought, he collapsed back onto his makeshift bed. John let out a cautious breath. That was luck for you!
"Yeah," John talked into the phone, his voice hardly louder than Paul's breathing, "Have to go. You know what to do." John slid the phone back into its cradle and tiptoed upstairs, and saying a little prayer that Paul hadn't really been awake and wouldn't remember a thing, he went back to bed.
It was early and pale sunlight had not yet touched the curtains of the windows. Nonetheless, a small beast prowled around the Lennon house. The creature had only one thought percolating through its head. Food. Soon it came upon its prey. Slowly, cautiously, daring not to make a sound lest it warn that the predator was near. Down low, it watched, and then, when the time was right....it pounced!
"huh--Down girl. Walk later." Paul reached up with one hand to sweep the thing that had just jumped on him to the floor.
Big mistake.
The creature dug in its claws. This woke Paul up. (You bet it did!!) and he found himself looking into the angry green eyes of a white persian cat.
Feed me. Feed me now. The cat glared at Paul, who could not sense his obvious thought.
"Hey cat!" Paul said cheerfully.
Food. Responded the cat, in its head.
"You wanna be petted huh?" Paul started to pet the ornery white creature. The cat responded by trying to eat his hand. Not dismayed, Paul picked up the cat and got up.
"What time is it anyhow? It's dark. You probably want food huh."
"Rowww"
"C'mon first." Paul walked up the stairs and cracked open the door to John's room. He shoved the cat in, and sat back to see how it worked. Nothing happened for a minute or so. Paul put his ear to the door.
"OW!" Paul could almost imagine John's face as he heard his friend, "Go away!"
"RROW!" The cat's protest also could be heard by Paul.
"No! Down! Go wake up McCartney!"
"Already has!" Paul announced.
John, upon hearing this so close to the door, walked over and yanked it open. Unfortunately for Paul, this door opened into the hall.
"Ouch!"
"Don't sit in the bloody hallway when a man's tryin' to sleep!" John reprimanded him. "And why the heck are you so happy? That dog didn't get into my house, did it?"
Paul sobered, "No."
"Look man, go home. Take a walk. Get some fresh air, It'll do you good," John suggested.
Paul took him up on the suggestion and, after feeding the cat, he left to walk the way home. It was early enough so that the fans were almost all gone, and Paul could handle the ones that were there simply by giving a couple of autographs to some fans who no doubt wondered why he had stayed the night at John's house.
John watched out the window to see Paul leave and then picked up the phone.
"Get ready."
Paul walked down the streets that he had so often traversed with Martha. The leaves now started to fall, and Paul couldn't help but remember how she used to chase them, nearly yanking his arm off. And all those times in Scotland with her. Paul passed a yard with a gaudy pink flamingo in it. Martha never did learn that those little yard decorations weren't real. How many had she flattened that year? Paul didn't bother to count. Maybe she'd be at the pound. What was he supposed to do now? Go knock on doors again to see if anybody'd seen her? He'd had enough of that to last a lifetime...But now he was approaching his house. He half expected Martha to be sitting outside the gate, waiting for him, but she wasn't. Sighing, he walked up to the door. He turned around and looked over his front yard again. As he was leaning against his door, it gave way, tossing him to the floor of his darkened house.
"SURPRISE!!" The lights flicked on. Paul blinked a moment, in a futile attempt to get his eyes adjusted. When he finally did, he found himself staring into the faces of George, John and Ringo.
"Now get up 'fore we have to celebrate your funeral!" John lent Paul a hand.
Recovering from his original shock, Paul found his voice, "What the heck is this??" His eyes scanned the room and finally lit upon a banner which read 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY PAUL!!'
"A birthday party?!"
"A SURPRISE birthday party," John corrected.
"Well it sure surprised me! My birthday was 2 months ago!!"
"Ah, but that's was makes it special!" George pointed out.
"We've been waiting that long just to get you out of the house long enough for us to set up!" Ringo said.
"Uh-huh," Paul said and then, hopefully, "Then would this whole thing be a set up and--"
A bark came from the bedroom. Paul's face lit up, and John and Ringo looked at George, who shrugged. Giving the others a dirty look for what he thought they had put him through, Paul walked into the bedroom.
"Hey gir-" Paul stopped short as a puppy jumped up on him. He picked up the dog. "What's this?" Paul asked accusingly, holding up the wiggling puppy.
"Your present?" George suggested, "Well, ya'know, we didn't find Martha, and I thought that--"
George broke off as they heard another bark.
"John! You didn't get me a dog too, did you?" Paul asked accusingly.
"Innocent, "John stated, putting up his hands.
"Ringo?--"
"Not me..."
Paul walked to the door, hardly daring to hope. Outside the gate were a few early-birds (girls that is,) and, in their midst was a big furry black and white sheep dog....
"Martha!!" Paul shouted. Her barks were almost drown out by the yelling of the girls at Paul's appearance. He ran up to the gate to let her in along with the girls who claimed they had found her. They might have been lying, but Paul didn't care. He suddenly realized that he was still carrying the puppy. He didn't need it anymore. After a second of thought, he ran back to the house.
"Guys, I don't think I'll need any presents. Here John, you just got a new puppy." He handed the brown bundle of joy to John, who looked at it. The puppy reached up and licked John's face.
"And where d'ya thing yer goin'?" George asked.
"Me?" Paul turned around, "I'm goin' to play fetch!"
The End
