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Mistoffelees was an old cat, shabby and wise. His whiskers drooped, and his ears were all notched up, and his left eye was clouded over with time. Dust clung to his tabby brown coat in all the places he couldn't reach anymore with his stiff and creaky neck. But with his age came a certain grace, a certain air of prestige that made him among the most revered of the junkyard Jellicles.
These days, Mistoffelees spent most of his time in an old wooden box in a far corner of the junkyard which, once upon a time, had smelled like soap. Some of the younger cats had helped him drag an old torn up pillow, and a ratty towel with a hole through it, and a few other nice soft things into his little box, which made it rather a nice place to live, all considered. What with the creaking of his old bones, Mistoffelees hardly ever left that cozy spot other than to go visit the bowls of food and cream left out by the dear old lady who lived not too far away. Even still, Mistoffelees was seldom ever lonely or bored, as many of the adult cats would bring their little kittens by his soap crate in the hopes that the old cat could impart their children with a little of his wisdom. From little Jennnyanydots, Kettokips, Darcy, Jellylorum, Anoniahlla, and Wisterwyle, Mistoffelees heard much of the goings on in the junkyard, and in turn he told them of the days of his youth when the junkyard was smaller, and neat, and of all the old cats were young and full of life and love and terrible ideas to learn from. But for all he and the kittens learned from each other, it was from their parents that Mistoffelees learned, one dark, sad day, that the Jellicle leader, old Nehemiah, had passed away.
The mourning of cats is a difficult matter, much akin to their naming. Old Nehemiah had been the point of authority to look to for many generations now, and was nearly the only cat older than Mistoffelees himself- a great loss for every Jellicle in the area. Mistoffelees would have liked very much to attend the ceremony of mourning for Old Nehemiah, which would be held in conjunction with the appointment of a new leader, but such affairs are not suitable for little kittens and only so many cats were willing to keep little Wisterwyle out of trouble on short notice. So Mistoffelees stayed home in his little soapbox wrangling kittens while Nehemiah was ushered off on a special, off-schedule trip to the Heaviside Layer, where Jellicle Leaders are all, in the end, destined to return after spending their lives ushering others there. “It’s not so bad,” He assured himself, “Everyone knows it’ll be Nehemiah’s son Cauliflower who’s in charge next. I only wonder what fourth name he’ll choose.”
It is true, in the end, that a cat must have three different names. But a cat who leads the Jellicles is not just a cat, but perhaps a bit more as well. It is for this reason that, in many Jellicle tribes, the leader is entitled, on his appointment, to choose an extra name. The tradition among the local Jellicles had, for some time now, been for the leader (or any prospective candidate therefore) to spend much of his idle time at the nearby Vicarage, where the men use strange words not often alighted on the feline ear. It was popular, this being the case, for these cats to pick a name from the lips of the vicar himself. It was thus that, Mistoffelees learned in short order, young Cauliflower chose the fourth name Deuteronomy.
- - -
For some weeks after the appointment, young Deuteronomy and his stepping into the role was the talk of the Junkyard. As it happened, the appointment of Cauliflower was not nearly so obvious as Mistoffelees had predicted, and there had been significant argument that the position could, or in some minds should, have gone instead to Cauliflower’s brother Asparagus. While it may have been true that Asparagus was somewhat more poised for the etiquette and staging of leadership, his flair for the dramatic came off, to Mistoffelees, as somewhat flighty. Nothing wrong with flightiness in a cat, this was certain, but it wasn’t a quality that struck Mistoffelees as particularly leaderly. From his perspective, Cauliflower’s- no, Deuteronomy’s- proclivity for the matter-of-fact was just what this junkyard needed to keep itself running orderly, reputation among the young ladies notwithstanding. All in all it sounded to have been a rousing discussion that went long into the night, and Mistoffelees was bitterly sorry to have missed it.
It was on this argument that, when it finally came round, Mistoffelees insisted that he would not, and indeed could not, miss out on the first Jellicle Ball under Deuteronomy’s leadership. Not only was he anxious to see how the young tom was adapting to his new position, but somewhere in his bones Mistoffelees knew he would not get a chance to see another. His bad eye couldn’t get any blinder, and he was starting to find his steps would falter in the chill of the night. No, someone else would have to keep an eye on the kittens too young to attend- Come rain or shine Mistoffelees would be paying his tribute to the Jellicle Moon with all the other cats well enough to go.
Mistoffelees left his soap box that evening a little earlier than he might strictly have needed to- still worried about his stability in the cooling afternoon shade. He was merely halfway to the clearing where the Jellicles met when who should appear but Deuteronomy himself! Mistoffelees reached out in the customary greeting, and Deuteronomy returned the gesture in kind. Mistoffelees was rather proud of himself in only stumbling a little, but the worry in Deuteronomy’s eyes made it clear he would not be permitted to make the rest of the journey to the ball unaccompanied. And so the two of them made the rest of the trip together, chatting as they went.
“How is it then, to find yourself leading the Junkyard so young? You’ve only been to, what, two Balls yourself now, haven’t you? Asked Mistoffelees.
“Well,” started Deuteronomy, “If the Everlasting Cat sees it so, this will be my third, but I try not to worry too much about creating too grand a production. There are plenty of cats in the junkyard, such as yourself, who have seen a great deal of them and know the intricacies well. We’re all Jellicles, we know what to do and how to act on such a fortuitous night as this. As I see it, there are only two real causes for me to worry. Firstly, to keep there from being any squabbles that might disrupt the good mood, and secondly…”
“...The Choice?” Offered Mistoffelees.
“The Choice.” Deuteronomy sighed softly, resolutely. “I’ve no doubt that when it comes down to it I’ll know who should go, but it is rather a heavy responsibility to bear.”
“Chin up, Deuteronomy! You were appointed for a reason after all, We cats have a sense about things and I can tell yours is sharp as the thorn on a rose. Besides, there’s hardly a cat in the junkyard who anyone would consider undeserving of the honor.”
Deuteronomy fell silent a moment, awash in the type of contemplation that often overtakes a cat in quiet moments. “Well, old Mistoffelees, deserving or no, I only hope the Everlasting Cat will be with me in the moments before dawn.”
That about closed the issue as far as either tom was concerned, so the rest of the short walk to the clearing was carried out in an amiable silence. Mistoffelees very much doubted he would be able to keep up with the younger cats of his clan, so he instead lifted his tired bones onto an old, overturned washbin from which he would have a clear view of the goings on that evening.
- - -
As the sun sank low and the air’s chill grew deeper, one by one and two by two, every Jellicle of the junkyard stalked into the appointed meetingplace. They sat on their haunches, many fixing their fur or batting away bits and bobs that may trip them up during the celebrations, waiting with rapt attention for the beginning of the festival. Just as Mistoffelees felt he couldn’t bear another moment of anticipation, the first sliver of moonlight crested over the skyline- and all at once it was begun.
When a Jellicle is a kitten, her first Ball is little more than a spectacle. And for a cat so young, that’s all it need be; an opportunity to get wrapped up in the dances and the songs and to learn about some of the other Jellicles with whom they share their home. As an adult, the Ball was more significant- a chance to prove yourself as a mate, as a parent, as a contributor to the junkyard worthy of respect and admiration. But any cat lucky enough to reach the age Mistoffelees was currently enjoying, it took on another air once again. A sort of wistful, proud feeling reserved for those select few who might claim they watched everyone else in attendance grow up. Not everyone, he supposed, after all Melamine and Regulus had both arrived as adults, riding in carriages with their human families. Many though, had gone from blind, sliding newborns to the strong, sly, striking cats now singing their hearts out under Mistoffelees’ keen and watchful eye. The only other cat who might be able to understand this perspective, as far as he was concerned, was his junior by only a few months, his longtime friend William Tell.
It came to pass, early in the night, that William Tell came along to sit together with Mistoffelees. They sat comfortably together through the first several Titling Songs. As Mistoffelees understood, Titling Songs, and to an extent titles themselves, were not a tradition observed by every Jellicle tribe. Now, this was a cultural difference Mistoffelees supposed he could respect, but not one he could quite understand. Junkyard Jellicles were, after all, quite proud of their titles. Melamine took her role as the rose garden cat quite seriously, for example- always perfuming herself with their sweet fragrant petals and keeping a watchful eye for any pest that may damage her prized bushes. William Tell was a bit rickety anymore to fully carry out his duties as the stable cat, but he still spoke fondly about his days among the carriage horses in his youth. Young asparagus took every opportunity at his disposal to insist that he’d be hailed as the greatest theater cat to ever pounce onstage, whether anyone was still listening or no. For such points of pride, it seemed only natural that at this, the most significant event of the year, some cats should have the opportunity to celebrate their accomplishments and their luck in being able to do what they loved.
“I’ll say this much, Telly,” said Mistoffelees as a youngish tom, Byron, extolled the splendor of finding oneself a cat-about-town, “It puts me in mind of your own Titling Song.”
William Tell laughed modestly. “Ach, no, the young cats these days ‘r a tad flashier than how we used to be. My, but the future be bright.”
“Stuff and nonsense,” argued Mistoffelees, “ You put on as good a show as anyone else did. How you got that curly metal lump all the way back here to show off with I never will guess.”
“Horseshoe, Toffy, ‘twas called an horseshoe. And it weren’t easy to get that far, that much I don’t mind giving away. I s’pose it were a good touch, though.”
“You undersell yourself, Telly. There wasn’t a queen in the junkyard who didn’t look at you an extra second longer after that day. You outdid yourself!”
“Ah, but that was a long while ago. What about yours, Toffy, You had th’ ole… hm, pardon, what was it again? My mem’ry isn’t what it once were.”
Mistoffelees was silent for a moment, and came back somewhat more subdued than their preceding friendly tone. “Come now, William Tell, that isn’t very nice. You know as well as I do I never sang a titling song. I would have needed a title first.”
Mistoffelees, as was the case with one or two other cats from time to time, had held many responsibilities both inside the junkyard and out in his days. A little night sentry here, a little kit watching there, Stepping in wherever he was needed down through the days. But, as sometimes happens, He had never quite settled on a niche that called on a title. There was no shame, of course, in such a thing, Mistoffelees was hardly the first nor last cat in the junkyard to go through life trying on new positions from time to time. But there was a certain mystique to finding oneself so wholly that, privately, he found himself longing for. It would have been nice - he sometimes thought- when he was younger, to get to show off some indelible purpose to the rest of the clan.
William Tell looked away quickly, embarrassed by his blunder. “Right. That’s right, my ‘pologies, Mistoffelees. I didn’t mean nothing by it, honest.”
“No, I’m sure you didn’t. All the same, it’s a bit of a sad note to think on, for such a happy occasion.”
“But Toffy, there’s no shame in it. Come one time or another, You’ve been a help to near every cat you’ve met. The Junkyard wouldn’t be what it is without you, you know that.”
“Yes, well,” Mistoffelees could feel himself getting somewhat worked up, but didn’t know how to reign it back in. Byron’s song had concluded itself and a few other nearby cats had turned their attention towards him. The attention had him on edge. “Well, maybe it’s not about shame. Maybe it’s about pride. Maybe I would’ve liked to have my own title to show I was worth something. To show I belonged somewhere, rather than just any old place.”
All the cats in the junkyard were looking, now, and rather than settle down and apologize, Mistoffelees found himself leaning in, His legs seemed to be gathering themselves up underneath him, drawing him to his feet, standing as tall as his aching bones would allow. He hardly understood how, but he found, with a start, he was singing. Mistoffelees had the inexplicable feeling that something, be it the Jellicle moon, the madness of the midnight dance, or the everlasting cat herself, was compelling him outside himself. The words hardly registered in his mind but came up on their own, and he found himself laying out the frustration of feeling he wasn’t needed anywhere certain, the pain of missing out on the identity every other cat had found, warbling out things he hadn’t even fully realized he’d been feeling all these years. The rest of the junkyard watched on in stunned silence, the pity reading as clearly on their faces as the light reflecting back from each and every eye.
Finally, Mistoffelees managed to regain control of himself, and was immediately overcome by a deep, encompassing embarrassment. This was not what the Ball was about. This was not celebratory or grateful of the immeasurable honor of being a Jellicle. Mistoffelees felt, through to his very bones, that he had just done something incredibly foolish. Incredibly shameful. Mistoffelees was ashamed of himself. Choking on his own voice too strongly to say a word, Mistoffelees turned tail and scurried off as fast as his rickety joints would carry him, off into the first hiding spot he could find.
- - -
By the time Mistoffelees calmed down enough to take stock of his surroundings, it was clear the Ball had gotten itself back on track. The echoes of his friends’ voices bounced off the scrap metal and splintered wood he had squeezed himself underneath. He was glad he hadn’t brought the whole thing to a halt, at least. Still, he knew he had blundered worse than there was any coming back from. What if he was asked to leave the tribe? Mistoffelees was old enough to know the streets could be hard for a cat on his own, and he was old enough to know the only strays Humans adopted were the young, cute, fun ones. How would he survive without the support of the other Jellicles? Mistoffelees turned his face upwards to the light of the Jellicle Moon, hoping to find some comfort in its gentle glow. It’s light seemed somewhat dimmer than it had an hour before.
Mistoffelees could only sulk for so long, and after all he didn’t want to miss the main event, so as dawn approached he hesitantly began to make his way back to the clearing. He took a seat just on the outskirts, underneath an old mattress with springs sticking out, leaning against what looked like it may, at some point, have been a wood stove, hidden under what appeared to be two decades of rust. He caught the end of one last song, before the agreement was made the sun would be rising soon. As one, the Jellicle Cats turned their attention to Deuteronomy, who was just standing up to take the proverbial spotlight. Someone, though Mistoffelees couldn’t see who, delivered the customary speech. Aside from that, as the old words went, it truly did feel as though the silence could have been cut cleanly with a knife as Deuteronomy stalked gingerly through the assembled cats, each one holding her breath in rapt attention, all anxiously awaiting the reveal: Who would it be, this year? Who would be Deuteronomy’s first Choice?
It took Mistoffelees a moment to process what happened, then. The next thing he knew, the young leader had sat directly in front of him, his warm, kind eyes fixed directly on Mistoffelees. Had he done something else wrong? Was he in trouble? He looked to his left and right before returning the eye contact, his ears twitched back and his fur just the slightest bit raised. It wasn’t until Deuteronomy reached out and nuzzled Mistoffelees’ face, cheek to cheek, that it fell into place. It was him. Mistoffelees was this year’s choice.
As if in a dream, Mistoffelees rose to his feet with Deuteronomy, following him stride for stride into the center of the clearing. He felt some force, inexplicable and all-encompassing, begin to support him, to bolster his stiff joints and hold his head up proud nearly in spite of himself. He was dimly aware of the rhythmic chanting of the tribe as he walked, each step feeling stronger, less heavy than the last. He realized, as Deuteronomy slowed to a stop, that his paws were no longer coming down on the dirt of the junkyard; he was stepping into the sky.
The light of the rising sun peeked over the horizon as he ascended, dazzling his eyes as he climbed into a low-hanging bank of morning fog. Everything was illuminated by the dazzling gold of the morning as the fog engulfed him. Cold dew collected on his fur, but Mistoffelees felt warm, warm all the way through in a way he never had before. With every breath he felt his chest fill with something no cat could hope to describe. The motion of his legs began to feel more like treading water than climbing, as the weight of everything, of physicality itself, seemed to gradually evaporate away. Somehow, he became aware, he was not alone. There were a host of cats all around him, within him, one with him. Or perhaps, he was one with them. So this was it; The Heaviside Layer. It felt, more than anything else ever really had, like Home.
- - -
There was no such thing as time in Heaviside, Mistoffelees came to realize, There was no such thing as day or night, as birth or death. Things changed, of course, the cats who made up Heaviside came and went as New choices were made across the world and the long-timers returned for their next Jellicle life. But the makeup didn’t matter, so much. Heaviside was Heaviside was Heaviside, always and forever, here, there, and everywhere. Immutable. Mistoffelees had, the whole way through, some dim sense of himself as an individual, but largely in the context of the whole into which he had been conducted. He wasn’t in Heaviside, he was part of it. He had the knowledge and wisdom of every cat who was or ever had been chosen to join the ranks. He had the patience and the peacefulness of an eternal, immortal force. Everything was beautiful, everything was comfortable, everything was alive. Mistoffelees was everywhere, he was within everything. He was All.
And then, one day, he wasn't. He felt himself slipping loose from the Everything he was a part of. He became aware, for the first time in who knew how long, that he was himself. Had he not known that it was time for him to return, he would have been dreadfully confused, upset, and afraid. But he had, even still, the understanding of Heaviside within him and took his decoupling from it with grace. He allowed himself to be carried elsewhere without any fear or hesitation.
- - -
There was a Squeeze, a rush of cold, a soft towel underneath him, and another damp body beside his. For a moment that was all Mistoffelees knew. He could see nothing and he couldn’t stand up. He was cold and disoriented and wet, his head felt large and heavy. He felt something large and rough suddenly, gliding across his left side. His mother, he realized in a moment of absolute certainty. His mother, but not the mother he’d lost all those years ago. This was a new life, Mistoffelees was a kitten again, starting over from square one. He squirmed and wiggled towards his mother, hungry and cold, in desperate need of her warmth and milk.
His mother did not smell like a Jellicle, but Mistoffelees did, as did the other kitten- his sister. He surmised she must be a house cat, and a night of freedom some months back had brought her face to face with a Jellicle tom who had sent her home with his kittens. He sensed in her contentment with her life, no real desire to go join the nightlife of whatever Jellicle tribe was local. Mistoffelees supposed that was all well and good for his mother, but he knew already that he and his sister would never share her satisfaction indoors. He would accept the roof over his head for the time being, but he knew sooner or later he’d be out amongst his culture again.
The days before he could open his eyes dragged for what felt like forever, comprised, with one exception, of nothing but sleeping, suckling, and getting stepped on by his sister. The only development of note during that week were that he and his sister were each given their first and second names- by the humans of the house and their mother, respectively. The Humans called them Feodora and Victoria; their mother picked Quaxo and Loubitte. Mistoffelees, of course, was already quite proud of his Jellicle heritage and felt no strong affection for his first name, encouraging his sister to only call him Quaxo and campaigning for her to embrace her second name as well- but she hadn’t been to Heaviside. She didn’t remember the life she lived before this, assuming of course she’d had one. Her argument was simple- Victoria sounded, by her account, much much prettier than Loubitte. So Victoria she would be.
Days turned into weeks, the kittens got their eyes open and their legs underneath, and from there it was all somewhat of a blur. The last time round, Quaxo had never actually had the opportunity to explore a house, and bit by bit he made it his mission to get to know this one inside and out. As he grew in size and strength, Quaxo discovered, to the humans’ dismay, he had an uncanny knack for getting into places he really shouldn’t be able to. On at least one occasion he gave the family quite a fright by sitting inside a glass vase or decanter they were sure he wouldn’t be able to escape from, only to easily slip out when they came back with a hammer and a towel. His favorite toys, a category largely consisting of corks, bottle caps, and loose bits of ribbon, had a curious habit of turning up where they oughtn’t be- whether that meant boiled in the soup or sharp-side-up in a human’s slippers. All this considered, Quaxo wasn’t overly surprised when, not long after he finally changed over to eating solid food, another set of humans bundled him off in a dark little box to go somewhere new.
- - -
Quaxo was hoping they would simply drop him off outside somewhere, but when the box was opened he found himself inside another, though perhaps smaller and plainer, house. Sniffing the air, though, it was clear it wouldn’t be all bad. There was another cat already living here, and he was a Jellicle. Quaxo was still small and didn’t want to cause any problems for whatever cat was already living here, so he decided his best course of action would be to find somewhere to conceal himself for a few days while his scent circulated a bit. As luck would have it, this turned out to be the best decision he could have made.
After a matter of but a few hours, the other cat sniffed him out and sat himself pompously in front of the cabinet Quaxo had crawled beneath. He was a long-haired tortoiseshell, much older than Quaxo but only barely qualifying as what any cat might consider an “adult.” He gave off an air of self-importance that Quaxo didn’t find terribly tasteful, but he supposed wasn’t too grating just yet.
“What are you hiding for?”
Quaxo thought for a second. It had been literally a lifetime since he spoke with a cat he hadn’t met before, and he realized with a start he was pretty rusty when it came to making new friends.
“I uh, didn’t want to intrude on your territory.”
“Territory? Ha! This isn’t my territory. I just hang out here because they give me food and it’s warmer in here than my preferred stomping grounds. You oughtta get out from under there, pipsqueak, there’s spiders.”
Concluding that the tom didn’t seem like any sort of threat, and he wasn’t particularly in the mood to befriend any spiders today, Quaxo slowly emerged from the crevice where he’d been hiding and allowed the older cat to sniff him out. The new housemate introduced himself as The Rum Tum Tugger, and after a moment of consideration, He decided to introduce himself as Quaxo. This new name still didn’t fit quite as nicely as Mistoffelees, but he supposed part of the whole “different life” thing was accepting the differences and starting fresh. He was still a kitten, and wanted to be stubborn on this, but it wasn't particularly worth it. Besides- every cat gets three names, it wouldn't be too hard to change things up later if he needed to.
Sharing a home and a human with The Rum Tum Tugger quickly proved to be an… Odd arrangement. The fluffy tom seemed to be a walking contradiction, his fancy turning on a dime whenever things appeared to be finally going his way. He would ignore Quaxo for days, only to decide they simply MUST break into the broom closet together when Quaxo finally began to ignore him back. At feeding time their human would present each cat a different meal, and Tugger always insisted they must switch, except in any case where Quaxo first offered the trade- a proposition the older cat would always staunchly refuse. Strange as his habits may have been, though, Tugger had a certain charm about him that Quaxo could neither explain nor deny, and as the weeks turned to months they settled into an easy familiarity.
- - -
To Be Continued ;)