Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This story is largely concerned with Jellicles, and from its pages a reader may discover much of their character and a little of their history. Further information will also be found in the selection from the musical that has already been filmed, under the title of Cats. That story was derived from the collection of poems found in "Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats", composed by T.S. Eliot.

Many, however, may wish to know more about these remarkable cats from the outset, while some may not have seen the film. For such readers a few notes on the more important points are here collected concerning Jellicle Cats.

What's a Jellicle cat? The word "Jellicle" originates from a child's mispronunciation of "dear little", but the name took on a life of its own among the dear little cats themselves. Jellicles are a specific clowder of cats who, above all other attributes, are extraordinary dancers and singers. They become entranced when bathed in the light of the Jellicle Moon and dance until the sun peeks over the horizon. Such a festival is known as the "Jellicle Ball", and Jellicles from far and wide will gather annually to partake in the merrymaking. It is somewhat comparable to a New Year's Party, but far more sacred than that. It is a celebration of new life, which the Jellicles honor in three different ways: first, a young couple will be wedded before the gathered crowd, marking the start of their new life together. Second, among the various pairs of cats present, many new lives will be conceived. Third, and the most vitally important, is when older cats each present their life stories (through song and dance, of course!) to the Jellicle Leader, Old Deuteronomy. Just before dawn, once every elder cat has made their case, Old Deuteronomy will then choose one of them only to send to the Heaviside Layer to be reborn into a new and different Jellicle life. Old Deuteronomy, the wisest of all cats, is experienced in matters of spirituality due to his incredible longevity; he is an ancient and immortal cat that has lived many lives in succession, and founded the Jellicle Clan in a time longer ago than any cat or human can remember. He is what is known as a Mystical Cat, or a cat that has some amount of magic in them. Mystical Cats are sporadically born with varying degrees of power that can be used to either a constructive or destructive end, as the reader will soon see.

Jellicles will also hold smaller, less significant balls whenever they like for any reason they please. They do not even require a ball to dance or sing, though this is less common due to their preference for preserving their energy for the more important occasions.

Jellicle Cats have smaller litters than normal cats, with no more than three kittens being born at the same time. They also age at a much slower rate and live longer lives as a result.

To end this brief introduction, here is presented "The Song of the Jellicles", a piece that every Jellicle Cat knows by heart from the time they are very small.

Jellicle Cats are black and white,

Jellicle Cats are rather small;

Jellicle Cats are merry and bright

And pleasant to hear when they caterwaul.

Jellicle Cats have cheerful faces,

Jellicle Cats have bright black eyes;

They like to practise their airs and graces

And wait for the Jellicle Moon to rise.

Jellicle Cats develop slowly,

Jellicle Cats are not too big;

Jellicle Cats are roly-poly,

They know how to dance a gavotte and a jig.

Until the Jellicle Moon appears

They make their toilette and take their repose;

Jellicles wash behind their ears,

Jellicles dry between their toes.

Jellicle Cats are white and black,

Jellicle Cats are of moderate size;

Jellicles jump like a jumping-jack,

Jellicle Cats have moonlit eyes.

They're quiet enough in the morning hours,

They're quiet enough in the afternoon,

Reserving their terpsichorean powers

To dance by the light of the Jellicle Moon.

Jellicle Cats are black and white,

Jellicle Cats (as I said) are small;

If it happens to be a stormy night

They will practise a caper or two in the hall.

If it happens the sun is shining bright

You would say they had nothing to do at all:

They are resting and saving themselves to be right

For the Jellicle Moon and the Jellicle Ball.

Jellicle Cats come out tonight

Jellicle Cats come one, come all:

The Jellicle Moon is shining bright--

Jellicles come to the Jellicle Ball.

                                                ~T.S. Eliot

Chapter Text

When Bustopher Jones announced that he would shortly be celebrating his birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in the whole of St. James and beyond.

Bustopher was very rich and very rotund, and had been a wonder to all of felinity for quite a long while. Not only was there the immense size of his wealth and appetite, but also his prolonged vigour to marvel at. Day by day he gained weight, but it seemed to have little effect on his vivacity. At fifteen pounds he was much the same as at eight pounds. At twenty pounds they began to call him well-preserved, and he would say it was due to his lifelong observation of routine. Though Mr. Jones could oftentimes be irritatingly proper and pompous, he was very generous with his wealth and his food, and for that he had many devoted admirers among cats of both high society as well as poor and unimportant families.

     There were two reasons Bustopher was planning to make this particular birthday more extravagant than all the others: the foremost being that he had reached a whopping twenty-five pounds, a weight reached by no other cat who wasn't a Maine Coon. The second reason was Bustopher intended to leave, and he was not sure how long it would be before he returned (if he returned at all), so it only seemed fair that he should give the community one last chance to feast with him before he was gone. Afterwards he would set off to go see his sister again, who had long ago gone back to live with her father. The last time Bustopher had seen her she had been practically a kitten still, and he wondered how much she had grown and how well she had fared in the time since. She was such a great deal younger than him that he found himself viewing her as more of a daughter than as a sister, and worrying for her as a father would--especially since the circumstances of their last interaction were much less than ideal.

     She had once been incorrigibly adventurous, and it had irked Bustopher to no end; after all, she had a reputation to uphold for the dignified Jones family! But nowadays he would much rather have that rambunctious little kitten she had once been instead of the haunted and skittish shadow he had last seen. On what ended up being the last of her escapades she had gone deep into the Old Forest, farther than any other cat of their kind dared to stray, and disappeared for many weeks. The ongoing search for her had yielded no results, not even the faintest trace of a scent, as if she’d simply evaporated. Bustopher had started to think that he would never see her again when she suddenly showed up at his window in the dead of night, appearing to have run for several miles straight. He could get very little out of her; whenever he asked she would begin to tremble in a panicked frenzy, eyes and ears darting and twitching in every direction. All he managed to get from her was that she had been kidnapped and held against her will by a strange cat unlike any other she had seen. He was very large, most likely at least partially Maine Coon, with fur that glowed like a blazing flame. She had no doubt that the mystery cat possessed powerful magic, and was surprised she had finally been able to escape him; she didn’t think her freedom would last, and wanted to go back to her father’s home where she knew it was safe.

    One singular kitten, a frail and feeble runt, was born to her as a result of her kidnapping. She begged Bustopher not to claim the kitten as his nephew; she left it at the doorstep of The Egyptian theater and did not want anyone to know it was hers, lest she be treated or remembered as an object of pity. Though it broke Bustopher's heart to leave the kitten alone, he agreed, allowing the cats at The Egyptian to look after his nephew instead. That did not stop him from keeping an eye on the kitten, however.

The little black kitten had been named Quaxo by the cats at The Egyptian; it came from the Latin coaxo, which means “to croak”, since he could hardly make more than a short croak of sound as a newborn. Even after he outgrew this, the tiny kitten was still known for having a very quiet demeanor. Quaxo’s dark coat, small stature, and muted mien allowed him to blend in with shadows easily, and as such he was often unintentionally overlooked by the other cats. He garnered a reputation for causing mischief and confusion, with various items inexplicably going missing and turning up in the strangest places. The kitten himself seemed to also appear and disappear unexpectedly, and the residents of The Egyptian tried to attribute it to how incredibly quiet he was; but that explanation fell short when it came to instances where he could be heard in a place that, as far as anyone else could tell, was completely vacant, or he would suddenly disappear in a place where there was absolutely nowhere he could have hidden. The eccentric little cat had earned the nickname "Mister Mistoffelees" due to his antics, and Quaxo was delighted by it.

He found that the only time he was given any attention was when he did strange or mystifying things, so he taught himself all manner of tricks he could with cards, dice, or even simple sleight of hand, turning his reputation into an act as the “Magical Mister Mistoffelees”, which was first popular with kittens—all of whom were younger than him—but eventually his act won over the hearts of the adults as well.

Bustopher visited The Egyptian periodically. The cats there always loved when he came, for he always brought with him a great deal of food and treats. The kittens liked to call him “Uncle Bustopher”, and he appreciated the title: it was a formal address that gave him the respect he was due, but it was also an affectionate title that meant they loved him as well.

     Eventually Bustopher found himself faced with a problem: he had no kittens of his own, which would make little Quaxo his heir, but he could not claim him as such due to his promise to his sister; yet if he didn't claim the kitten then his closest heir as far as everyone else was concerned was one of the Sackville-Joneses, a most detestable family of cats that Bustopher had the misfortune of being related to. After much arguing back and forth with himself, Bustopher decided that instead of claiming the kitten as his nephew, he would legally adopt him as his heir and bring him to live at Pall Mall. "You had better come and live here, my lad," said Bustopher one day, "since we tuxedos ought to stick together, you know." And so the hopes of the Sackville-Joneses were finally dashed.

    Quaxo was thrilled, and despite his reputation for mischief he was very receptive to learning the ways of a proper gentlecat. He immediately and excitedly adapted every manner of etiquette Bustopher showed him, becoming neat and poised in a rather short amount of time. He was finally getting the attention he craved and didn’t want to do anything that might spoil it.

            Bustopher enjoyed playing cards and dice with Quaxo, and indulged him in the little magic tricks he did as well. Bustopher enjoyed the latter a bit less than the others, as any mention of magic made his mind wander back to his sister’s description of her attacker; but he humored the kitten nonetheless, for if Quaxo wasn’t talking about a new trick he had learned or invented he had little interest in talking at all. The magic tricks were just a hobby that the kitten loved, Bustopher would reason with himself, nothing more than a little game to him. But he could not keep himself convinced for very long.

            Even among Jellicle cats Quaxo was a remarkably elegant dancer, most especially when it came to his spins. He loved to dance fouettés, and would perform many of them consecutively, adding more and more turns the better he got. It was because of this that Bustopher found himself concerned; when the kitten would spin an electricity would fill the air, so much so that Bustopher would find his neat black coat sticking straight out at all angles, and should he try to touch anything his paws would be met with a static shock. Most concerning to him was that if Quaxo spun enough times, the kitten’s coat would glisten and glow with little sparks of electricity, and Bustopher would think of the bright flaming coat his sister described. Bustopher decided that it must have been static from Quaxo’s fur rubbing against the carpet, but he did not fully believe it.

            When the two of them would go for a stroll and happen upon a cat that Quaxo did not want to talk to, the kitten would inexplicably vanish; one moment he’d be right by his uncle’s side, but when Bustopher would look at him the next moment he’d be nowhere to be found. No noise, nowhere nearby he could possibly be hiding, and nowhere near enough time for him to have run off out of sight. As soon as the other cat would be out of Bustopher’s sight, he would find Quaxo just as inexplicably by his side again. If Quaxo truly was a mystical cat, Bustopher was not sure he would really know what to do about it. For the time being he chose to shove all of those worries to the back of his mind.

***

            Bustopher was not lying when he said it would be a party of special magnificence. The amount of food laid out for the guests was three times the size of the largest feast he had given in the past, and that one had been considered excessive! For this party there was twelve gallons of rice pudding, seventeen sheep’s worth of mutton, a riverful of caviar, twenty-five potted grouse, an entire butt of cream, fifty-seven cans of salmon paste, sixty-four Strasbourg pies, and many more foodstuffs beyond even that. Bustopher ordered three fifteen-foot carpeted towers specially for the occasion, which he considered to be an act of tremendous sacrificial generosity toward his guests since he could not enjoy them himself without toppling them over. Every inch of the area was adorned with the finest ribbons and flowers he could find so that the event was a feast for the eyes as much as the stomach.

            On top of all that, Mr. Jones had invited the Jellicle Leader, Old Deuteronomy. A chance to see the immortal and mystical cat was a rare one, since he was ancient and slow in his movement and chose all of his journeys carefully. Even if cats did see him, they might not always realize that they had; he had a humble and unassuming appearance that often caused him to be mistaken for some unimportant yet kindly old stray. The only thing about Old Deuteronomy that made him stand out at a glance was his enormous size: being a Maine Coon meant that he was large in build and his long grey coat only served to make him look larger. In Bustopher’s mind, such a large and respected cat was a perfect fit for the occasion.

As Deuteronomy made his measured way towards Bustopher’s birthday ball, various cats looked on in awe and disbelief, whispering to themselves and each other in excitement.

            “Well, of all things!”

            “Can it be really?”

            “Yes!”

            “No!”

            “Oh, hi!”

            “Oh, my eye!”

            “My mind may be wandering, but I confess, I believe it is Old Deuteronomy!”

            As is to be expected of Jellicles, there was a prodigious amount of dancing. While neither the Jellicle Leader nor Mr. Jones had the physical prowess to dance anymore, they both enjoyed watching the proceedings from a seat of honor and engaging with those around them. Quaxo enthusiastically participated in the festivities, many times unintentionally clearing the dance floor as the other cats stopped to admire his remarkable skill and elegant movement. The attention and praise made the little black cat giddy with delight, but also quite exhausted. When partnered dances were announced it seemed to him to be the perfect opportunity for a break. As cats milled about asking each other for a dance, Quaxo slunk over to one of the food tables, unnoticed by all but one.

            “Mister Mistoffelees!” a sweet voice piped up beside him. It was little Jemima, the youngest kitten from The Egyptian and the only cat smaller than him. Quaxo gave her a smile.

            “That’s not my real name,” he said in reply, “call me Quaxo.”

            “Okay, Mister Quaxo!” Little Jemima said, “go on and ask Electra for a dance!”

            Quaxo’s eyes grew wide and his ears flattened against his head. He stole a quick glance over to the dancefloor at the cat in question, then hurriedly regained his composure the best he could as he turned back to Jemima.

            “No,” he said, starting to move away, “I think I shall have some champagne instead.”

            “Oh, no you don’t!” the tiny kitten squeaked as she yanked on his tail, spinning him around with a surprising amount of strength and shoving him directly into Electra’s arms. Jemima giggled into her paws as she sat back and watched them dance; Quaxo’s movement was as practiced and refined as ever, but there was a stiffness to him that was an obvious attempt to conceal how flustered he was.

            Jemima’s view of the two cats was abruptly upended as she was suddenly launched forward, the table and food following after her. Claws out and hissing at any potential threat, she rapidly looked around for the cause of her flight. Several cats had barreled right through the table and were still rampaging about the scene, gaining more and more cats as they went. A mysterious vibrant spark of red light was frantically darting in all directions, and every time a cat was certain they’d finally caught it it would somehow slip right out of their grip without any effort at all. It accrued a larger and larger queue of cats by the second with a trail of destruction in their wake until it finally made a mad dash to the top of one of the carpeted towers. All at once cats clawed their way up, not realizing their mistake until the whole thing toppled over and crashed into pieces onto the dance floor.

            Old Deuteronomy watched with concern as he sat on the sidelines, forgotten for the moment in all the chaos. The mysterious light had disappeared, and cats were scrambling all about in their confusion. At the very least, Deuteronomy was able to take comfort in the fact that it appeared no one had been injured. As he observed the ongoing pandemonium, he heard from somewhere behind him a wicked giggle that was quickly shushed. Immediately suspicious, he quietly began making his way in the direction of the sound.

            “Did you see that? It was amazing!” he heard a voice whisper.

            “Of course I saw it, I’m the one with the wand!” another said in reply.

            “That’s one of the best things you ever nicked from a house!”

            “Oh, yeah, absolutely. That was good!”

            “Let’s get another one!”

            The conversation was cut short as the two cats both felt a claw pierce through one of their ears. Old Deuteronomy looked down at their guilty faces with an amused smile.

            “Mungojerrie,” he said, “and Rumpleteazer. I might have known!”

            “I wish you mightn’t have,” said Rumpleteazer.

            “You two are going to be spending the rest of the evening by my side as you clean up the mess you’ve made, starting with reassembling the tower you toppled,” Deuteronomy said, dragging them towards the center area.

            “It wasn’t us, we weren’t even near it when it fell over!” Mungojerrie protested. Deuteronomy raised an eyebrow.

            “I have lived a very long time, Mungojerrie, and I am familiar with wands like the one you hold,” he said, chuckling at the way the two calicos slumped and pouted in defeat.

***

            When the time finally came for Bustopher to embark on his journey, he called the entire party to attention for his farewell speech.

            “My dearest and most esteemed Jellicles,” he began as the crowd cheered, “first and foremost, I wish to thank you all for joining me in celebrating both the anniversary of my birth as well as the enormity of my girth.” A mix of laughter and cheers followed.

“It has been an immense pleasure living among you all, and I hope that one day I shall return to the ever-lovely Pall Mall.” The cats in the crowd from Pall Mall cheered at that.

“And while I have loved living among such excellent and admirable Jellicles,” he continued, “I regret to announce that I must be going now. I have family matters I must attend to.” A disappointed hum came from the gathered cats, and Bustopher held up a paw to silence them. “I shall be off now, and I wish you all a very fond farewell. Toodle-pip!”

            At that last word there was a sudden blast of light where he stood that sent the entire party springing into the air out of surprise. The flash of light was only there for a millisecond, but when it was gone, the space Bustopher had occupied was empty; he had quite literally disappeared into thin air. The ball dissolved into pandemonium once again with cats questioning, arguing, and searching all over. At first it was suggested that it might be a stunt by the Magical Mister Mistoffelees and the guests began looking for him, but it quickly turned up that no one had seen Quaxo for at least an hour, so it couldn’t have been him. With no other explanation making itself apparent, the Jellicles all turned to Old Deuteronomy for possible answers. The elderly cat was swarmed by the other guests, and he did his best to placate them in their panic and their pleading. Little Jemima also wanted to know what the Jellicle Leader had to say but could not hear him over all the rumpus, much less see him past all of the cats crowded around. The tangle of Jellicles was so thick that even with her tiny body Jemima could not slip through the mob. Sighing, the tiny kitten gave up and plodded away from the commotion to sulk.

As she sat at the edge of the clearing she looked up towards the moon, searching for the familiar comfort of its soft, shining gaze. There were dark spots on that pale sphere that always looked to her as if the moon had a smiling face, and she always liked to imagine that she and it were friends.

Jemima’s reverie was interrupted when she heard a sound nearby. It was faint, but she definitely had heard it, despite seeing nothing when she looked in its direction. She wasn’t about to turn away and ignore it now that her interest had been piqued, so she continued staring in the direction of the noise, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever it was. Finally her eyes were drawn to a very slight movement, and it was then she found the source of the sound: a growing trail of gentle pawprints being made in the dirt with no cat in sight to make them, padding their way away from the party.

Chapter Text

Though Bustopher Jones had persistently disregarded any thoughts he had that his nephew might be a mystical cat, as he now leaned against the wall of his home huffing and puffing after having been instantaneously teleported, there was no denying it. With all his suppressed suspicions officially made reality, his mind reeled with relentless worries: What were the guests back at the party thinking? How badly would this affect the reputation of the Jones family? Could Quaxo be a danger to others? Could he be a danger to himself? Would he be in danger from outside forces? Would the family name be able to recover from this, or would they be considered the subject of scandal forever? The more he wondered about it the worse his worries got, and he panted and paced with his tail whipping wildly.

A slight creaking sound caught his attention and he stopped, looking up just as the cat flap flipped up and down on its own. There was a beat of silence as he stared at the empty space before it was immediately filled with a beaming Quaxo, having appeared out of thin air and bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“I suppose you think that was terribly clever!” Bustopher burst out indignantly. Quaxo nodded vigorously with a smile wide enough to rival the Cheshire Cat’s.

“Oh! Well, I never…!” Bustopher groaned, putting a paw to his forehead as he ungracefully sat down. Quaxo quickly reached out in concern, his smile gone, but Bustopher held up a paw to stop him. He took a few deep breaths while his nephew waited patiently before he finally spoke again.

“Listen here, my lad,” he said, “if you’re going to have magic powers, they should not be used frivolously or taken lightly. Why did you do that? Did you not realize the potential scandal the Jones family could be caught up in? Explain yourself!” Quaxo’s eyes were round and his ears flat against his head as he attempted to respond, but his words came out as nothing more than a gentle murmur.

“Speak up, boy!” Bustopher said sharply, “did I not teach you to always speak clearly and eloquently, as any proper gentlecat should?” At this the little black cat shrunk low to the ground, backing up slightly.

“I…” he said, his voice faltering, “I once…teleported…into the neighbor’s house. Accidentally! I…I’ve never been able to…replicate it, though I’ve tried. It—it takes a great deal of magic to accomplish, I had to work myself into a frenzy doing turns to do it tonight, and I made myself invisible while I did because I wanted it to be a surprise—invisibility I can do much more easily, you see—and I wanted to prove to myself that I really could do it. But I—I also wanted you to be able to have the chance to leave on your journey without being hounded and hindered by your admirers, which is why I teleported you specifically.”

Quaxo spoke so quickly that Bustopher could not comprehend a great deal of what he said, but his ears did manage to catch the last sentence clearly.

“You wanted to help me, you say?” he said slowly, trying to understand.

“I…yes. I thought, you know, when it comes to it, you don’t want to be bogged down by a bunch of busybodies when you’ve got to be off somewhere, and if, perhaps, your admirers and other guests didn’t know where you were, you know, you could set all of your affairs in order in private and proceed without distraction,” the little cat explained. As Bustopher looked at his nephew, he could see the worry and disappointment on his face and a plea for approval in his eyes. At this he felt a twinge of guilt for speaking so harshly and made sure to consider his words carefully before he spoke again.

“That was…very kind of you to do that for me, my lad. Now that you’ve explained it, I suppose that it will aid in expediting this whole process, and I thank you for that,” he said. He grit his teeth, not wanting to compliment his nephew’s magic, but the hopeful expression on the little cat’s face goaded him on. “And…it was a remarkable trick you performed, to make me turn up here as you did.” At that Quaxo’s face lit up, and Bustopher found himself simultaneously delighting in and cringing at it.

“I would prefer if you asked me first, however,” he added quickly, and the little cat smiled sheepishly as he turned away, scratching behind his ear, “And I do wish it hadn’t been in front of all the guests; dealing with all the talk about it may get rather messy.” Bustopher sighed and put a paw on Quaxo’s shoulder, forcing him to look back up at him.

“I beg you, my lad, please try to be discrete and exiguous in all things mystical. It could very easily lead you into trouble, and, as I am leaving, I will not be here to help you if it does.” His nephew stared at him for a moment and said nothing, a sober expression on his face.

“You said you were going to visit your sister,” he suddenly said, “but you’ve rarely ever spoken of her, whom I suppose would be considered my aunt due to your adoption of me. If you would oblige me, I’d like to know about her before you go.”

Aunt indeed! thought Bustopher, but he dared not say it out loud. He nodded absently as he gathered his words, cautious to avoid anything that might break his promise to his sister before he finally began to speak.

“She is…a great deal younger than I am, closer in age to you than I, and very petite; quite the opposite of me in that regard! What she and I have got in common, though, is that we both take after our mother. It’s the fastidious Jones family look, you know, with a sleek black coat and a white bib; but unlike myself and much like our mother, her coat is brindled with gold—a tortoiseshell pattern, as it is often called. The last time I saw her she was practically still a kitten, but even then she had already garnered a reputation for her incredible elegance and beauty. Par for the course for a Jones, you know,” he explained, staring off into a distance that wasn’t there.

“Why did she leave?” Quaxo asked. The question threw Bustopher into a brief moment of inward panic as half of the answer stared back at him expectantly. How could he answer that question without breaking his oath? He had to come up with something!

“She…wished to go and live with her father,” he finally said. That should work, he thought, it is simple and honest enough.

“What is her name?” Quaxo asked after a silence, and Bustopher looked up at him as if coming out of a deep reverie.

“Demeter,” he answered, “her name is Demeter.” A nod was the only response he received, and all was silent again as the two cats reflected on all that had transpired.

The moment was interrupted as once again came the sound of the cat flap. Uncle and nephew turned in time to see Bustopher’s butler, Maître D’, push his way through into the foyer. He gave a yelp upon seeing the two tuxedos standing before him, his eyes quickly flying to the clock. Maître D’ was himself a tuxedo cat, with irregular patches of white around his face, and his form was short and round—though nowhere near as round as his master. His mouth moved wordlessly for a moment before he finally managed to speak.

“Goodness gracious, sir, forgive me! Here I was, thinking I was arriving early to assist you in your departure, and yet here you already are! My sincerest apologies, sir, I didn’t know you would be back here so soon!”

“Neither did I,” Bustopher said with a sideways glance at Quaxo, who looked away while theatrically feigning cluelessness. The butler glanced between the two of them with an utterly lost expression until his master finally took pity on him.

“No, it is no fault of yours, Maître D’, there was an unexpected change of plans that you could not possibly have known about,” Bustopher said, grabbing his walking stick, which was a gilded silver spoon, and swatting his nephew lightly with it.

“Is everything alright, sir?” Maître D’ asked cautiously.

“Yes, yes, quite alright. Have you confirmed all the arrangements? At Blimp’s? The Pot Hunter?”

“Yes, sir, all is set and eagerly awaiting your arrival!”

“Good, good! Then all is in order. Quaxo!” The young ward jumped to attention at his guardian’s call.

“Take care of yourself, my lad,” Bustopher said gently, “you are a very clever cat, Quaxo, and we shall see each other again soon, I am sure. Toodle-pip, my dear boy.”

“Toodle-pip,” Quaxo replied, nodding and beaming, and the two of them saluted each other fondly.

Maître D’ helped his master through the cat flap as Quaxo watched with a feeling of fading warmth. He stood staring until everything was still, a strange and sad sort of silence surrounding him as he did. It was then, with all the excitement gone and nothing left to distract his attention, that he became acutely aware of just how much energy his magic stunt had drained from him.

 I ought to go lay down, he thought hazily, but he could not even stumble through one step before his legs buckled beneath him and the world went black.

***

The warm, rough feeling of another cat’s tongue on his forehead gently goaded Quaxo back to consciousness. Drowsily he began to purr in contentment, pleased with the placid method of awakening. That is, of course, until he regained his senses enough to remember where he was and the events leading up to his unintended nap, which then led him to the realization that he had no idea just who it was that was grooming him. Cautiously he cracked open an eye to get a peek at the cat above him but found that his vision was obscured entirely by a great grey cloud.

“I was worried about you, little one,” a deep voice purred, and Quaxo’s eyes shot open all the way as he scrambled to his feet bowing, regretting it as the blood rushed to his head.

“O-Old Deuteronomy, sir!” he said breathlessly, swaying on his feet. Deuteronomy chuckled quietly as he sat back.

“Thank you kindly for such an enthusiastic welcome, young Master Jones,” he said, “how are you feeling?”

“I—well, thank you. And yourself?” Quaxo replied automatically. Deuteronomy was quiet for a moment as he looked at the little cat consideringly.

“Truthfully, I am concerned,” he sighed, “please tell me honestly, how are you feeling?”

“I…” Quaxo stammered, taken aback, “I feel…tired.”

“Drained?” Deuteronomy offered. The young cat pondered the suggestion for a moment before nodding his head in agreement and plopping down to the floor. Deuteronomy hummed as if his thoughts had been confirmed.

“It was that trick you performed,” he said, “with a feat of magic like that, I was not surprised to find you unconscious.”

“What—how—how did you…?” was all that Quaxo could eke out in his bewilderment.

“Do not forget, young Master Jones, that I too am a mystical cat. I can sense your power, and I know the effect magic use has on a cat. I do not think that you fully understand the enormity of the feat which you accomplished tonight. It takes a prodigious amount of power and skill to teleport even a small object from one place to another, but to do it with a living thing the size of your uncle is something else altogether. And being that you yourself are so small, I knew it must have taken a tremendous toll on you. I could not leave you alone with a clear conscience,” the Jellicle Leader explained. Quaxo stared at him with wide eyes for a long time before absentmindedly forcing himself to nod. He tried to think of anything he could say as an appropriate response, but his mind was so overwhelmed with all the new information as well as the events of that night that it seemed there was no room left in it for thinking of engaging dialogue. With a sigh he gave up, instead halfheartedly mumbling,

“Bustopher’s not really my uncle. It’s just a nickname. All the kittens call him that.” A look of surprise and mild confusion spread across Deuteronomy’s face at the sudden change of subject, then at the meaning of the words themselves.

“Is that so?” he said. “I had sensed a much closer bond between you two, as in one of blood. Your lack of relation to each other is strange.” Quaxo shrugged.

“Well, I live with him, and I am legally his heir. Perhaps it comes from that,” he said. Old Deuteronomy stared at him with a disbelieving look for a long moment that made Quaxo turn away sheepishly, feeling almost as though he was being scanned. Finally Deuteronomy relented, shaking his head with a quiet hum, and moved on to talk about something else.

“The overextension of your magic is not the only reason I am concerned, young Master Jones,” he said. The little black cat gulped as his ears turned back in the Jellicle leader’s direction. When he said nothing in response, the old cat continued. “You and I are not the only mystical cats in the world, and not all mystical cats use their powers for good. In fact, far too many do not.” At this Quaxo looked up with a grimace.

“I’m not going to turn evil,” he said a little defensively, “it was…just a silly trick. I’ll not do it again.”

“That is not what I meant,” Old Deuteronomy said slowly, “there are many mystical cats who use their magical abilities to gain power and control over other cats. They work together to increase their might even more, conquering territories throughout the land and terrorizing the cats living there into submission. They are false rulers who crave domination like a drug, and they are ruthless and uncompromising in their search for more power. If they learned of a new mystical cat with an immense amount of magic, they would seek him out to make him one of their ranks.” He gave a pointed look at Quaxo, who felt a chill run down his spine as he realized the implications of what the old cat was saying. He opened his mouth several times in attempts to speak, but his throat felt constricted with fear and nothing more than a little croak made it past his lips. The Jellicle Leader looked down at him with a deeply empathetic gaze and began to groom the top of his head again while purring to calm him down. After some time Quaxo managed to say softly,

“I won’t do it again. I won’t use magic again, nor give performances, not even for tricks that are simple illusions and don’t need magic,” his heart ached as he said it, as it was the only way other cats had ever paid him any attention at all and it felt as if his entire world was crashing down around him, “I’ll lay low, and never speak of it again. Staying silent and going unnoticed should not prove too difficult, as I have always done it even without meaning to. Then, in that way, none of those evil cats will know I’m here, will they?” At his last words Deuteronomy stopped purring.

“Will they, Old Deuteronomy?” he asked again nervously, his panic once more rising at the lack of confirmation. The old cat gave him a sorrowful look that held millennia of unfortunate knowledge behind it, and Quaxo’s heart sank as his panic rose further.

“I told you before that, as a mystical cat, I am able to sense your magic. That does not only apply to me. With such a powerful blast of magic as it took for you to perform that trick tonight, the ripple of magic from it would have been felt by mystical cats far and wide with you at its epicenter. Considering how they usually operate, they are already on their way here,” he said dolefully. Quaxo’s breath caught in his throat and his ears went flat against his head. He could feel electric jolts in his spine and in his paws, but he could do nothing to control them.

“I don’t suppose they would leave me alone if I declined to join them?” he managed in a voice barely above a whisper, his front paws nervously kneading. The Jellicle Leader gave a heavy sigh.

“No, they would not. There is an ancient and terrible spell that is used to compel cats into doing the caster’s bidding, and many of the mystical cats among their ranks are there because they were subjected to this treatment. It is said that no cat who hears it is able to resist. The most well-known user of this spell is Firefrorefiddle the Fiend of the Fell, but he has only been granted the ability of using it; its origin is found in his master, the self-proclaimed ‘Prince of Cats’—or ‘Lord of the Cats’—and wearer of the Golden Collar: Tevildo,” Deuteronomy said. Quaxo looked up in shock.

“Tevildo is real?” he cried in disbelief, “I thought he was nothing more than a scary story for kittens!”

“I wish he was,” Deuteronomy said gravely, “long has he and his ilk resented me and the power I hold. Quaxo—Quaxo, you must stop!” Little sparks of electricity were now beginning to crackle from the little black cat’s claws and all along his coat, making it glow.

“I-I can’t!” Quaxo cried, “I can’t control it! It doesn’t—it doesn’t always—it doesn’t always do what I want it to!” At this revelation Deuteronomy put a paw on Quaxo’s head, causing his long bushy coat to stick straight out from the static; but Quaxo felt a warm sense of peace emanating from the Jellicle Leader’s paw, traveling down his spine to the tips of his toes and tail and enveloping him in a calm that quickly made the sparks disappear and Deuteronomy’s coat settle.

“I should not be using my magic,” the old cat said softly, “but I had to, for your safety. It is troubling to learn that your magic is unstable in such a way that you do not always have complete command of it. You cannot stay here any longer if you are to avoid being found. Do you know where the Russel Hotel is?”

“Uncle Bustopher mentioned it quite a few times, so I think I’ve got an idea of its whereabouts,” Quaxo said with more confidence than he felt.

 “On the backside of that building there is a junkyard, and within it, diagonally opposite from the corner of the hotel, is an inn for cats called The Gumbie Cat’s Cradle. The owner of the inn is a cat named Jennyanydots; you should go there and tell her that I sent you.” Deuteronomy explained.

“What about you?” Quaxo asked, “why can’t you come with me?”

“I will meet you there as soon as I can, Quaxo, I promise, but Tevildo’s servants would recognize me, and if you were with me it would make you suspect and put you in great danger. I also think it would be wise if I consulted with my eldest son Macavity. He is a mystical cat as well, and his power manifests rather similarly to yours. I have not seen him in a long time, however, so hopefully he will be available as he is often not there. If, by chance, you should  run into him as you travel, speak to him and he will help you,” Deuteronomy said.

“How would I know if it was him?” Quaxo asked.

“Trust me, there is no other cat quite like him,” Old Deuteronomy answered with a fond chuckle, “he is very tall and thin, with wild, blazing red fur the likes of which I have never seen anywhere else. You would know him if you saw him.”

“A-alright,” Quaxo said, overwhelmed and unsure, “shall I…be off, then?” The ancient cat gave him a warm smile.

“You must know that you are a very clever cat, Quaxo,” he said, “and I have faith that you will make it safely to the inn. Do not doubt yourself, Master Jones. All will be well.” Even though he was spiraling from that night’s deluge of life-altering revelations, the little black cat found himself genuinely smiling back. The Jellicle Leader radiated warmth and comfort that was impossible to resist, and he needed no magic to do it.

A noise just outside the door immediately shattered their good spirits.

“Hide,” Old Deuteronomy whispered, and Quaxo quickly darted behind a nearby trunk and curled himself as tightly into the shadows as he could. Deuteronomy quietly crept toward the cat flap, listening intently for any other noise as he grew closer. When he finally reached the door he stood still for a moment, waiting to see if something else would happen. His ears twitched at a slight shuffling sound from directly behind the cat flap, and immediately his claws were out as he thrust his paw through the flap and sunk them into the nape of a furry body on the other side, yanking the culprit back inside to see who it was.

“Oh, confound it!” came his exasperated and relieved voice. Quaxo, confused, chanced a glance from behind the trunk, only to discover little Jemima being held up by the scruff of her neck with a guilty smile on her face. He rolled his eyes as he let out a sigh of relief, leaving his hiding spot to sit down next to Old Deuteronomy.

“Have you been eavesdropping, little one?” The old cat said in a gentle reproachful voice.

“No, I haven’t dropped any eaves!” she said with wide eyes, then, after a beat, “what are eaves?”

“Have you been listening to us talk?” Deuteronomy clarified. The guilt was clear on the small kitten’s face.

“Yeah,” she said sheepishly.

“For how long?”

“Um,” she said, and would have squirmed if she were not temporarily paralyzed by Deuteronomy’s grip on her scruff, “when I was at the ball I saw footsteps walking away but no one making them and I followed them here.”

“So you have heard everything and more,” Deuteronomy concluded.

“Um. Yeah.” Jemima said. The Jellicle Leader heaved a heavy sigh.

“I need you to promise me something, little one, and that is that you will not run away if I put you down. Do you promise?” He said.

“I promise,” the tiny kitten said solemnly. Her seriousness seemed strange in a kitten so small, but he could sense no deception in her words or in her eyes. With a nod Deuteronomy gently placed Jemima on the floor and she crouched submissively, warily looking between the two cats before her.

“Hi, Mister Mistoffelees,” she said with a nervous giggle. Quaxo nodded in a returned greeting.

“Quaxo,” he corrected.

“Mister Quaxo,” Jemima said, and he rolled his eyes.

“That brings up something else I needed to tell you, young Master Jones,” Deuteronomy said, “I am sorry to say it, but you are going to want to leave the name of Quaxo Jones behind you, as it can be too easily traced.” Quaxo once again only nodded, not looking up at the Jellicle Leader. The old cat turned toward the crouching kitten before him.

“What are you called, little one?” he asked her gently.

“Jemima,” she answered.

“Jemima, I can tell already that you are by nature a kindhearted—and perhaps a little too inquisitive—cat. Though I wish more than anything to send you back to your home, I am afraid that by being here tonight you have put yourself in danger. For your sake, I think it would be best if you went to The Gumbie Cat’s Cradle with Quaxo.” At that the young black cat quickly looked up at the cat beside him.

“Are you sure that is a good idea, Old Deuteronomy, sir?” He asked apprehensively.

“Yes, I am sure,” Deuteronomy said slowly, “even aside from the concern of her safety, I think it will be better for you not to be completely alone.”

The two young cats looked at each other, each one studying the other and processing everything that had taken place.

“It was incredibly improper for you to have listened to our conversations, Jemima,” Quaxo said, “I ought to turn you into a spotted toad to teach you a lesson!”

“What was that you were saying earlier about not turning evil, young Master Jones?” Old Deuteronomy asked, amusement clear in his voice. Quaxo’s ears and nose turned bright red and he shrunk down sheepishly, Jemima watching him with a smug look that seemed unfitting for her innocent face.

***

Quaxo gazed longingly at The Meow Club sign above Bustopher Jones’ door, spending one last precious moment bathed in its familiar yellow glow. He had no idea whether he would be able to see it again. He had no idea if he would be able to see Bustopher again. He had no idea if he really would be able to find the Russel Hotel, though he hoped his guess was good enough to get him there. Just a few hours ago everything in his world had seemed so clear and bright, and now it had all been destroyed, leaving him stumbling in the dark.

A slight spark of electricity itched at his ear, and Quaxo shook his head to force himself out of his thoughts before scratching the sensation away. He could not use any magic, that much was clear, and that meant that he could not spend too much time dwelling on the situation or he would risk losing control of his power in his upset. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, willing himself to calm down. With his tail proudly perpendicular he turned away from the loving yellow light towards Jemima who was waiting for him, and together they walked off into the mist in somber silence.

Chapter Text

Quaxo Jones’ mind was revolving rapidly between panic and forced calm as he stalked along the cobblestone streets of London. He was, admittedly, somewhat lost, at this point partly due to the fact that he was so caught up in controlling his mind that after a while he had neglected to pay attention to anything else. He had no idea how long he had been walking as his feet moved forward automatically, the rhythm of footsteps a constant beat that was the only thing keeping time.

            It was only when this rhythm changed that Quaxo came out of his trance, lifting his heavy head to determine the source of the disruption. After blinking blearily for a moment he realized that the second set of footsteps in the rhythm had been silenced. He turned around and saw that Jemima was crouched several paces back, so he walked over to her, sitting himself down in front of her and waiting for her to explain. Slowly she looked up at him with perhaps the most pitiable face he had ever seen.

            “This is the farthest away from home I’ve ever been,” she said in a voice that sounded like both an apology and a plea, “I’ve never walked this much all at once before. I’m trying, Mister Mistoffelees, I really am! But there’s too much pain in my paws now, and it’s so cold…I can’t move anymore!”

            As Quaxo listened to the tiny kitten speak the fog of hyper focus lifted from his mind, and he realized just how exhausted he also felt, from the long trek as well as all that had happened earlier in the night. He nodded absently in response to the kitten, looking around for a safe spot to sleep. His tired, blurry eyes landed on a cardboard box that lay against the wall of an old building and he decided that it would suffice as a shelter. With great effort he picked Jemima up, awkwardly fumbling his way over to the box in short bursts before finally reaching it. He turned the empty box on its side and pushed the opening against the bricks to block out the wind before bringing his little companion inside. He curled around her as best he could, though, being only barely bigger than her, it wasn’t much. A trace of guilt tinged his tired mind when he felt how badly she was trembling.

            “I’m sorry I made you stop,” she said quietly as she curled as close as she could against him.

            “No need to apologize,” he said sleepily, “we cannot get very far if we have not had rest.” And that was the end of the conversation as the two of them quickly drifted off into a dreary world of dreams.

***

            An incredibly loud clang startled the two young cats out of their sleep, the box rolling in the ensuing chaos as they sprung and scrambled about in panic. The inside of the box was nearly destroyed before they finally collected their wits enough to dart out of it, wildly searching for the source of the continued clanging coming from somewhere high above them.

            “Oh, for goodness’ sake!” Quaxo said in frustrated relief as he covered his ears, “of all the buildings we could have cozied up to, we ended up taking shelter at St. James’ Church!”

            “You know this place?” Jemima asked. Quaxo laughed.

            “It would be a pathetic thing indeed if the adopted son of THE Cat About Town had not at least heard of this place!” he scoffed. Jemima looked up at the old gothic building with a feeling that was a mix of wonder, curiosity, and fear—that last one being because of the loud bells, of course.

            “Why is it making that noise?” she asked, though it was hard to hear her over the ringing.

            “Because Mass is starting,” Quaxo answered, “I forgot it was Sunday! Come on, let’s go inside!” He bounded off toward what he correctly assumed was the entrance with Jemima just behind and the two tiny cats slipped inside as the choir began to sing.

O Sanctissima, O Piissima

Dulcis Virgo Maria

Mater amata, intemerata

Ora, ora pro nobis

            He found a comfortable corner where they could watch the proceedings without being pestered by the public and settled in with Jemima by his side. Her eyes widened in amazement as she looked up at the morning light peering in from far away windows in a high, buttressed ceiling. She tilted her head farther and farther back as she gazed until she found herself flopping onto her back. Quaxo looked at her in amusement, then shook his head with a smile.

            “Do you know any more about this place?” Jemima asked as she righted herself.

            “A…decent amount, I suppose,” Quaxo answered as he thought, “I have read a bit about its history, anyway.”

            “You can read?” Jemima said in surprise, and Quaxo nodded.

            “I was the only kitten at The Egyptian for quite some time, you see, and even once more kittens were finally born, they were still too young for me to play with, so I taught myself to read in order to entertain myself; I learned a lot of the basics of magic tricks from some of the books that were in the theater, though after a while I started coming up with tricks and inventions of my own. I kept reading books after I moved in with Bustopher as well and—anyway, yes, I can read,” he said.

            “Tell me what you read about this place, please!” Jemima said, sitting herself neatly down with her ears fully forward.

            “I…” Quaxo began, fiddling with his paws as he looked toward the altar where the priest stood chanting, “well…this is an unusual sort of church for England, at least in the present day. A very long time ago there was a king and a queen who decided to make their own church, so lots of churches like this were destroyed and the humans who frequented them were killed. This one we are in now, however, claimed to be an embassy from Spain, which is another country far away where churches like this one are common. Because it was treated as a foreign thing, this place was allowed to carry on with its services, and in that way it protected its parishioners from being killed. That is…the basics of it, anyway, I think, though it has been some time since I read it.” Jemima looked concerned and confused.

            “What do you mean by ‘destroyed’?” she asked.

            “I mean destroyed. Breaking, hacking, burning, all of it,” he responded. Jemima looked back up at the far away windows, shivering as she imagined them shattering into a billion pieces and raining sharp shards down on her head.

            “And they killed other humans?”

            “Yes. Lots.”

            “Is that why there aren’t lots of humans here now?”

            “I…daresay it might be related,” Quaxo answered uncertainly. Jemima turned back to the front in silence and found herself dazzled. The morning sun had hit the great rose window just right so that it cast a kaleidoscope of color down onto the altar below.

            “I don’t know why. It makes me sad,” she whispered as she sat mesmerized. Quaxo said nothing, and the choir began once again, singing softly and somberly.

Pie Jesu, Pie Jesu

Pie Jesu, Pie Jesu

Qui tollis peccata mundi dona eis requiem

Dona eis requiem

            It is, of course, Jellicle nature to be musically inclined, and little Jemima was no exception. As soprano voices soared beyond the ceiling, the little kitten simply could not help adding her own to the next verse.

Agnus Dei, Agnus Dei

Agnus Dei, Agnus Dei

Qui tollis peccata mundi dona eis requiem

Dona eis requiem

Sempiternam

Sempiternam

Requiem

            Quaxo listened in amazement at the kitten’s utterly angelic voice, closing his eyes in rapture as he felt it and those of the choir flow through him, and didn’t leave his reverie even after the song had finished. Then the priest gave his final blessing and the closing hymn began, and only then did Quaxo reopen his eyes as both he and Jemima joined in.

Alma Redemptoris Mater, quae pervia caeli

Porta manes, et stella maris, succurre cadenti,

Surgere qui curat, populo: tu quae genuisti,

Natura mirante, tuum sanctum Genitorem

Virgo prius ac posterius, Gabrielis ab ore

Sumens illud Ave, peccatorum miserere.

            Humans in long robes made a slow procession down the center of the building towards the entrance, carrying gilded containers on long golden chains, lit candles on long metal holders, and a tall wood carving held like a banner above all the rest. As the last of the procession made its way to the end of the path and the music swelled to a stop, the rest of the humans began to get up from their wooden chairs. Quaxo and Jemima were so caught up in the moment that they were completely blindsided when a squeal pealed throughout the echoey sanctum.

            “LOOK! KITTENS!” a young girl cried, and soon the two little cats were swarmed by parishioners and scooped into unknown arms before they had a chance to escape. Quaxo was not at all pleased; he tried desperately to wriggle his way out of the restricting arms and inwardly cried at how ruffled and mussed his normally neat coat was getting. His claws dug in as he tried to clamber over the person’s shoulder to escape, but froze when he felt a jolt of electricity shoot down his spine. He could not afford to get too worked up and lose control of his magic, so, begrudgingly, he forced himself to stay calm and still, hating every hand that swept itself across his body.

            “OW! You little chiv-man!” said the girl holding him as she pried his claws loose from her blouse, “what was that for?” Quaxo rolled his eyes, rather annoyed that she could not figure out the obvious answer.

            Jemima, on the other hands, was having a ball. She giggled as humans cooed over her, tickled her belly, and caressed her from head to tail with their big warm hands. They wiggled their fingers in her face and she tried to catch them, and they scratched underneath her chin to the point that she could not help erupting into enormous purrs.

            “These people are so nice, Mister Mistoffelees!” she called out between giggles. He did not respond.

            “What’s all this?” a kind voice called. The crowd parted to reveal the priest, who had come over to investigate the commotion.

            “There’s two little kittens here!” a parishioner responded.

            “Oh?” the priest replied, taking a closer look at the two little cats and giving each a little pat, “they must be hungry and cold. I think I have some food I can feed them if you’ll let me take them.” The people handed over Quaxo, who clung to the man’s robe, and then Jemima, who curled up in the crook of his arm. He thanked his parishioners and they thanked him in return before they bid each other farewell blessings, and the priest turned and took the little cats to a small back room. It seemed to be an office of sorts with a great deal of clutter, and the priest closed the door before setting his two little guests down onto the floor.

            “I think I’ve got a little bowl somewhere,” he mumbled, partially to himself and partially to them, and after a significant amount of shuffling and clanking he set down a few strips of jerky as well as a small saucer filled with water.

            “Go ahead and eat up, kittens, I’m sure you need it,” the priest said, “you poor little things. Where is your mummy?”

            Good question, thought Quaxo as he tentatively took a sip.

            “He thinks we’re siblings,” Jemima giggled as she joined him. The priest sat back and sighed as he watched them eat and drink, apparently pondering something.

            “Well,” he said quietly after a while, “you’ve both got collars, so I suppose that means you’ve got an owner. Perhaps you got lost? Or perhaps you’re just on a little adventure?”

            “We’re going to The Gumbie Cat’s Cradle!” Jemima shouted up to him.

            “I suppose an adventure it is, then,” the man said, chuckling at her loud meow.

            “He does not understand you,” Quaxo muttered to his companion.

            “I think he understands enough,” she replied, still looking up at the priest.

            “You two are always welcome to take shelter here, and I’ll have to be sure to keep treats around to give you,” the man said, “but you be careful now. Stay off of busy streets and don’t wander off to where you aren’t supposed to.” He knew nothing of the journey that lay ahead of the two little cats, but his advice spoke to them nonetheless. With their hearts and stomachs full, Quaxo and Jemima found themselves feeling a renewed vigor and a great deal more hope than they had the previous night.

            “I think we’re gonna make it, Mister Mistoffelees,” Jemima said as they hopped down the entrance steps.

            “You think so?” he replied blankly, only half listening.

            “Yes, I do. And I think so because that priest helped us, which probably means that the Heaviside Layer is on our side, and also because you’re the cleverest cat there ever was!” That got Quaxo’s attention.

            “Well, thank you, my dear!” he said with a joyful laugh, “but at the very least, anyway, we have Old Deuteronomy to protect us, and that, I think, matters more than my tricks.” Jemima was quiet for a moment as she stared ahead.

            “I wish he had come with us,” she said softly. Quaxo sighed.

            “Oh, how I wish he had,” he agreed, “but Old Deuteronomy is wise, and I trust his judgment more than my own…besides, it…is not for too long. He said he would meet us at the inn, so we will not be on our own like this forever.”

            And a peaceful silence settled between them as they continued on.

Chapter Text

Eternal widower and many times father, Old Deuteronomy had outlived every wife and child he had ever had. For all of them he had acted as the undertaker, taking great care to bury them properly and see their souls off safely to the Heaviside Layer. Even as the litany of wives grew longer and the amount of his progeny became ever more numerous, there was no one of any species who could honestly say that the Jellicle Leader did not deeply love every single one.

The most recent of his progeny were three sons, born to him by his one-hundredth wife; each one was tall and lean with grace and strength befitting of Jellicle princes, and in build they much resembled their father from a youth long forgotten by time. Old Deuteronomy had stationed each one of them in different Jellicle territories to keep watch and lead in his stead (since his tottery old legs prevented him from getting around as much as he would like,) but the only one who had so far fully stepped up to the role was the eldest, Macavity.

Macavity was the only one out of the three brothers to have inherited the supernatural abilities of their father. As a kitten his father had taught him as best he could how to channel and control the magic, but for Macavity the lessons were never enough; he always wanted to know far more than his father could—or would—teach. He was a remarkably smart and inventive kitten, always coming up with new magical techniques and increasing the potency of his powers so rapidly that Old Deuteronomy soon found himself training his son how to rein in his powers rather than how to bring them out.

Macavity was just as much a practical cat as he was a mystical cat; even when he was small, he had always been logical, organized, and efficient in his doings. When he was old enough to be assigned a territory, the Jellicle Leader had no reason to doubt that his eldest son’s station would be run smoothly, for when it came to planning and execution there was no one like Macavity.

His eldest son’s pronounced skill in all things practical as well as his proclivity for magic was why, on this day, Old Deuteronomy was determinedly making his way towards Macavity’s post to ask him for advice about the situation with the young Quaxo Jones. A proper tactical plan supported by extensive knowledge of the workings of magic was the exact thing needed now, for though the ancient cat was wise in the ways of spirituality and mysticism, the more down-to-earth pragmatic side of things had never been one of his talents. He was traveling as fast as his tottery old legs could carry him (which was admittedly not very fast at all), and all the while he walked he whispered prayers under his breath for the safety of Quaxo and Jemima, as well as hoping that for once his eldest son might actually be at his station. Macavity’s meticulously crafted system made it so that he did not always have to be present for things to run perfectly, and he took advantage of that benefit frequently. This made it so that catching Macavity at a time when he was in was somewhat like trying to catch smoke in one’s hand.

The Jellicle Leader breathed a sigh of relief as the spires of the Tower of London finally came into view. He had arrived faster than he could have hoped, and if luck was on his side this far, perhaps it would hold so that he would be able to see Macavity immediately. He hobbled quickly up to the entrance—a small crack in the wall that the humans either hadn’t noticed or thought nothing of—and approached the cat guarding it inconspicuously from the inside. He was a rough-looking tabby, grey and brown in color and with fur missing from the top of his head, as if a severe burn had healed over.

“Good afternoon,” Old Deuteronomy greeted warmly, and the guard cat gave him a look that was not quite a glare.

“Afternoon,” he replied curtly.

“I need to speak with Macavity immediately, as it is a matter of grave importance. Is he in at this time?” Deuteronomy asked, his warm tone unchanged. Every cat deserved grace and respect, whether they returned it or not.

“Who’s askin’?” the guard replied with a scoff.

“His father. Allow me to introduce myself: I am Old Deuteronomy, Leader of the Jellicles. May I ask what your name is?” The annoyed look was quickly wiped from the tabby cat’s face as his eyes widened in disbelief and his jaw hung open.

“Old—Old-d-d-Deut…?” he stuttered in shock, “y-you…I—yes, the boss—I mean, Macavity is in today, o-or at least he was the last I heard. Come on, come on in, I’ll bring you right to ‘im. A-and when you speak to ‘im, tell ‘im that Ratfink brought you, as that’s my name!”

Ratfink? What a terrible name for a parent to give to their child! Deuteronomy thought as he entered the passageway. But he would not say that out loud to the poor cat, so instead he simply said, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Ratfink.”

“Oh, believe me, the pleasure’s all mine,” the guard replied, leading the large, long-haired Coon cat along the small passageway.

As they wound their way up towards the top of the tall turret where Macavity’s parlor rested, Old Deuteronomy occasionally saw some of his son’s workers, all of whom gave him mixtures of confused, suspicious, and amused looks. This was not at all the sort of greeting he would have expected; he could understand if the outside guard had simply been new and unfamiliar with the Jellicle Leader, but for every single cat he passed to not show any sort of reverence at all—which he concluded must be from a lack of recognition—seemed strange behavior for the employees of his son, who surely must have explained it to them. But quite a lot of the workers had a rough look to them, and Deuteronomy supposed they had been badly off before his son took them in and hired them, so his feelings of confusion were overridden quickly with pride over Macavity’s mercy and pity for the less fortunate cats.

When they finally came to the parlor door Ratfink merely bowed and motioned for him to go inside.

“He already knows you’re here,” he said, “we got eyes and ears all over the tower to run messages, so he’s expecting you now.”

“Like a well-oiled machine,” Old Deuteronomy chuckled fondly, “thank you for accompanying me here, Ratfink, it is greatly appreciated. I will be sure to mention you as you requested.” The cat in question merely gave a toothy smile and a quick bow in return before darting off back the way he had come.

When the Jellicle Leader stepped inside the room before him, he found that the term ‘parlor’ no longer described it; in the long time since he had last been in it, the place had been transformed into what could more accurately be labeled as a throne room. Lavish velvet drapes of carmine color hung all along the circular wall and covered various objects and surfaces around the room. Precious shiny things, mostly made of metal, were stacked and strewn about like a dragon’s hoard, and at the peak of the tallest pile, resting on a nest of throw pillows and blankets of the same carmine velvet material, was the dragon himself, Macavity.  

The appearance of his eldest son was another drastic difference. His eyes were so sunken in it seemed as if he had not slept in months, and his wild coat looked as though it had long been neglected. His claws were exceptionally overgrown and startlingly black, as if he’d never trimmed them or cleaned the collected grime out of them, and his frame had become rawboned and gaunt. Nevertheless, he was smiling as his piercing and abnormally luminous yellow eyes fell upon his father.

“Old Deuteronomy,” he greeted in a warm, teasing tone, “I have not been blessed with the honor of your visit in an exhaustingly long amount of time. To what do I owe the occasion?” As he spoke, he effortlessly glided down off his throne and over to his unexpected—but no less welcome—guest.

“I have tried to visit you many times, my dear boy, but you were never there when I did,” Deuteronomy replied. Macavity tilted his head in mock apology.

“Ah! Well, I cannot be expected to become a recluse for the sake of duty. There are places that need patrolling and a myriad of mysteries to be meddled with,” he replied with an unapologetically guilty smile.

“But it appears that you have neglected to take care of yourself! When was the last time you ate, or slept, or groomed yourself, even? And what is the meaning of all this gaudiness and excess I see about? Where did it come from, and why is it here?” Deuteronomy asked with deep concern. Macavity, unfazed, waited patiently for his father to finish before he replied,

“You need not worry about me; I have everything under control. In fact, I have been doing better than I ever have, though we will discuss that later. The precious items and decorations you see around here are merely a bit of self-indulgence, and a lot of them came to me simply as a result of my business dealings around London. They make this place look a great deal livelier, don’t you think?”

Deuteronomy gave a disapproving frown. “I cannot honestly say that I agree with this, Macavity,” he said, “and there was something else: I was informed by the cat who led me here that I ought to tell you his name—Ratfink, it was, though it hurts my heart to hear it. What an awful and improper name for a cat. It has not even got three syllables! I cannot imagine why a parent would give such a name to their child.” Macavity shrugged.

“It is not his birth name; it was given to him by other cats. In the conflict between Tevildo’s followers and the unconquered clowders he was caught as a traitor to the cause, and as such he was punished and renamed. That is why he’s got that scar on his head. I thought I might have mercy on him and give him a second chance,” he explained, seeming entirely uninterested.

“But surely you could call him by his real name, or give him a new one so that he can start afresh!” Deuteronomy suggested with concern.

“I cannot control what my employees choose to call him and I see no reason to bother with it. It is most likely his request that you mention him to me was his attempt at redemption, as well as getting into my good graces,” the carmine cat mused casually as he examined his unusually long claws.

“I thought you said you had everything under control,” the elder cat responded.

“I do,” Macavity said flatly. Old Deuteronomy sighed heavily, deciding to drop the subject for now.

“I do not have time for banter,” he said, “There is a pressing matter at hand for which I have come to you for help and advice.”

“Oh?” said Macavity, his lips curling into a smarmy smirk, “THE wise Old Deuteronomy comes to his son for advice? It must be a very pressing matter indeed!”

“Macavity, please,” his father scolded gently. The ginger cat bowed his head and put his paws up in submission.

“Do tell.”

“There is a new mystical cat in London. He is small and young and seems to have been born with an incredible power. I have noticed that it manifests rather similarly to yours, strange though it is,” Old Deuteronomy began. Macavity cocked his head to the side.

“Similar in what way?” He asked.

“Electricity,” the ancient cat replied, “bolts shooting through the air and sparks shining throughout his coat. He can disappear and teleport as well, though the latter he says he has only accomplished a couple of times. Despite this, it is the reason for my visit today: just days ago the little fellow managed to pull off an astounding feat of magic in which he teleported his adoptive father a substantial distance. While I am impressed by the magnitude of his feat, the resulting shock wave of the magic he used has almost certainly been felt by other mystical cats far and wide. I am sure you felt it, too.”

“Is that what that was?” Macavity said smiling, indicating that he knew exactly what his father was talking about. Old Deuteronomy smiled and nodded.

“This means that Tevildo and his servants have felt it as well, and they are certain to be seeking out the source. I sent the young one off so that he would not be around the transmission site when they arrived, but he is still far from safe, which is why I need your assistance, Macavity. I know how powerful and talented you are with your magic, and you have always been excellent at planning. If we work together I believe we will be able to successfully protect the boy; Quaxo Jones is his name, and he is the adopted son of Bustopher Jones,” the elderly cat explained. At his last few words, Macavity, who had been absently batting a golden goblet closer to the edge of a table as he listened, snapped to attention so suddenly that he inadvertently knocked the chalice to the floor in the process. A resounding clang rang loudly throughout the large round room, but Macavity gave no more acknowledgment to it than a slight twitch of his ear; his attention was fully fixed on his father.

“Bustopher Jones? The Cat About Town? That pudgy, pompous old popinjay? That is the cat the kit managed to teleport?” he asked incredulously. Deuteronomy frowned.

“Yes, that one, though you could be more generous in the way you speak of others,” he replied. Macavity ignored him.

“Where did you send the kit?” he asked.

“To The Gumbie Cat’s Cradle. I know that Jennyanydots can be trusted to protect him to the best of her ability.”

“Of course, of course. But what of Bustopher Jones himself? You were not worried for his safety as well?”

“Master Jones had already set off to visit his sister Demeter at that time, so he was a good distance away from the transmission site when I spoke to Quaxo,” Old Deuteronomy answered. Macavity stared even more intensely at him with an expression the old cat could not quite decipher.

“Demeter?” he said, his electric yellow eyes sparking and boring into his father’s, “I do believe I have met her, if we are in fact speaking of the same cat. Known her quite well actually, though I have not seen her in a long time despite looking for her. I always had a marvelous time with her, and I…well, I suppose you could say that I miss her. Can you tell me where she has been all this time?”

“I am afraid I did not ask. I am sorry,” Deuteronomy replied, shaking his head sadly. In response Macavity gave an exasperated growl, startling the grey cat, and glared fiercely at the golden goblet that still lay discarded on the floor. For a moment all was silent save for the sound of the ginger cat’s tail angrily swishing against the floor, until finally he looked back up at the elder cat who was patiently waiting with a sympathetic look on his face.

“This new Jones,” Macavity said slowly, “what does he look like?”

“Like his adoptive father, really, only very petit instead of large. I thought the two of them were related by blood until young Master Jones corrected me himself,” Deuteronomy said. He wanted to know the reason for the sudden overreaction, but the thin red cat seemed to be intensely pondering something, staring off into the distance as the tip of his tail twitched back and forth.

“Where did he come from?”

“He was apparently a resident at The Egyptian theater before his adoption, according to what I have been told.”

“What of his birth parents?”

“From what I understand it is a complete mystery, as he had been found abandoned on the doorstep of the theater. May I ask why this is of importance to you?” Old Deuteronomy asked. Macavity paused briefly before giving him a half-smile.

“It is always good to learn as much as possible and take all into consideration when making plans. In any case, you are correct that Tevildo’s cats are after the source of the signal; in fact, they have already made it to the epicenter of the blast, but if what you say is true then they most certainly have come up empty thus far,” he said. The Jellicle Leader frowned in confusion.

“You know this? How?” he asked. At that Macavity’s mouth melded into a gleeful grin.

“I have seen it,” he answered, and began to move away, gesturing for his father to follow. Bewildered, Old Deuteronomy let himself be led over to an object covered in carmine cloth, which the cat of the same color yanked away with a flourish.

Revealed was a television set that had been highly altered; the back had been removed, showing that many of the wires had been rearranged and remade; multiple pieces of the various precious metals from the hoard had been welded precariously into and onto the machine in numerous places, as well as various jewels having been built into the dials; what stood out most of all, however, was that the screen was no longer made from ordinary glass, but rather a very rare and fine sort of crystal—the kind of crystal that had a history of being used for seeing stones.

“A seeing stone is a dangerous thing to toy with,” Deuteronomy cautioned, his eyes fixed with uncertainty on the screen. Macavity rolled his eyes and rubbed his front paws together until sparks danced around his palms.

“Why? Why should we fear to use them? We are mystical cats, not regular little practical cats with no idea how to work the things and limited capacity to even fathom them. Here, take a look at what I can do with it,” he said, and placed his claws on the dials. He shot electricity into the machine as he turned them and it hummed to life, the screen fading between channels both human and feline as he continued to turn the dials. The feline channels, which were exclusively magical ones, showed intimate and detailed views of locations both near and far in ways that no human broadcast could ever hope to achieve.

“I am also able to communicate over it, which only expedites business further,” the ginger cat explained with excitement. Old Deuteronomy, however, had had enough.

“But we do not know who else may be watching!” he scolded with a hint of exasperation before hastily twisting the power dial into the off position. As soon as his claws made contact with the contraption he felt a sharp sting that struck him to his core; not just a regular shock of electricity, but something dark and sinister, a prick of powerful and evil magic that made the ancient cat shiver with what almost felt like pain. He stared dumbfounded at the now dead machine, for over the course of his long life he had unfortunately become very familiar with the feeling. It was the magic of the enemy, of Tevildo, and Old Deuteronomy wanted nothing more in that moment than to destroy the infected device before him.

“The hour is later than you think,” Macavity said calmly, his voice echoing eerily around the room. Deuteronomy whirled around; the macilent cat had been just beside him mere moments before, yet now he was suddenly lounging on his throne, his tail swinging with mild interest. There was a look in his eye that genuinely scared the Jellicle Leader, and more disconcerting was the fact that Macavity was purring evenly while a small smirk played across his lips.

“You did not seriously think that a kitten could contend with the will of Tevildo, did you?” he asked in a voice that somehow seemed both amiable and condescending at once. “They will find him, of course. They may have been set back, but only by a little. Once they capture him—and believe me, Old Deuteronomy, they will—he will be added to Tevildo’s ranks. Even if he refuses to agree or resists in any way, they will still secure his power. There’s more than one way to skin a cat, as the humans say.” Deuteronomy cringed at the phrase, his heart beginning to beat faster by the second as Macavity continued calmly and clinically, like a doctor describing the treatment plan of a patient.

“Threats against loved ones would be next on the list, and if that does not sway him then the procedure moves on to torture. After that he will have to be put under Tevildo’s spell, for if he will not aid him willingly then he will have no will at all. They may also attempt to harvest his magic from him, which would result in an excruciatingly painful death for him, but that does not matter to them. It is the power they want; the body is not necessary. If the kit is smart, he will acquiesce before it comes to any of that, but if not, well…what must be done will be done,” the carmine cat said with a callous shrug. The Jellicle Leader was now frozen, his jaw hanging open as he stared in horror and disbelief.

“You say such terrible things without a care,” he said, almost in a whisper.

“That is the reality of it, which you are too sanguine to admit; but you must face it: against the will of Tevildo there can be no victory. We must join with him, Old Deuteronomy. We must join with Tevildo. It would be wise, father,” the wiry cat said pointedly.

“Tell me, son,” Deuteronomy said as his hackles began to rise, “when did Macavity the Mastermind abandon reason for madness?” Macavity grinned and he shook his head, chuckling softly.

“I thought you would say something like that,” he said, “you always were rigid in your archaic morals to the point of stupidity and ruin. Allow me to make myself plain: Tevildo knows you are his adversary, and he wants you either destroyed or deployed; it is in your best interest to choose the latter.”

“I shall be neither, nor will you. I see now that you have abused your magic and the status I have given you, and thus no longer have any right to either. I am sorry to do this, Macavity, but this ends now,” Deuteronomy said firmly, gathering up his magic as he put a paw forward. He sent out a powerful surge, finely crafted and ancient beyond telling, that would neutralize and extract Macavity’s magic without doing him any harm. To his vast surprise, however, the wave of magic hit a psychic wall and instantly fizzled into nothing; never before had Macavity had the ability to block the powers of the Jellicle Leader. It was then, to Old Deuteronomy’s horror, that the cat before him transformed, the dirt and grime being cast away as his wild red coat lit up like a flame. Shadows crawled their way around the fiery cat’s body, as flickers of lightning zapped here and there. Macavity’s eyes glowed so fiercely that his pupils were no longer visible, and dark streaks sizzled down from his eyes like unholy tears. In desperation Deuteronomy sent wave after wave of neutralizing power, but every single billow was choked and destroyed by a simple flick of Macavity’s paw. For the first time ever, Deuteronomy found himself outmatched by his own son.

“There are perks to aligning oneself with Tevildo, as you can see,” Macavity said conversationally.

“Macavity,” Old Deuteronomy said, his heart and his voice broken, “what have you done?”

“What you, for all your alleged wisdom, are too foolish to do,” he replied, sounding like a teacher scolding a petulant student, “I gave you the chance of aiding me willingly, but you have elected the way of pain.” Macavity flung both of his front paws forward with his claws fully extended, and a net of black tendrils began to weave itself around Deuteronomy. In a panic the ancient cat sent out multiple surges to deflect the dark magic as he struggled to set himself free, but the cross-woven twine recovered near instantly every time. Once thoroughly entangled the Jellicle Leader finally lay still, looking up as Macavity’s tall, blazing frame slowly came to stand over him. A terrible silence filled the space between them as they stared into each other’s eyes. Macavity’s head swayed from side to side as he surveyed his work before giving a small nod to himself, seemingly satisfied with the results.

“The Gumbie Cat’s Cradle, you said?” he said, but walked away before he got any reply; he had not asked because he wanted an answer.

Old Deuteronomy stared ahead without seeing, trying to wrap his head around everything that had just happened. He had come for advice on how to keep Quaxo—and by extension, little Jemima—safe, and in doing so had revealed their location directly to the enemy. But to think that the enemy, the evilest of cats that had long been his nemeses, now included his son—his very own, beloved son—

The old cat’s shoulders began to shake as powerful, sorrowful sobs escaped him, his whole body heaving in his grieving. His cries echoed loudly off the cold stone walls that stood indifferent to his suffering, and a great loneliness and helplessness bore an unbearable hole in his heart.

Please, he prayed in his mind, please keep the little ones safe!

Chapter Text

The cold, hard bricks chafed against the pads of Quaxo Jones’ aching paws as he stalked along the top of a wall. He had done far too much walking in far too many directions for his taste, and yet as far as he could tell they were no closer to their destination.

“Mister Mistoffelees?”

How hard could it be to find the Russell Hotel, anyway? It ought to have been somewhere near the cathedral and easily recognizable, but he had seen nothing of the sort. He had assured little Jemima that it was most likely because they simply had not walked far enough and that it ought to be “just up ahead”, but it had been many “just up ahead”s since and still they were not where they needed to be. In truth, at this point he simply just did not want to face the fact that he really had no idea where the hotel was.

“Mister Mistoffelees?”

I cannot let Jemima know, or the poor little thing might get scared and upset, he reasoned with himself, though it was more because his attempts at cherishing his pride were still stronger than his steadily growing panic.

“Mister Mistoffelees?!”

If I just keep my tail up and carry on, he thought, perhaps we will find the place and she will be none the wiser. At the very least we have got to keep moving so that we are not found; perhaps that is what I shall tell her if she asks how much farther it is or if we can rest or whatnot. Yes, just keep moving and make sure not to think about it too hard—

“Mister Mistoffelees!!”

“What?!” Quaxo shrieked, harsher and shriller than he had intended, as he whirled around to face the kitten behind him.

Jemima flinched at his outburst, crouching down against the top of the wall with her ears against her skull. For a moment she doubted whether she ought to say anything at all, but seeing as she had already irritated the black cat enough to get his attention, backing out now would only serve to irritate him even more.

“I-I’m sorry,” she began, trying to find her words, “It’s just…we’ve been walking for a long time now, and, well, we’ve been going in circles a little bit, and just…do you really know where we are?” Quaxo froze for a moment.

Oh, blast, she is starting to notice, he thought, but outwardly he rolled his eyes and turned back around, continuing along the top of the brick wall.

“Of course I do. This is Victoria Grove. It says so on the sign,” he replied.

“Okay, but do you know how to go to The Gumbie Cat’s Cradle from here?” Jemima said, catching up to Quaxo as she surveyed their surroundings. To their left was a steep drop with a dumpster just below, and to their right was a perpendicular wall that separated one flat’s yard from another’s.

“Have you got any better ideas?” Quaxo said, “at the very least we are making tracks. That has got to count for something.”

“But if we’re in the wrong spot then Old Deuteronomy can’t help us. What if this is where the bad cats are and they run into us because we’re here instead of where we should be?” she pressed, worry clear in her voice as she looked around at various shadows. Quaxo stopped walking and turned back towards her again.

“Jemima,” he said, trying to reassure himself as much as he was reassuring the kitten, “we are in Victoria Grove. I may not have been here before, but I have heard about it. This is one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in London. It is sure to be well-guarded and well-watched, and the only other cats here are posh, proper, and pampered little pussies. What could possibly happen?”

At that moment a flash of orange flew in front of Quaxo’s face, leaving the space before him suddenly and abruptly empty. Bewildered, he darted forward, sniffing at the bricks where, until a second ago, Jemima had been standing. As soon as he did something rapidly rammed into his side and knocked him right off his feet, tumbling off the wall and into the dumpster below. Pinned underneath his assailant, he let out an indignant screech and began kicking incessantly with his hind feet, causing it to quickly hop off.

“Mistoffelees!” it said with a voice that was recognizably female and feline, “Jerrie! Look! It’s the Magical Mister Mistoffelees!”

“Hullo, Misty!” said a voice to his right, and Quaxo looked over to see Mungojerrie smiling at him while yanking a befuddled Jemima to her feet.

“Here, hold this!” Rumpleteazer said from his front, and before Quaxo had the time to fully look back at her, a hard, heavy bag was dropped on his chest.

“What—what is the meaning of this?!” the black cat squeaked, the wind knocked from his lungs as he lay flat on his back amongst the trash. When neither cat gave him an answer, he looked again to his right to see Mungojerrie quickly grooming and checking the tiny kitten over while Rumpleteazer scrambled about, trying to pick up the contents that had spilled out of her partner’s pillowcase in the collision. Gold, silver, diamonds, and pearls glinted in the low light as she reloaded them into the bag, and it was then a realization came to Quaxo.

“You two have been out burgling!” he said accusingly, and Jemima’s jaw dropped as she gasped, wide eyes darting between the calicos; but the imputation did not seem to faze them at all. What did faze them, however, was the sound of a dog’s barking from inside the house. All four cats whipped to attention at the increasing noise, their eyes going round.

“It’s that horrible cat!” a human could be heard screeching from inside the house, followed by some banging and the sound of a door whining open. Mungojerrie quickly scooped up Jemima as Rumpleteazer hefted the refilled bag of loot and the two of them darted over the edge of the dumpster in a whirl. Quaxo stared after them in annoyance before turning back toward the sound of the approaching dog and humans and was met with a face full of the loaded pillowcase sitting on his chest. In horror he realized how incredibly guilty he would appear upon being discovered, and, not being one to have his respectable reputation stained by something he did not do, he frantically scrambled out from underneath the heavy bag and followed after the thieves.

From the sound of it the dog had been let out the front door once the walls of the backyard proved to be too much of a hindrance, and was quickly making its way along the street to intercept them at the intersection. Quaxo made it to the end of the row of houses, where Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer had stopped, just as the dog rounded the corner and spotted them. With not enough time or distance to begin running again, the cats quickly clawed their way up a tall tree and clung to its higher branches, watching as the dog down below snuffled and barked and jumped around the trunk.

“I don’t know why they’re so upset!” Mungojerrie said, “it’s only a couple of karats!”

“And the silver and pearls!” Rumpleteazer piped up cheerfully from her branch, “oh, and those three bags of china that we lifted last week! And then the Argentine joint the week before!”

“YES, Teazer!” Mungojerrie said exasperatedly, “my point is, they’re clearly overreacting!” The flashing lights of torches now rounded the corner and began scanning through the trees as the human family caught up to the dog. “RUN!” Mungojerrie yelled.

“But—” was all Jemima could say before he again snatched her up, and in an instant him and Rumpleteazer had darted through the branches and onto the rooftop of the nearby house.

Oh, for goodness’ sake! Thought Quaxo with a low growl, grudgingly following suit. He continued looking behind him to check the progress of their pursuers as the four cats leaped from roof to roof along Launceston Place, and it seemed to him they were so far successfully outrunning them. If only I could just disappear! He thought, but no, no, we cannot have any magic! That would be far too convenient! No, we must run or else we shall have even more enemies on our tails!

So lost in bitter thoughts was he that he no longer paid attention to where he was going, and when he leapt into the air to clear the next gap between houses he instead rammed into a mass of black, white, and orange fur. With surprised and agitated yowls, the four cats went sprawling as they tumbled off the top of the last building in the row and landed in a hedge—which is not as comfortable as one might imagine, with all its hard and pokey branches.

“That was close!” Rumpleteazer said once free from the bush, shaking leaves out of her coat. Mungojerrie groaned, trying to wriggle out of his precarious position in the branches.

“I think I’ve broken something,” he grumbled. From underneath himself he pulled the loot bag, immediately beginning to dig through it to see what damage had been done in the fall.

Quaxo was not at all pleased with how rumpled and mussed his normally immaculate coat had gotten from the unexpected excursion, and began furiously grooming everything back into place in full view of the cat burglars to make his displeasure clear. Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer noticed, but they ignored him.

“Teazer, while I’m checking over the goods will you check over the little molly?” Mungojerrie called, not looking up from his task.

“Wha-? Do I look like the mothering type to you?!” Rumpleteazer replied indignantly.

“Well, since I’m rather occupied at the moment, yes, you do, unless Misty decides he’s done with his little tantrum over there,” he said.

“My anger is hardly unjustified!” Quaxo said, whirling around, “for all your allegedly notorious expertise, neither of you had the thought of actually looking where you were going and barreled right into me and Jemima! Not only that, but you dragged us into your little heist—quite literally in Jemima’s case!—and put us in danger that we do not need to be in! Now we are far off the trail that we were intended to be on and it is entirely your fault!”

“Oh? You’ve hardly got room to be running your mouth when just now you weren’t looking where you were going and knocked us all clean off the roof, you bloody hippopotamus!” Rumpleteazer shot back, her chin and tail turned up in indignation. The black cat stared at her for a moment.

“Were you…were you trying to say ‘hypocrite’?” he asked, a bit dumbfounded.

“Whatever the word is, yeah, that’s what I meant, and you know I’m right!”

“Besides,” Mungojerrie said, still not looking up, “so what if you’re a little off your path? It was just a detour. A shortcut.”

“A shortcut to what?” Quaxo scoffed.

“Not the pen, that’s for sure!” Rumpleteazer replied as she struggled to properly groom Jemima, who was being extraordinarily patient despite not enjoying the treatment. Quaxo rolled his eyes and growled low, stalking off down Kynance Place to get away from the two calicos; simply looking at them was aggravating him and he needed to cool down before his anger loosened his grip on his magic. To distract himself he began observing the street around him: to his right was another long row of houses while to his left were a couple cafes and shops with little awnings over their windows. As he wondered what it might be like for a cat to live here he came to the end of the street, where it opened up onto a much wider road—Gloucester Road, going by the sign on the corner. As Quaxo looked about he could tell that in the daytime this street would be bustling with activity of all sorts, but now as he stood there in the dead of night it was eerily empty and silent. A thought then began to nag at his mind, and he remembered the words of the priest who had taken care of him and Jemima the previous morning:

“You be careful now. Stay off of busy streets and don’t wander off to where you aren’t supposed to!”

Though it wasn’t busy now, this obviously was a much-frequented main street, and they had also most certainly wandered off to where they weren’t supposed to. It was then that Quaxo began to feel a strange sense of foreboding that made his hackles rise, and its potency increased as if something was drawing closer. Cautiously he stepped forward more, scanning the area and sniffing the air and straining his ears, when he suddenly felt a strong stinging on the back of his head, with a sensation like electric ice shooting down his spine and making him shiver in displeasure. He squeezed his eyes shut as the feeling grew sharper, almost involuntarily twisting his neck in an attempt to escape the sensation before violently juddering his head as if he were trying to shake himself dry. The ringing in his ears was suddenly interrupted by the sound of Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer loudly bickering about some inane subject just a short distance behind as they were on their way to join him. Quaxo gasped for breath and, to his own surprise, managed to shout:

“Get off the road!” He turned back and saw the three other cats staring at him in bewilderment that quickly turned into alarm as they took in his expression. “Quick!” he added in a panicked plea, and immediately they began scrambling to the other end of the street by Launceston Place, climbing over a vine-covered fence and curling up as tightly as they could against it to hide. The stinging sensation and the ringing in Quaxo’s ears continued to grow to almost unbearable levels until, in an instant, it was gone.

It was then that all four cats were suddenly gripped with an unearthly terror as they heard the sound of ragged breathing and heavy paw steps slowly shambling closer. Even for the middle of the night, the world around them was so impossibly quiet that all they could hear were the sounds whatever it was made, as well as their own rapid heartbeats and shallow, shaky breaths. As the shuffling and snuffling of the creature grew louder, the nearby streetlamp guttered and died, leaving the four cats in an overwhelming darkness that none of them had ever experienced before. It was as if their senses had been consumed entirely by whatever it was that was loping closer, with any sliver of light being smothered and any sound being stifled so that all they could perceive was its uneven, labored breathing and the drunken skidding of its paws on pavement. The smell of rot stabbed into their nostrils and they desperately fought the urge to sneeze. The footsteps stopped when the thing reached a point along the street that was parallel to the four cats’ hiding spot. The supernatural sensations had now reached a suffocating peak and the loud breathing from the other side of the fence was replaced by the sound of sniffing.

Trembling terribly, Quaxo slowly turned and peeked through the leaves to try and get a look at the thing. All he could see was a great pair of empty green eyes glowing unnaturally bright as the creature slowly sniffed its way toward them, and immediately the little black cat turned back around and began weighing his options. Jemima sat staring into a nonexistent distance, her expression more placid than panicked, but still unpleasant; Rumpleteazer was intently gazing upwards at a sky she could no longer see; and Mungojerrie cowered on the ground, curled up and shaking with his arms covering his head.

Quaxo was so overcome with terror that he could no longer think, and he could feel his hold on his magic escaping him; he was functioning on pure instinct and adrenaline now, and felt electricity prickling down his spine and on the pads of his paws. The thought of his magic getting loose and sending out a homing signal to the enemy only made him panic more, and feelings of hopelessness and helplessness began to take hold of his heart. The sheer amount of static radiating from his body began making Jemima’s fur stick straight out, and it was then that she broke out of her apparent trance. Her head snapped toward the black cat beside her, and quickly she placed her front paws over his trembling ones. The sudden unexpected contact distracted Quaxo from his spiraling emotions, drawing his attention to the kitten beside him. Her big eyes, wide and soft, locked with his, and in that moment the electric cat was grounded.

“Oi, Misty! You got a magic wand you could wave to make this thing go away?” Rumpleteazer whispered, her lips barely moving.

“He can’t use any magic,” Jemima whispered back as Quaxo put a silencing a claw to his lips. The calico thief got the message immediately and shrunk back farther against the brush behind them.

Wand? Wait a minute… Mungojerrie thought to himself, and with the silent dexterity that came with being a cat burglar he slowly pulled out the wand he had nicked from a human’s house a little over a week ago. Carefully he aimed it through the foliage and the fence before pressing the button on the side, a shaking red light appearing on the pavement right in front of the approaching creature. The sound of sniffing paused as it noticed; it tried to investigate the red light, but as soon as it got close it darted a meter or so away. The creature followed, and when again it was nearly on top of the mysterious light, it darted even farther away. This process continued to repeat as Mungojerrie directed the thing back the way it came.

Rumpleteazer felt Mungojerrie’s tail gently brush against her, and when she looked back at him he quickly cocked his head toward Launceston Place. She understood and pawed Jemima, who turned to her questioningly before seeing her motion to follow. Her and Quaxo silently rose and began to creep around the corner under Rumpleteazer’s guide, slipping through the bars at the fence’s entrance and onto the road. As they snuck past the side street’s inlet they finally saw a full view of the creature: a gigantic cat, like a tiger in size, cadaverous and gaunt with a coat so black it seemed as though it absorbed the light around it as it walked with an inebriated gait.

  Mungojerrie waited until the others were out of sight before he began to move, keeping the wand pointing farther and farther away for as long as he could before finally breaking into a run.

They sped through streets and alleys, continuing on even as their lungs stung and their muscles throbbed before finally climbing onto the roof of a building at the farthest end of Cornwall Mews. From that vantage point they crouched and scanned the area, an uneasy silence lingering between them for a long time before it was broken.

“What was that?!” Rumpleteazer asked. None of them answered, as they were all wondering the same thing. Mungojerrie stood and strode over to Quaxo, circling him slowly.

“That black panther was looking for something,” he said pointedly before coming to a stop, “or someone.” Though Quaxo’s ear flicked in the calico’s direction he did not respond, continuing to stare down at the streets. Mungojerrie leaned in closer to his ear.

“Mistoffelees?” he prompted, and finally the little black cat turned to face him with a wary look.

“I…I have to leave,” he whispered, “Jemima and I must get to The Gumbie Cat’s Cradle at the Russel Hotel.” Mungojerrie stepped back, looking Quaxo up and down as he appeared to consider something. He looked over to Rumpleteazer for a moment, and the two of them nodded in unison before turning back to him.

“We know the place,” Rumpleteazer said.

“And we’ll help you find it. Follow me,” said Mungojerrie. Before the black cat could protest or ask any questions the two cat burglars were off, so with an exasperated sigh and a roll of his eyes he followed. Once again they wound through a brick and cobblestone labyrinth, turning onto this street and that in rapid succession—Cornwall Gardens, Southwell Gardens, Queen’s Gate Gardens—and rather quickly Quaxo gave up trying to keep track of their route, deciding that even if the two cat burglars were lying about where they were leading them, as long as they got as far away as possible from that giant cat Quaxo didn’t really care where they went.

That is, of course, until Mungojerrie headed for the A road.

“No! No main roads!” Jemima called ahead.

“This is the fastest way!” Mungojerrie called back. The four cats were bathed in the lights from the numerous street lamps as they turned onto the street ahead, scampering on the sidewalk along a long brick wall.

From around the wall at the end of the block a giant black cat stepped into their path, staring them down with its laser-green eyes, and a sound like a hoarse hiss escaped its lips. The four cats skidded to a halt, their claws scraping against the cement as they scrambled to change direction.

“Detour! Detour!” Mungojerrie yelped, leading them across the street and through the black bars of Hyde Park’s outer fence. Cold grass tickled their paws as they ran through the field, checking behind them every few seconds. The gate had been a momentary setback for the creature as it could not fit through nor jump over without being impaled, but it soon found an access point and was quickly regaining ground due its much longer legs.

In front they could see that they were rapidly approaching the Serpentine, the light of the moon reflecting off its surface like a mirror, and at the same time all four cats came to the horrible realization that their predicament had suddenly become a situation of sink or swim. In a last desperate attempt to ditch their pursuer they dove into the icy water, shattering the image of the moon into many shimmering pieces as they did, spluttering and gasping from the shock as they paddled hard with their paws to keep their noses above the surface. Behind them the giant cat skidded to a stop, hissing and spitting angrily at the water, and when they chanced a look back at the creature they saw that it was pacing the shore at the spot whence they had leapt, its tail whipping and mouth foaming.

“It worked! It actually worked!” Rumpleteazer cried in astonished joy, trying not to swallow any water as she did, and for one fleeting moment the four Jellicles rejoiced as the creature turned back—until they saw two other pairs of large, luminescent green eyes coming to join it.

“There’s more than one,” Quaxo whispered in horror.

“And none of them can get around the length of this water before we can swim across it, so keep moving!” Mungojerrie said, shaking them all from their stupor.

Now everything had fallen eerily silent again, save for the sound of light splashing and gasping. They watched across the wide, dark water as the three pairs of eyes split up, heading noiselessly along the shore in opposite directions on their way around the long skinny lake. As the green lights faded farther into the distance the four cats paddled faster, increasingly worried that they would be caught on the other side if they were not fast enough.

Finally they felt their claws scraping against mud as the land rose up beneath them, and once fully out of the water they shook themselves frantically to get as dry as possible in the few seconds they had. As much as they longed to lick themselves dry there was absolutely no time for any such thing.

Ahead of them was a line of old, twisted trees and thick underbrush, the shadows under which were so dark that even with their natural night vision the four cats had a hard time seeing past the first few rows of foliage. Mungojerrie took a few steps forward, examining the woods with great consternation.

“This…is the Old Forest,” he said, his brow furrowed, “but…the Old Forest isn’t in Hyde Park.”

“What are you talking about?” Quaxo asked, panting.

“I mean, the Old Forest should be far, far away from here, and yet, here it is, right in front of us,” Mungojerrie replied, growing irritated in his confusion.

“Well how do you know it’s the Old Forest, then?” Jemima asked.

“Because I’ve been in the Old Forest before, I know what it looks like, what it smells like, what it feels like, and this is it—but it shouldn’t be here!” Mungojerrie growled in reply.

“Well, let’s not wait around to get eaten!” Rumpleteazer said, “I’m not one to reject blessings, no matter how unexpected they may be, so I say we go into the magically teleporting forest and don’t question it. Jerrie, you lead us since you’ve been in there before.”

“The Old Forest is enchanted,” Quaxo protested, “we could get irrevocably lost in there.”

“Which means that those panthers won’t be able to find us!” Rumpleteazer argued.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” Jemima said suddenly, her eyes fixed on the moon above, “we should go.” The other three cats looked at her in surprise, but something about her strange expression quickly convinced them to listen.

“Alright, into the woods it is,” Mungojerrie concluded, and they all four darted forward into the dark foliage before them.

Chapter Text

“Alright Misty, it’s time for you to explain.”

Quaxo looked up at Mungojerrie from where he lay on the moss; he was exhausted, but at least they had all finally gotten a good long moment to catch their breath. He looked to Rumpleteazer, who only stared at him expectantly, then to Jemima, whose eyes held a soft sympathy within them.

“Explain what?” he said with a purposeful lack of emotion. The male calico scoffed.

“Oh, don’t even try that. Why were those…things chasing after us?” he pressed.

“More specifically, why were they chasing you two? They only chased us because we were with you,” Rumpleteazer said.

“How can you be certain that that’s the case?” Quaxo asked, staring determinedly at his nervously kneading paws.

“Because we’re not stupid, stupid,” Rumpleteazer replied, rolling her eyes.

“…debatable,” the little black cat mumbled with a pout.

“We’re not deaf either!”

“Those things obviously aren’t natural and they clearly weren’t just out to grab a bite of whatever they could find; they had a specific target in mind, and for some reason that target is you. Why?” Mungojerrie asked again. Quaxo’s only response was a slight shake of the head and a barely audible murmur with his chin tucked into his shoulder.

“Sorry, didn’t quite catch that,” Mungojerrie said sarcastically.

“It…it is n-none of your business,” Quaxo growled, his tail thumping against the forest floor. He was met with a short mirthless laugh from both cat burglars.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Misty, we’ve just thoroughly entangled ourselves in an ancient, enchanted forest because you were being hunted by humongous hellcats and we had the heart to help you rather than leave you to deal with it yourselves! So on account of the fact that Teazer and I are now also being hunted simply because we’re hanging with you, whether you like it or not it has, in fact, become our business,” Mungojerrie said with finality.

“And what’s more, it was right rich of you when you yelled at us for ‘putting you in danger you don’t need to be in’ when you knew you were being chased by something far worse!” Rumpleteazer chimed in.

“First of all!” Quaxo said, angry enough to find his voice, “I had no idea those things existed and still do not know what exactly they are! Second of all, what I said then was true: we were already in danger and adding your little skirmish with the law to the list was danger that we did not need to be in; lastly, you ran into us, we did not choose to end up as part of your heist. The creature just…happened to show up then.” He waved his paw in the air in a flippant gesture on those last words.

“We only ran into you because you were in our home, buddy,” Mungojerrie said.

“Wait, really?” Jemima interjected, “that was your home? You were stealing from your own humans?”

“Well, that was the neighbor’s house, but yeah, we’ve caused our family a lot of trouble in the past,” Rumpleteazer said casually.

“And most certainly will in the future as well!” Mungojerrie added.

“But if you have such a nice place to live, why do you steal?” Jemima asked. She understood that a cat might steal to stop him or herself from starving, but that was not the issue with these two.

“Because it’s fun, silly!” Rumpleteazer said, roughly ruffling the fur on the little kitten’s head. She merely looked back at her blankly.

“Well, and because—” Mungojerrie started to say, when suddenly his eyes went round. He frantically looked about for a moment before turning to Rumpleteazer.

“Where’s the other pillowcase of loot?” He asked her. Her eyes went round as well, and she whipped around toward Quaxo.

“You didn’t bring the bag with you?!” she shrieked at him.

“Why would I?! I am not your accomplice and I’m not going to aid you in your little games of larceny!” he responded, utterly baffled and mildly insulted that she had thought he would do such a thing.

“Oh, as if you don’t also have a reputation for making people’s possessions disappear!”

“But they always reappear when and where they least expect it! I don’t keep them!”

“So? You still steal things, what’s the difference?”

“The difference? The difference is of that between a prank and a crime!”

“Stop it!”

The three arguing cats jumped at the surprising strength in the little kitten’s voice as she shouted over all of them. They all stared at her, stunned into complete silence, as she sat panting.

“We can talk about this later when we can talk nicely, but right now we should sleep,” Jemima said, her voice a mixture of exhaustion and thinly veiled begging. The others looked at her with pity, then back to each other with guilt.

“Kitten’s right, we really oughtta sleep. Even if those things find us we’ll have more energy to run from them again,” Rumpleteazer said. Quietly the two toms nodded, and all four cats lifted their heavy limbs and came together, settling down into a warm cuddle-puddle in a concealed spot beneath a bush.

***

The four cats woke up slowly, awkwardly rolling themselves from the pile to stretch their aching muscles and give themselves a bath. Quaxo helped Jemima with the spots she had trouble reaching and winced when he heard her stomach rumble, though she said nothing about it.

“Now, Misty,” Mungojerrie said affably, “there’s something that doesn’t quite sit right with me that I’ve been trying to understand.” Quaxo sighed as he prepared for yet more badgering. Jemima flopped down beside him, giving him an encouraging smile that, as much as he resisted, infected him as well.

“Well, out with it,” he said with resignation.

“You said that you didn’t know those things existed and that them showing up was coincidence, yes?” Mungojerrie said. Quaxo nodded.

“But you also said that you did know that you were already in danger before we ran into each other. So what is all that about?” The male calico asked. The little black cat closed his eyes and began kneading his paws again, garnering the strength to answer.

“Well, there…is a cat who is after me. I…didn’t know about the…those things until now, but…I do think that…that they’re working for him,” he said with great effort.

“Who on earth did you tick off that those were the mercenaries sent after you?” Rumpleteazer asked, bewildered. Mungojerrie nodded in agreement with the sentiment.

“Tevildo.” The two calicos stared at him with jaws hanging.

“You can’t be serious. I mean—Tevildo—that’s stuff of legend!” Rumpleteazer said.

“Those hellcats are also like the stuff of legend,” Mungojerrie said ponderingly, looking at Quaxo with a reevaluating gaze, “but still, why do they want you?”

“He wants mystical cats, and when a mystical cat uses their magic the other mystical cats nearby can sense it, and the more magic that’s used the farther it’s felt, and when I made Uncle Bustopher disappear at the party two nights ago I used a lot of magic and so now Tevildo wants my power and he’s apparently got whatever those things are under his command and he’s sent them to find me and—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down!” Mungojerrie interjected, and Quaxo’s jaw made an audible clack as it instantly shut.

“Yeah, I remember that trick at the party! Big flash and bang and everything,” Rumpleteazer said with enthusiasm.

“How could you not remember?” Mungojerrie said. Rumpleteazer ignored him.

“So it was real magic, then? It wasn’t just a trick or illusion of some kind?” She pressed, bouncing on her toes and getting uncomfortably close in her excitement.

“Yes. Please get out of my face,” Quaxo said, leaning back. A delighted, high-pitched giggle leapt from her mouth and he cringed at the loud, piercing sound.

“So you’re a real, bona fide mystical cat, eh?” Mungojerrie said, “wow. The only other mystical cats I’ve ever met were Old Deuteronomy and Macavity.”

“Macavity?” Jemima piped up, looking to Quaxo and back, “you’ve met Macavity?” Mungojerrie’s nose and lips suddenly turned very pale, and he looked like a mouse that only just now realized it had been cornered.

“When was the last time you saw him? Was it nearby? Old Deuteronomy had gone to see him for advice and help, but if you take us to him it would expedite this whole mission and better our chances against those hellcats!” Quaxo said excitedly, and now he was getting too close for Mungojerrie’s comfort, who was leaning away.

“Wait, Old Deut went to Macavity for help?!” Mungojerrie blurted, bewildered.

“Why would he do that?!” Rumpleteazer added.

“Because he’s smart and magical?” Jemima replied, her brow furrowed in confusion as she looked between the two calicos.

“Yeah, but why him? Old Deut’s gotta know some other smart magic cats,” Mungojerrie said. The poor cat looked like he was getting close to panic.

“Because Macavity is his son,” Quaxo said, also beginning to get very confused. Both cat burglars looked as if he had splashed them with a bucket of ice water.

“What?!” they exclaimed in perfect unison.

“How did that happen?” Rumpleteazer said. Quaxo gave her an irritated look.

“I am reasonably certain you know already how kittens come to be,” he said sarcastically.

“No, no, that’s not it. It’s just…how can a cat like Old Deuteronomy have produced a cat like…like him?” Mungojerrie clarified. There was a tense moment of silence when all four cats simply stared at each other in complete confusion.

“Something is amiss here,” Quaxo said to finally break the silence.

“I’ll say!” Rumpleteazer scoffed.

“Why are you two so upset? What’s wrong with Macavity?” Jemima asked, trying to understand.

“What’s wrong with—everything is wrong with Macavity!” Mungojerrie said, incredulous, “that cat has broken every human law and committed every venial and mortal sin—and would happily do them all again!”

“What? How do you know that?” Quaxo asked, a sickening feeling beginning to twist in the pit of his stomach. This time both cat burglars looked like they had walked into a trap, glancing at each other with the same grimace on their faces. The little black cat did not, however, miss the furtive flickers of their eyes over to their remaining pillowcase full of stolen goods, and the twisting in his stomach became a tighter knot as he began piecing things together.

            “You work for him,” Quaxo said quietly. The two calicos jumped, surprised that he had noticed and put things together so quickly. “Is that why you steal?”

            “What? No! We do what we do because it’s fun!” Rumpleteazer squeaked indignantly.

            “Yeah! It’s just…it’s just a bit of freelancing we do sometimes, is all. Not every gig is commissioned,” Mungojerrie said hurriedly. Quaxo closed his eyes and nodded solemnly, the knot in his gut solidified.

            “So Macavity has been compromised by Tevildo, and you two have been sent to take me to him?” he concluded in defeat.

            “What? No. What are you on about? This is the first we’ve heard about this whole Tevildo business, and we were just having a fun night out when you two came along,” Mungojerrie said, genuinely caught off guard.

            “Yeah,” said Rumpleteazer, “we just know Macavity, and that cat is a snake and a blackguard.”

            “Do you promise that that’s true?” Jemima said, locking eyes with each of them. They shrank slightly from her soft gaze.

            “Yes, we promise, it’s the honest truth,” Mungojerrie said sincerely.

            “No tricks or games, just fact,” Rumpleteazer said in the same tone.

            “Okay. Then why do you work for him?” the tiny kitten asked.

            “You don’t say no to Macavity,” Mungojerrie said darkly. An uncomfortable silence hung between the four cats for a long time, the dense trees and close air creating an inescapable claustrophobic feeling. Jemima turned away from the others, looking about for some sort of path or trail that they could follow out of the forest. Though they had had a temporary reprieve, they still had to keep moving lest Tevildo’s servants find them again. There was a path that she spotted up ahead but she found herself drawn to the underbrush behind her; there was no trail to be seen in that direction, but that way felt much less stifling and more assuring.

            “We should get going,” she suddenly said, startling the others out of their stupor. Quaxo looked at her and back to the calicos with wariness, his tail twitching in discomfort.

            “Right you are, molly!” Rumpleteazer said cheerily, clearly trying to break apart the cloud that hung over them, “Jerrie, you lead the way like before!” It took a bit longer for Mungojerrie to adjust.

            “Uh…yeah. Right, um…follow me,” he said, beginning to head down the trail Jemima had spotted before.

            “Wait!” she said, looking back to the underbrush, “I think we should go that way!”

            “No, I don’t fancy getting lost. We ought to stick to the well-worn paths, Jemima,” Quaxo said tiredly. She looked at him with a feeling of slight betrayal, then back behind her.

            “But—”

            “I’m the one who’s been in the Old Forest before and I’ll decide which way we go,” Mungojerrie said, gently but sternly. Jemima gave one last forlorn look at the underbrush behind her before she sighed and fell into step behind him.

***

            They had been walking for a few hours now. The oppressive atmosphere of the enchanted forest weighed down on their hearts, keeping them subdued and somber in the silence that surrounded them. Their footsteps fell heavily on the thick roots and moss beneath them—very unusual for cats—and their heads hung lower and lower as they went. Finally Rumpleteazer growled in frustration.

            “I’m sick of this dull drudgery, somebody needs to sing something cheery to change things up. Jerrie, I volunteer you,” she said.

            “What? Why do I have to sing?”

            “Because you’re the leader and I don’t wanna.”

            “Oh, sure, demand it be done but can’t be arsed to do it yourself. I see how it is.”

            “You do indeed. Now sing, ya pussycat.”

Mungojerrie paused for a moment as he quickly tried to think of a song. Spontaneous singing certainly wasn’t unusual among Jellicles, but he did still feel rather put on the spot, so naturally he had instantly forgotten seemingly every song he had ever heard.

            “Well,” he said finally, “there is this one song I picked up from the lads back in the day.” He cleared his throat awkwardly and began to sing:

In the summertime when the weather is high

You can stretch right up and touch the sky

When the weather’s right

You got mollies, you got mollies on your mind

Have a drink, have a drive

Go out and see what you can find

If her daddy’s rich, take her out for a meal

If her daddy’s poor, just do what you feel

Speed along the lane, do a turn or return to 25

When the sun goes down, you can make it

Make it good in a lay-by

We’re not bad people, we’re not dirty, we’re not mean

We love everybody, but we do as we please

When the weather’s fine, we go fishing or go swimming in the sea

We’re always happy, life’s for living

Yeah, that’s our philosophy

When the winter’s here, yeah it’s party time

Bring your bottle, wear your bright clothes

It’ll soon be summertime

And we’ll sing again, we’ll go driving

Or maybe we’ll settle down

If she’s rich, if she’s nice, bring your  friends

And we’ll all go into town

            The three other cats could not help singing along, not with words but simple syllables, as the jaunty tune flowed through them. For quite a while they continued like this until they suddenly stopped, all of them at once having realized that it had gotten quite a bit darker than it was before. It was not anywhere near nightfall; the trees here were much bigger and thicker, their canopies letting in very little light and their roots so large that the four cats had to claw into them to climb over.

            “This…isn’t where we are supposed to be,” Mungojerrie mumbled as he looked around.

            “I thought you said you had been in here before!” Quaxo said, irritation clear in his voice.

            “I have!” Mungojerrie protested, “but I guess I don’t remember the forest as well as I thought I did. And also this place is enchanted, so there’s that too.” Quaxo rolled his eyes and flopped down, picking at the moss with a claw as he tried to figure out what to do next. They could try going back, but the hellcats could very well still be searching for them, and if they were following by scent the four Jellicles might end up walking right into their jaws. They could continue along the trail they were on despite it being the wrong one and simply hope that it eventually let out somewhere, but there was no guarantee that it did. Their last option was to leave the trail and hope for the best, but he did not want to become even more hopelessly lost than they already were. He thumped his tail against the ground in frustration and sighed, glaring at the branches above from the side of his eye. His train of thought was abruptly interrupted when Rumpleteazer said:

            “Do you smell that?” The other cats lifted their heads from where they lay, pointing their noses toward the sky as they sniffed.

            “I don’t smell anything special,” Jemima said.

            “I do!” said Mungojerrie with a crooked grin as he got to his feet.

            “It’s coming from this way!” Rumpleteazer said, darting into the bushes off the trail with Mungojerrie on her tail. Quaxo followed right after; he had smelled it too, a strange scent that was altogether wonderful, intoxicating, and alluring.

            “Hey, wait!” Jemima called, bounding after them. She didn’t like them suddenly running off, especially after some smell that didn’t seem notable to her at all.

            After a few minutes they could see light up ahead, and hope leapt inside Quaxo’s heart. He began running faster, excitement welling up inside him, before they came to the edge of a clearing filled entirely with one type of plant growing nearly a meter high and radiating an irresistible perfume.

            “Well, aren’t we the lucky ones!” Rumpleteazer said with a goofy grin, and her and Mungojerrie stepped forward and began crushing up bits of the plants in their paws.

            “What is it?” Quaxo asked in a daze, his eyes drooping and shivers running down his spine.

            “It’s catnip, silly!” Rumpleteazer giggled. The black cat stiffened and snapped out of it slightly, looking at the two calicos with disgust.

            “What? Put that down! We…we ought to turn back…” he said. He found he really did not want to turn back, but using catnip was most certainly not the proper behavior for a member of the dignified Jones family, even if no one else would know.

            Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer looked at each other with devious smiles, then quickly, before Quaxo could react, they blew the crushed catnip from their paws into his face and immediately his knees buckled and his eyes rolled back in bliss.

            Jemima watched with concern and confusion as the three cats wove their way through the tall stalks, rolling over and writhing as they rubbed their coats against the plants. Loud purrs rumbled in all of their chests, and in the brief moments when their eyes were open she could see that their pupils were so dilated their entire eyes were black.

            “What are you all doing?” she asked nervously, looking from cat to cat. None of them responded, nor even seemed to hear her. She sat herself down in defeat, not wanting to get too far from the edge of the trees, and waited. For what, she was not exactly sure; perhaps for her companions to stop acting so strangely, or for an epiphany on what to do, but it was not long before all three of them had gone beyond her sight.

            She looked toward the sky but the bright sun was too harsh for her eyes, and she wished she could look to the moon for guidance and comfort. She lay down in the warm sunshine with her head on her paws, her eyes shaded by the dappled shadows of catnip leaves, and soon she started to doze off. All was quiet and calm save for the increasingly distant rustling through the stalks, and though Jemima did not understand the effect the plants had on her companions it did smell quite nice to her. A soft little purr puttered in her chest and she stretched her legs as long as she could make them, her claws poking out and her jaw open wide with a yawn.

            The sound of a loud snap in the distance woke her immediately, and when another followed she went right to her feet.

            “Mister Mistoffelees?” she called cautiously, “Mister Mungojerrie? Miss Rumpleteazer?” Her ears were pitched forward for a response, but none came. As far she was concerned the only option was to go after the noise to find out if her companions were in trouble, so Jemima began trotting determinedly through the field in the direction of the noises. After a minute or two she heard an angry yowl and quickly adjusted her path, moving faster than she did before. A few minutes more and she came upon a terrible sight: there was Quaxo, caught in a cage trap and failingly fumbling with the components of it. He could not properly control his paws, not with his mind as far gone as it was, and his own lack of coherency was frustrating him.

            “Mister Mistoffelees!” Jemima called, and he drowsily lifted his head in response. She ran over and began examining the cage, pawing and nosing at different bars and hinges around it. She concluded that one part was certainly the door, but what exactly she had to pull or break to get it to open simply refused to make itself apparent, and with the intoxicated state Quaxo was in he was really no help to her at all. Jemima began growling in frustration as she tried with all her might to pull on the door, her paws digging trenches in the dirt as they slid in place before she finally let go and plopped onto her bum. As she sat panting, she heard delighted giggling some distance away in a different direction that was recognizably Rumpleteazer’s, and Jemima jumped to her feet once again and followed after the sound. If anyone were to know how to help her get Quaxo out, it would be the two expert cat burglars.

            But when she reached the two calicos she gave a short wail, for they too were caught in a cage and both so completely off their heads that, like Quaxo, they could not coherently coordinate themselves enough to undo the trap. They, however, seemed to find this hilarious rather than concerning.

            Poor little Jemima had no idea what to do. She ran back and forth between the two cages to check on her companions but none of them had made any progress and nothing she tried was enough. In a panic she ran back to the trees, crying “Help! Somebody please help!” without even knowing why she did.

            She stopped when she heard a noise from the darkness, in the near distance coming closer. It was a low voice, singing a song in a teasing tone with what almost sounded like wicked delight:

Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity!

There never was a cat of such deceitfulness and suavity!

He always has an alibi and one or two to spare,

Whatever time the deed took place, Macavity wasn’t there!

            Jemima’s blood ran cold at the words, and she quickly clawed her way up through the thick branches of the nearest tree to hide. As she clung to the trunk she scanned the area for the owner of the voice, trying with difficulty to keep her breaths quiet. Her eyes caught movement down below, and there was the singer, a tall, abnormally red cat that danced with flair and without care as it sang.

            Now Jemima really panicked. She remembered the discussion with Old Deuteronomy back at The Meow Club in Pall Mall, and he had said that Macavity was very tall with “blazing red fur the likes of which he had never seen”, and Jemima had certainly never seen a cat so red as this one. And if what Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer said was true then an encounter with him may well be as bad as one with those giant hellcats. The pads of her paws began to sweat as she realized that the evil Macavity was nearly upon them, gleefully gloating as he approached, and Quaxo, Mungojerrie, and Rumpleteazer were trapped and helpless not too far away.

Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity!

For he’s a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity!

You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square,

But when a crime’s discovered then Macavity’s not there!

            Now he was right underneath Jemima’s tree and she held her breath as tightly as she could; maybe if she made no more noise he would think they were gone and move on to somewhere else. Unfortunately for her, the sweat on her palms made her slip slightly down and she reflexively gave a tiny gasp; she hoped it was quiet enough to escape notice, but her hope was in vain as she looked down to see two green eyes fixed on her.

            Well, now there was nothing for it. She could not let this bad cat hurt her friends and if that meant taking him on herself, so be it. She held his gaze and puffed up her fur as big as it could go, adding in a ferocious hiss and a spit for good measure. Macavity seemed more entertained than frightened.

            “Well, hello there, little one,” the red cat said smoothly, “what are you doing up there?” Jemima would not dignify him with an answer, instead hissing again and swinging her tail wildly to show she meant business.

            “Oh, there’s no need for that,” came the voice from below, “I’m not going to hurt you. What’s a little molly like you doing out here all alone? Did you get lost?”

            “You stay away!” Jemima spat, swiping the air for good measure as she paced along a big wide branch.

            “But I can help you, if you like!”

            “No! I don’t need your help, Macavity! Go away!”

            “Macavity?” the red cat blinked, “what? You think I’m Macavity? Well, that’s certainly a new one!” Jemima was a little confused now, but she kept her back arched and her ears back.

            “Well, if you’re not Macavity, then who are you?” she asked in an intimidating voice. The red cat still only seemed to find it funny.

            “My name is Bombalurina, at your service!” the cat said with a flourish and a bow. It was then that Jemima realized that though the cat’s voice was low and husky, it wasn’t that low, and after getting a good clear look it was obvious that this Bombalurina was a female cat.

            “Oh,” Jemima said sheepishly, lowering her spine and settling her fur, “I thought you were a tom.”

            “A tom Bombalurina? Ha! Hardly so!” she said, laughing as though it were the funniest thing in the world.

            “But why were you singing about Macavity?” Jemima asked.

            “Because I wanted to. This is my territory and I will do as I please on it. Now, what are you doing here, little one?” Bombalurina said, her front paws on the trunk of the tree as she gazed up. The tiny kitten froze for a moment, unsure if she could really trust this stranger to help.

            “…do you promise that you aren’t gonna hurt anyone?” Jemima asked softly. The red cat gave an amused scoff and a smile.

            “Yes, I promise, sweetie,” she said. The kitten took a deep breath.

            “My friends got stuck in metal traps and I can’t get them out. Do you think you could help us?” she asked. Bombalurina looked down with an irritated laugh, her tail swishing slowly.

            “Yes, I can,” she said, “I set those traps up.”

            “What? Why?” Jemima asked, her eyes wide.

            “Because those are my catnip crops, and I’m not too fond of when cats steal from my fields. I don’t mind giving it away, I just like to be asked first. When I’ve got one of the thieves in a cage they’ve got no choice but to ask nicely for the nip if they want to be let out again,” the red cat answered.

            “Oh,” Jemima said again, “well, we weren’t here to steal your catnip, I promise! My friends just got distracted by the smell. I’m really sorry!” Bombalurina waved it off and went back down to all fours.

            “Why don’t you come down from there and we can go set your friends loose, hm?” she said, and slowly began to sashay away, her tail held high and hips swaying from side to side. Jemima slid to the ground, leaving long claw marks all the way down the trunk of the tree, and bounded after her.

***

Once released and brought back into the wood, Quaxo, Mungojerrie, and Rumpleteazer lay on the forest floor in a daze as they slowly regained their senses.

            “You were awfully brave, sweetheart,” Bombalurina said to the tiny kitten, “mind telling me your name?”

            “Jemima,” she answered, a warm feeling growing in her chest from the compliment.

            “Jemima, huh? That’s a lovely little name. Well, Jemima, when your friends come to you’re welcome to take a rest at my den if you like. I’ve got plenty of food to share, too, since you all look hungry,” the red cat said. She was right, Jemima was very hungry, and was certain her companions were too.

            “We’d like that very much,” she said with a sweet smile. Bombalurina smiled warmly back and stood, turning away to head back toward her home.

It was in the same direction that Jemima had wanted to go that morning.