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The scent of spring was in the air, fresh and fragrant and heralding the biggest event of the year: the Jellicle Ball.
Cyrano should have been helping with the festivities. There was so much to do, and while he trusted everyone to stay on task, he really would have liked to keep an eye on things. He’d probably inherited that from his uncle Munkustrap. Everlasting, he missed the old tabby.
The yard was bustling, but Cyrano was busy chasing a small shape, darting between piles of junk and old furniture. Someone was trying to stay out of sight and doing a poor job of it. Cyrano’s whiskers twitched in amusement. He let the kitten sneak around for a few more minutes before catching him.
“Ah-ha!” Cyrano declared, rounding the corner next to an upended rocking chair and catching the little one mid-scurry. “Who do we have here, hm?”
The kitten froze, large eyes staring up at Cyrano. The little tux was still small, still growing into his limbs, and not quite old enough to attend the Jellicle Ball. Which didn’t seem to be a concern; the kitten was clearly trying to escape the festivities.
“Well, come now. Bombalurina is watching all you little troublemakers tonight. And be good, you know her back’s been giving her trouble lately.”
The kitten shifted back and forth on anxious legs. All right, there was clearly something to talk about. Cyrano lowered himself to the ground, pausing to stretch his own aging back, and patted the ground next to him. “Talk to me, little one. What’s got you worried?”
Twisting his paws around, the kitten hesitated, trying to find the right words. “I… I don’t wanna… be in the yard today.”
“All right. Can you tell me why?”
The kitten grabbed his tail, twisting that as well. “Because… grandma Victoria said Old Tugger was going to be there, and… well… he always looks at me funny!”
Cyrano’s heart ached a bit at that. His father rarely left his den these days, but as the Jellicle Leader, he was expected to attend the Ball. It was still Old Tugger’s favourite part of the year. “Funny, how?”
“Like…” The kitten sighed, trying to put words to feelings. “Like he’s sad. Like I did something but I don’t know what I did.”
“Oh, you’ve done nothing wrong,” Cyrano smiled softly. “I think I know why he looks at you like that. First, though, I need to tell you a story.”
The kitten’s ears pricked up. He did enjoy a good story. And while Cyrano and his sister Augusta were both officially Jellicle Protectors, no one argued that Cyrano was by far the better storyteller.
Cyrano picked up a branch, and began to draw little figures in the damp ground. “It all started long before you were born. There were two toms, Mistoffelees and Tugger. You have to remember, Old Tugger wasn’t always old! And he loved his mate, Mistoffelees, very much.”
Dragging the stick through the dirt, Cyrano drew seven lines. “Together, they had seven kittens. Old Tugger even sang a song about it. They had me, Tourmaline, Josephine, Aloysius, Cappella, Mandragora… and Augusta.”
The kitten’s eyes got bigger and he cracked a smile at the familiar name.
Cyrano drew seven little cats, and added a line from Augusta to a new cat. “Augusta became mates with a beautiful queen named Electra. Then, one day, something happened that no one expected. Two kittens needed a family, and Augusta and Electra were ready to be that family. So they became mothers to the two kittens—Volare and Artemesia.”
The kitten’s face lit up. He could tell where the story was going, and waited eagerly for Cyrano to keep drawing.
“Volare and Artemesia grew up to be big and strong. So strong, that Artemesia is training to become the new Jellicle Protector! While Volare has become a very talented magician. But of course, Volare…” Cyrano drew a straight line in the ground, connecting Volare to another cat. “… met a beautiful young queen named Lyrette. Grandma Victoria and Grandpa Plato’s kitten. And they—”
“Mum and daddy!” the kitten happily announced. He wasn’t just listening anymore. He was going to be part of the story.
“That’s right!” Cyrano chuckled. He drew a final line, and finished with a little cat. “Volare and Lyrette fell in love, and then, they had you.” He tapped the kitten’s nose and got a giggle out of it. “This is the story of you. And it all started up here, with Old Tugger and his mate, Mistoffelees.”
The kitten’s face became somber again. He knew he was related to Old Tugger. It just wasn’t making sense to him yet. “So why do I make Old Tugger sad?”
“You remember when we talk about the Heaviside Layer?” Cyrano said, softly. “No one quite knows what happens there, but we know that when a Jellicle leaves for the Heaviside Layer, they come back in a new form. They don’t remember their old lives, but sometimes—we can see a little piece of their old self inside. That way, none of us are ever truly gone.”
The kitten’s little brow furrowed. There were big ideas, and Cyrano remembered being young and trying to understand such stories.
“You don’t remember this,” Cyrano said, petting the kitten’s head. “But when you were just a few days old, you sneezed and your fur became glittery, like the stars in the sky. That’s how everyone knew you had a touch of magic in you.”
Opening his paw, the small tux stared at his palm. He was young, and still learning the basics, but between his father and his magically-inclined great aunts, he was slowly learning magic.
“And you see, that’s why Old Tugger looks at you like that. It’s because you remind him of someone very, very special. Someone he misses a lot. Someone who went to the Heaviside Layer at the last Jellicle Ball, just before you were born.”
Cyrano paused, letting the story sink in, taking a moment to blink the dampness out of his eyes. He’d sung a song for his father at the last ball, and together with Old Tugger, they’d guided Mistoffelees over to the Heaviside Layer.
It was his time. They’d all seen it coming for months, watching Mistoffelees become small and frail, his spark growing weaker. Maybe it hadn’t disappeared entirely. Maybe it was waiting for the chance to dance once again.
“I don’t want to make Old Tugger sad,” the kitten said, twisting his paws once more.
“Sometimes, when grown-ups are sad, it’s a good kind of sad,” Cyrano smiled. “A happy kind of sad. Mistoffelees was my father, and I miss him every day. But it makes me happy to know a part of him is still in the world.”
The kitten nodded, slowly, and Cyrano could see the tiny wheels turning in his head. Before Cyrano could ask or add anything to the story, Artemesia appeared, skidding to a halt when she spotted the tiny tux sitting next to Cyrano.
“There you are!” she panted, patting down her messy head fur. She was a head taller than Cyrano and her fur made her look even bigger. “Both of you! Uncle Cyrano, we need you. We can’t make heads or tails of the boat for Growltiger’s Last Stand. And you!” Artemesia pointed at the kitten with a good-natured grin. “Your mother is worried sick!”
“Sorry, aunt Artemesia,” the kitten said, ears drooping. “I didn’t mean to run away.”
“We were just having a good chat,” Cyrano said, rising to his feet and brushing the dirt out of his fur. “Now, shall we take you to Bombalurina’s, so I can go sort out this boat business?”
Artemesia opened her arms and the tiny tux jumped in. He looked even tinier in his aunt’s fluffy arms. “Okay. Um…”
Artemesia shifted her grip to look down at him. “What is it, sweetling?”
The kitten seemed to be wrestling with a very big question. He worked it out at all, looking over to Cyrano. “Can we say hello to Old Tugger first?”
Cyrano smiled, exchanged a look with Artemesia, and once again blinked away the start of tears. “Absolutely, Quaxo. I think he’d like that very much.”