#namethat-i's catsiversary

[greenelectricsky]

I adore this story. It's so warm and cute. I always think about it whenever I heat or think about skimblestrap.

Enlightening Churn of Events

@suppenzeit​, woo-woo-welcome to the Cats fandom. Here is a Skimblestrap drabble for you! It was a challenge to write for Cats 2019 bc I’d never thought I would ever write for it at all, but it was an interesting challenge, and I am quite happy with the end result. Enjoy! ♥ All my love to those who read/like/reblog!

“You know, I would have appreciated if-”

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

“Ahem. What I meant to s-”

WOOOO-WOO!

“What I am trying to express is-”

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

Munkustrap sighed and gave up.

Czytaj dalej

[namethat-i-oughttohavetoldyou]

HAPPY 1 YEAR CATSIVERSARY TO ME!!!

And what a year it has been! To celebrate, I wanted to do the only thing I am talented enough for to do: write! In particular, write little standalone fics that I promised to a few people quite some time ago, with a bonus fic that I just really wanted to write, lol. I will probably pin a post with all of them later when they’re all posted, but you should find them with the “namethat-i’s catsiversary” tag as well.

Now to Cats!!! This silly little musical pulled me out of a big capital L Low in my life, and made everything better. Through Cats I have gotten to know so many wonderful people that I appreciate and love, and it has also strengthened my already present love for Ballet and all things dancing. So thank you for that, Cats and its fandom! ♥♥♥

Also! I will open short fic requests for a little while before uni starts again, so go ahead and bombard my ask box! I will be sure to let you know what I will write and not, so if I don’t answer, it either was eaten by the ask box or I am already writing it ;)

Have a wonderful evening, everyone!! <3

[namethat-i-oughttohavetoldyou]

Meggyleves

One thousand and eight-hundred words of Tuggerjerrie for @davidrebooted​! Not really plot-heavy, but I’m happy with it. I hope you like it as well! As always, my love to everyone who reads/likes/reblogs! ♥

Curious.

That certainly wasn’t a new word when it came to the Rum Tum Tugger, but Mungojerrie couldn’t think of anything better when he came across him this afternoon.

All in all, Tugger looked like usual, his thick pelt brushed and groomed that it shined, hips loose and gallivanting in a way that made toms either blush or pale with envy (Mungojerrie belonging to the former group), a smile on his muzzle that was only a little smug and mostly content.

The unusual thing was that the short white fur of his muzzle was coloured a deep red.

“How was your outing?” Alonzo said from somewhere next to him, voice thick with sleep, having just woken from a catnap.

“You say that as if I was on a pilgrimage,” Tugger answered with a snort, stretching his unfairly long legs.

Mungojerrie felt his ears go a little hot. Must be the sun. Sun and black fur never added up to anything good.

“One could think you were, as long as you’ve been away.”

Tugger faltered in his stretch, looking a little like an overgrown kitten that had lost count of his limbs. “Has it been that long? I ought to say hello to Munkustrap, then. So he can stop worrying.”

Alonzo huffed a laugh. “You know him. He’ll never stop.”

“Nevertheless, I do have some decency.”

“Don’t let me stop you.”

Tugger took off, and Mungojerrie stood up and followed him, saying goodbye to Alonzo with a flick of his tail, too curious about Tugger’s red muzzle to stay where he was.

Tugger and Munkustrap’s reunion was short and sweet, a happy smile blooming on the silver tabby’s face at the sight of the wayward Maine Coon.

To Mungojerrie’s surprise, Munkustrap had barely anything to say to the suspicious red colouring around Tugger’s mouth, except a knowing smile and: “Ah yes. It’s harvest season.”

Tugger grinned at him. “Maybe I can smuggle some out of the house for the kittens.”

“Stay safe, will you?”

“Always.”

With that, they went their separate ways again, and Mungojerrie felt like he would burst with curiosity.

“Was that a joke?” he asked after pouncing at Tugger’s back.

Tugger caught him in the air, those long tufty ears of him probably having heard him from miles away, and dipped him dramatically. Mungojerrie giggled like a damsel.

“What do you mean?”

“Did you harvest a bird?”

“What? Oh.” Tugger licked at his muzzle, slight abashment showing in the tilt of his ears. “No, that wasn’t a joke. Do you want me to show you?”

“You needn’t ask,” Mungojerrie answered promptly, and together they left the junkyard, tails wrapped and in lockstep, as much as it was possible with their different leg length.

“Where are we going?” Mungojerrie asked when they left the quiet alleys and paths behind them and dove into the busy streets of the city centre, dodging automobiles, bicycles and grasping hands of children who took one look at Tugger’s fluffy pelt and had the overwhelming need to pet him. Jerrie couldn’t really blame them.

“One of my human homes,” Tugger responded, hissing at a poodle that was about to bark at them.

The poodle quickly thought twice and hid behind the leg of his human.

“I’m there less often than I should be, mostly just in the summer. But they travel a lot during winter time anyway, so it’s not so terrible, I don’t think. Watch out!”

Mungojerrie jumped out of the way to make room for a tiny girl on a bicycle that was just as tiny, meowing with complaint.

“Sorry, Mr. Kitty!” the girl crowed, ringing her bell and pedalling faster to not lose balance.

Her mother hurried after her, the satin flowers on her bicycle’s handles fluttering in the wind.

Tugger shook his head at them, but Mungojerrie had gotten a glimpse at the basket on the girl’s bicycle, and who sat in it. Hopefully Demeter knew how to hold her own in there.

“Where was I? Ah yes. They certainly don’t mind me leaving for a longer time, and in turn they spoil me when I return. Take a left here.”

They took a left, entering a side street with thankfully less traffic and big flower boxes in front of every other house.

“The houses here have gardens, don’t they?” Jerrie asked, pressing up to Tugger and wrapping their tails together again.

Tugger gave a pleasant chirp. “They sure do.”

All too soon, Tugger stopped them in front of a beige town house, looking just like the other houses in the row, except for the big sunflowers that grew in front of it. Jemima would like those, Mungojerrie thought.

Tugger brushed up against him and gave him a nudge towards the high, narrow picket fence next between the house and the next one. One after the other, they squeezed through the small gap underneath it and walked through high grown weeds and scrub to the tiny garden behind the house.

The first thing that Jerrie could smell was cloyingly sweet, and the first thing he saw was a truly gigantic cherry tree. A male voice called out when they entered the shadow of the tree, a wobbly wooden table coming into view.

“He’s back, nagyi!”

They shared a smirk.

“Oh, so soon? And he brought a friend!”

An old woman sat at the table, eyes hidden behind glasses as thick as sliced bread, her heavily accented voice a pleasant rumble to Mungojerrie’s ears, which were still a little sore from all the traffic noise.

“Come, Máté, introduce me to your friend.”

“We better do what she says for once,” Tugger murmured in Jerrie’s ear, a grin stretched wide on his face. “Otherwise there’ll be nothing for us to, uh… harvest.”

Mungojerrie snorted but followed him to the table, the sweet scent of ripe cherries making him a little sleepy.

The old woman stooped down and squinted hard behind her glasses. “Hoppá! A real beauty you are. Little tiger cat, hm? Look at him, Zsolt. Isn’t he a beauty?”

The male voice answered again, and only now Jerrie noticed that he was up in the tree, plucking cherries and collecting them in a big weaved basket. “He sure is. How can you tell it’s a he?”

“Don’t be silly. I can tell right away,” the old woman huffed, then leaning down to Mungojerrie and whispered: “Meow once if I’m right.”

Jerrie meowed, very amused.

“Aha,” the woman said contently, scratching the base of Tugger’s tail and letting Jerrie sniff at her wrinkled fingers.

A gently breeze made the cherry tree sway, leaves rustling. Zsolt up in the tree gave a soft sigh of relief at the short reprieve from the afternoon heat.

“Now, kismacska, come help me pit these cherries.”

Helping to pit the cherries involved Tugger sitting on the woman’s lap and purring, claws tangling in her lace blouse, while Jerrie sat on the table and pushed the cherry pits off the tabletop into a metal bucket beneath.

After a while, Tugger gave a chirp, and he and Jerrie changed places. Tugger didn’t stay long at his task, instead opting to help Zsolt pick the cherries.

He pounced from branch to branch, proudly prancing back to Zsolt’s basket with a mouthful of the sweet fruits, carefully carried by their stems. When the basket was full, Tugger screamed until Zsolt sighed and tucked the big cat under his arm, carrying him and the basket back down to his grandmother.

“Szép,” the old woman mumbled, petting Mungojerrie’s arched back with well-practised hands.

Zsolt brought a feather toy from inside the house and the two cats decided to humour him, chasing the ribbon and attached feather with vigour while Zsolt’s grandmother pitted the last cherries and then ambled inside with them, closing the green wooden door behind her.

“That’s where the magic happens,” Tugger told Jerrie, who entertained Zsolt by cartwheeling across the cherry-coated lawn. “I’m not allowed inside. They’ve grown sick of having to open doors for me.” He sounded less concerned and more amused about this, so Jerrie spared himself the question about hurt feelings.

They played with Zsolt for a good hour, until the afternoon sun got the best of the two young tomcats and the young man, and they ended up a few feet behind the tree, splayed out in the grass.

Jerrie was sure that Tugger had flopped on top of him at least twice in the last half hour and was just about to complain, when the green door suddenly opened and the old woman reappeared, carrying a big pot. Zsolt immediately sprang to his feet and hurried inside, bringing a ladle, bowls and spoons and arranging them on the table.

The old woman dunked the ladle into the pot and poured something red and lumpy into the four bowls. Zsolt examined their paws, demanding that they wash them before lunch. He reminded Jerrie very much of Jellylorum in that moment.

When their washed paws had been appraised and okayed, the bowls were sat before them with flourish.

Tugger immediately stuck his entire head into the bowl, for once too enticed by the sweet smell to be his usual picky self, but Jerrie sniffed at the brew in the bowl, curious at the small lumps.

“It’s meggyleves. Cherry soup,” the old woman said, spooning some of it and holding it up to show him, devoid of the strange little lumps.

Jerrie’s pupils widened with intrigue. This was how humans ate cherries? How peculiar.

He carefully tested the temperature of his soup with a paw, one of the lumps sticking to his fur. He pulled his paw back and stared at it.

“That’s a semolina dumpling,” Zsolt said, blowing on the one on his spoon to cool it. “It’s good! Give it a try.”

Mungojerrie gave it a try, covertly blowing a little onto the surface of the thick liquid, then dipping his tongue in.

A myriad of flavours washed over his taste buds, and he gave a mew of rapture. In less than a second he as well looked like he had “harvested” a bird or two, submerged in his bowl almost up to his ears.

“We should come here more often,” he muffled through a mouth full of semolina, and Tugger, who made a vain attempt at removing the left-over soup staining the fur of his muzzle, nodded.

“Maybe they’ll let us inside, if you’re with me,” he said, his trademark grin almost unnoticeable under the red discolouration.

“If not, I’m perfectly fine outside,” Jerrie said happily, falling to his side, bowl licked completely clean.

The cherry tree leaves above rustled, whispering their stories to them.

  Hours and three additional bowls full of meggyleves later, Mungojerrie left with a full belly, a fluffy nuisance of a tomcat boyfriend at his side, and an additional third name, spoken in tender Hungarian, gentle like the old, wrinkled fingers of a grandmother scratching at the base of his tail.

“Nagyi” means “grandma”,  “kismacska” means “little cat”, and “szep” means “nice” (I don’t speak Hungarian beyond my dictionary - please tell me if I translated something wrong!!) In case someone reading this read “The Bicycle” as well: :) It had a good ending after all. And Demeter knows how to hold her own in a bicycle basket, don’t worry. She’s a professional. (Ten points to you, @not-gothicc​, if you found my little easter egg! dfksjdkf) I really liked writing this, and I can’t wait to eat cherry soup again. Some very nice memories are connected with that, and I hope I could transfer that into the fic! And look at that, I made up even more humans that I want to keep XD I think I will end up keeping them, this story is however still a standalone. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

[namethat-i-oughttohavetoldyou]

Pas de Chat

As part of my “Catsiversary”, here’s some Tumboffelees for @fluffytuffles​​! I hope you like it. Just as a warning, there is a lot of Ballet lingo in here, so if you want to cross-check what the hell I am talking about, here’s a list of ballet steps that should include all of them. Enjoy, and all my love to those who read/like/reblog! ♥

The street lamps were alight and fresh night air blew through Tumblebrutus’ whiskers as he made his way over the rooftops of London.

Night walks like this had become a habit of his, if only to search for a nice spot to caterwaul in peace and quiet, without disgruntled neighbours throwing boots or oven mitts at him. The junkyard offered an almost overwhelming amount of space to do just that, mind, but sometimes it was nice to, as Bustopher Jones would put it, take his business elsewhere. Here on the roofs he remained undisturbed, with only the odd chimney sweeper stopping to listen to him sing and maybe shake his paw.

(Who brought whom more luck was hard to say, but Etcetera said that it had to be shared, and she was usually right when it came to philosophical dilemmas like this.)

Tumblebrutus took a run-up and cartwheeled across a rain gutter, walked down the roof tiles on his hands and came to a standstill at the very edge of the roof, balancing on one arm. Munkustrap would certainly suffer a heart attack if he could see him now, and he was once more glad to be on a roof instead of a shoe carton or car boot.

Coming to stand on two legs again, Tumblebrutus held his nose into the cool wind and widened his pupils, ears turning this way and that, searching.

There.

With a mew of satisfaction, he jumped from the roof on the balcony just below, gingerly balancing on the clothes line to the balcony across and climbing up the rose trellis to the cornice, which he mounted with a vigorous jump. A flock of doves cooed angrily and scattered when he entered the flat roof, leaving feathers and an empty dovecote behind. He let them; he wasn’t here to hunt tonight. And besides, these doves had a job, hunting them would be indecorous. That’s what Jennyanydots said, at least.

A noise from a nearby roof made him jump, quickly falling back to all fours. He looked up to see a sweeper dance around a chimney, swinging his broom like a dance partner in a waltz. When he noticed Tumblebrutus, he saluted and doffed his cap, making his broom perform a silly little bow in kind. Tumblebrutus reciprocated with a slow blink and a lift of his tail.

He recognized this human, even though he couldn’t remember his name, which was a shameful thing to admit by itself. But the sweeper surely did not take any offence, and his kind were admiringly quiet about what they saw up on the roofs, so Tumblebrutus blinked at him once more and then turned his back on him, rising onto his back legs.

He hooked his claws into the mesh of the dovecote, using it as a makeshift barre, and began his warm-up training.

Demi-pliés to start, descending into a few grand-pliés, rélévés to balance it out and find his centre. (This was considerably harder than yesterday, since one of the guards’ children had brought them a truly massive plate of wet food from the can this morning, and Tumble had eaten quite a lot. He was a growing tomcat, after all.)

He jogged in place for a few minutes, continued with jumping jacks and switched between pulling his knees up and trying to kick his own butt (this exercise always made Sillabub giggle), then he closed his warm-up with active stretches of every muscle he could remember, which were quite a lot, so it took a considerable amount of time, but warming up was the most important part of training – this he had been told time and time again, so he followed this advice dutifully.

Tumble leapt on top of the dovecote and back down again a few times to gauge if he was sufficiently warmed up, then he stood at one side of the flat roof and took up a starting position, arms in a petite pose, left leg in a tendu. He took a deep breath, aligned his pelvis and hips, tightened his core muscles, and lifted his chin, tail out straight behind him, mirroring the movement of his right arm.

With the decision in mind to start with piqué turns, Tumblebrutus let muscle memory take over, eager for his body to take him where-ever it wanted.

It didn’t take long for him to go from traditional ballet to more of a free style, as usual, the world tumbling around him as he tumbled in kind, alternating between daring flips and almost allegro-like poses and movements.

Standing still for too long bored him, but allegros were hard and a good workout after all, so he didn’t mind enduring them ever so often. It also looked nice to have some change of pace from time to time, or so he had been told.

After a flawless handspring-somersault combo he slowed down into balancés across the roof to catch his breath. His tail swished like a pendulum, going slightly lax whenever he turned and jutting out straight when he stopped, keeping him from losing his equilibrium when balancé-ing to the side.

The sweeper from the other roof had continued his work, humming a jolly little tune that worked well as background music for Tumble to time his steps to. The wind picked up a bit, carrying the sound of closing bedroom windows, snoring pollicles and lovesick tomcats caterwauling at the moon to Tumble’s roof.

Tumble’s ear pricked at the love song of one of these tomcats, the lyrics ones that he knew well. With a grin he came up with a playful little choreography on the spot, performing his best moves to impress his imaginary lover.

Never mind that said imaginary lover wouldn’t be particularly impressed, Tumblebrutus thought disgruntledly, his soubresaut merging into an entrechat quatre. Considering that he was – “Such a show-off.”

Tumble did a comical little bounce that had definitely been part of his choreography, and turned to the disrupting voice, back arched and fur puffed up threateningly. He relaxed quickly when he recognized the voice’s owner.

Mister Mistoffelees trotted across the roof, batting at Tumble’s ears as a playful greeting. Tumble stuck his tongue out at him.

“You’re one to talk,” he answered, mildly offended. “I’m not the one who leaves everyone in awe on the daily by dancing on our most-used clearing.”

Mistoffelees chirped, leaned to the side and performed the slowest cartwheel Tumblebrutus had ever seen. “That’s true. Have I left you in awe, as well?”

“Well, does it count if I leave so you can awe others?”

Mistoffelees cackled in response, and Tumble couldn’t help but join in.

“If you admit that you’re impressed by my fouettés, then I will admit that I’m impressed by your entrechats,” Mistoffelees proposed, wrapping his tail around Tumble’s with a cheeky little wiggle of his brows.

Tumble flicked his ears, his competitive streak making itself known in the quickening of his heartbeat. “Persuade me, then.”

“Hmpf,” said Mistoffelees, but his grin didn’t falter. He bounced a little on the spot, obviously warmed up already, as the fluid movements of his legs revealed (Tumble wasn’t staring, honestly), then he launched into a flurry of grand jetés and pirouettes, turning so quickly that the excited lashing of his tail was but a blur to Tumble’s eyes.

Not one to back down from a challenge, Tumble dove into backwards handsprings, interspersing a few complicated steps here and there. He caught Mistoffelees jealously eyeing his sissones. Pride made his chest swell a little, and he did a few more, legs burning from the strain. He would be pleasantly exhausted later.

Coincidentally, they both performed a tour en l’air at the same time, and from there on it was the most natural thing to submerge into a joint choreography, alternating between steps they had learned for the Jellicle Ball and improvisation, whirling around each other like the little planets on the mobile in Tantomile’s and Coricopat’s den.

“Show me the new steps,” Mistoffelees panted after a few minutes that felt like hours to them, fully lost in their own little world.

“The new…? Oh, yeah, sure.”

Mistoffelees had missed the last session of their dancing lessons, because he had been visiting Bustopher Jones at one of his clubs.

Tumblebrutus positioned himself, demonstrating the short sequence of steps they had learned that afternoon, and Mistoffelees did his best to copy him.

Dancing was in his blood, but Tumble was still somewhat envious when he watched Mistoffelees dance the sequence without help after only two repetitions, displaying seemingly boundless flair and charisma that he himself could only dream of.

However, there was one little thing that was not quite right; Mistoffelees launched into the last chaînés, stopped his forward movement with a double pirouette, jumped – and missed the landing, coming to a halt in a lopsided fourth position.

Tumble giggled, and Mistoffelees stuck his tongue out at him. Then he tried again. And again. And again.

When the uneven “ba-thump” of his paws rang out for the seventh time, Tumble had to lean on the dovecote, writhing with laughter.

A huff. “You do it better, then.”

Wiping tears from his eyes, Tumble came face to face with Mistoffelees’ miffed expression, and he scooched to the side so Misto could sit down and sulk.

“Watch and learn,” Tumble proclaimed smugly, starting with a teasingly drawn-out and high développé, just to make a point. Mistoffelees rolled his eyes.

Well, he had asked for it. Tumble let his leg fall back down and began the chaînés, trying and failing to will his face to look a little more graceful, ended up with enough momentum for a triple pirouette, arms at his side and not dramatically over his head as Mistoffelees did it, jumped and pulled his feet up for a pas de chat – and landed in a flawless fifth position.

Mistoffelees’ expression had definitely turned a little sour now. Tumble did his best to suppress a cackle, but he couldn’t keep himself from throwing his arms up in the air, mocking Misto’s habit of making the most of every arm movement that a step allowed.

“Do it again,” Misto demanded, and Tumble did so without argument. The small black tomcat jumped up when Tumble had reached the pirouette part and mirrored his steps, a deep frown of concentration on his face.

Instead of stopping after the last jump, Tumble kept jumping, repeating the last step over and over and over, Mistoffelees copying him, movements getting more sure by the second, and at the sight of his frown all of Tumble’s competitiveness suddenly fell away, face lighting up in a giddy smile without his notice. At some point they were almost nose to nose, holding paws because it was the easiest way to avoid colliding with each other face first, crossing the roof in short leaps, over and over; pas de chat, pas de chat, pas de chat, pas de chat.

A voice startled them from their intense focus. “Have a nice evenin’, gents!” the sweeper called from across the roof, doffed his cap again and vanished in the labyrinth of chimneys.

Tumble and Misto came to a stop, breathing heavily, their fur bristling in the cool breeze.

For a while they stayed silent, catching their breath as the last caterwauling tom was shooed away by irritated humans and the moon finally emerged from behind a dark cloud.

Tumble broke the silence, batting at one of Misto’s ears. “Are you impressed now?”

Misto grinned at him, ducking away from his paw, reaching up to scratch at his ear himself, a tell-tale sign that he was embarrassed. “Yes. Exceptionally.”

If cats could blush, Tumble would have done so. Instead, he cleared his throat. And then he cleared it again, for good measure. “I’m… uh. I’m glad.”

“Of course you are.” Mistoffelees rolled his eyes, but he didn’t look annoyed at all. “Show-off.”

It was meant to be, Tumblebrutus wanted to say, but what came out instead was: “We were meant for each other, then.”

Instead of laughing at him, Mistoffelees twitched his whiskers, front paw strategically brushing against Tumble’s own, almost begging to be held. (Tumble complied.)

“Maybe so,” he said, and the look he sent Tumble was almost competitive.

Tumblebrutus gripped Mistoffelees’ paw tightly and impressed both of them by leaning forward and kissing him.

“Pas de chat” is a ballet leap that translates to “step of the cat”, which I thought fit very well. :) As it may be obvious, this is mostly based on Jacob Brent’s Misto and Fergus Logan’s Tumble, with Jacob having a little more charisma and Fergus having a slightly better technique. (As I normally hc Tumble to be a kitten and Misto to be a young adult, this is also a stand-alone.) I hope all the ballet talk wasn’t too overwhelming! Thank you for reading! ♥

[namethat-i-oughttohavetoldyou]

Eel!

And here it finally is, the long-awaited Tuggerstrap fic! It’s quite short and silly, but I am very happy with it. Although I mostly write the cats as actual cats, I very much have Nicky Wuchinger Tugger and Robert Marx Munkustrap in mind here. Gender cat and chonk cat, my beloveds. I’m a little shy to tag this, but: @falasta​​ @cryptidvoidwritings​​ I am finally pulling my weight here! Haha. Anyhow. My love to all who read/like/reblog and enjoy! ♥

“Uh-oh.”

That was the last thing that came out of Etcetera’s mouth before an avalanche of rubbish rolled over her, burying her up to her ears.

The tomkittens screamed, Jemima began to cry and Electra hid her face behind her paws. When she dared to look, George was plodding through the litter, whining and snuffling at the two small white ears sticking out. He shoved his muzzle downwards, nosing around like a newborn kitten searching for milk, and finally pulled Etcetera out by the scruff of her neck. Pouncival screamed again, but this time in joy, or so he claimed later. Still wiping tears from her eyes, Jemima scampered over as quickly as she could, worriedly batting at Etcetera’s flanks when she was close enough.

“Are you alright?” she asked, almost tuned out by Etcetera’s squeal (she was very ticklish), ears pulled back against her skull. She looked a lot like Bombalurina in that very moment, but none of those present dared to mention it. “Are you? You need to tell me!”

“I am,” Etcetera assured her, standing on her hind legs and bravely fighting off Jemima’s inquisitive paws, baring her tiny fangs in a hiss.

Jemima hissed back. She immediately felt a little better.

“George, you saved me!” George found himself receiving the biggest hug that Etcetera could offer, which wasn’t really that big, considering her small size. On the other hand, coming from Etcetera, everything felt a lot bigger than it actually was, be it a hug, a ladybug that she had discovered on her way to the den or a piece of chicken that she benevolently shared with her peers. Even Munkustrap seemed to grow a little taller whenever she climbed onto his shoulders, even though that was highly improbable.

If dogs could blush, George would have certainly done so, but instead he panted a little, tongue hanging out of his mouth and his tail doing the windshield-wiper movements that the other kittens just couldn’t seem to correctly imitate, no matter how hard they tried.

“George can be Cat Morgan,” Pouncival decided, and Electra nodded firmly.

(The avalanche had interrupted their play, or rather the distribution of roles. Etcetera had demonstrated an impressive amount of back walkovers to be cast as Etterberry, which had unfortunately placed her too closely to one of the haphazardly stacks, resolving in a chain reaction with the whole hill collapsing in the process. Luckily for the kittens, said hill mostly consisted of waterlogged newspapers and old shopping brochures, with the occasional book here and there.)

Tumblebrutus huffed and complained, but he was mercilessly shot down from all sides, so he sat down a few steps away, hugged his tail and sulked.

As his friends began their play, he examined the trash spread around him in a desperate attempt to stave off the advancing boredom. A big, colourful book caught his eye, half-hidden beneath a stack of Harrod’s catalogues turned paper mush. While he couldn’t read the title, the cover showed a big fish of some kind. It had teeth. Intrigued, Tumblebrutus crawled closer and freed the book from it’s paper-maché prison, gasping with delight when he discovered a second fish next to the first, which had even more teeth.

“Guys! Look!”

“Don’t distract us! We’re at a key scene,” Electra complained, not exactly knowing what a key scene was. Munkustrap always said it to Tugger when the big tomcat wanted to cuddle in the middle of the kitten’s designated story time, no matter if he just started the story or was in the middle of the most thrilling climax. Tugger never heeded Munkustrap’s plaint anyway, so maybe he just said that out of habit. Who was to say. It sounded very grown-up, at least.

“I’ve never seen so many teeth on a fish before,” Tumblebrutus said half-goading, half-astonished.

He needed to say no more; in less than a blink of an eye he was surrounded by his playmates, tiny noses and paws curiously nudging the book in front of them.

“Do you think it’s a book about monsters?” George whispered fervently, tail wiping his imaginary wind shield.

Jemima meowed impatiently from where she had been pushed to the back of the group. “Let me see, let me see!”

Pouncival ducked a little so she could climb over him and squeeze herself between the book and Tumblebrutus.

“Creatures from the deep sea,” she spelled out painstakingly, little forehead throwing wrinkles. “The sea is always deep, Gus said. Is there a flat sea?”

“Shallow,” Electra corrected her, hooking a claw into the soggy cardboard and opening the book to the first page. “Alonzo said that something being called ‘deep’ just means that the humans haven’t completely explored it yet, because it’s too far away. Like deep space.”

“Then how can they write books about it, if they don’t know?”

Electra didn’t know that either, so they settled on asking Alonzo later and concentrated on the book, whiskers almost brushing the pages and pupils blown wide. More than once they had to ask George to pant a little less so he wouldn’t drip on it.

Since Jemima was the only one who had been patient enough during Jellylorum’s lessons to actually learn how to read a little, the kittens surrendered the part of turning the pages to her, even though it was very hard, their curiosity almost too vast to stay on one double page for too long.

Luckily the texts grew shorter after they had troughed through two and a half pages of “preface” and subsequently argued about what in the world a preface was. Pouncival insisted that it was the “first face”, like the humans called their first names “prenames”, but thinking too long about humans having multiple faces scared them a little, so they left it at that and returned to the task at hand.

“Look, that’s an ew,” Etcetera pointed when Jemima leafed to then next page, showing a snake-like monster with small eyes and pointy teeth.

“It sure looks like one,” Tumblebrutus giggled, and Pouncival added: “It looks so slimy and slippery!”

“It’s not an ew, it’s an eel,” Jemima corrected them patiently, her small paw wandering along below the letters to not lose her place. “But it says here that they produce slime, so I guess you’re right.”

“Ew,” Electra said.

George shuddered. “No, eel,” he corrected.

“I’ll say eel now if something is slimy,” Etcetera decided before Electra could roll her eyes, and the other kittens thought that to be a great idea. It would certainly confuse some of the adults, and it could be their secret language!

Jemima’s paw had reached the bottom of the right page. She read aloud: “European eels, however, are not the only serpentine creatures that can be found in our oceans. As they both belong to the An-gui-lli-for-mes, what a terrible word, they bear close resemblance to...”

Impatient and excited, Electra reached out and flipped to the next page, and in the next second all six kittens screamed like banshees.

Jemima kicked the book away and buried her face in George’s flank, George began to howl, Tumblebrutus scrambled back so quickly that he stepped on Pouncival’s paw, crashed against Electra and making them both fall over, Pouncival cradled his hurt paw and cried, and Etcetera launched herself back into the same paper pile that George had rescued her from earlier.

Munkustrap was there before they could take enough breath for a second bout of screaming.

He gathered an armful of kittens and ushered the rest to hide behind his spread legs, pupils wide, whiskers spread out fully and ears erect to look out for danger.

When he couldn’t find anything unusual after a while and the screaming had quietened to a fearful whimpering, he set the kittens on his arm down and loafed, George flopping before him onto the floor and the other kittens crawling to hide under his thick fur. Munkustrap washed George’s face and ears with his tongue and purred, radiating so much calm and safety that another cat was drawn into the little pile, laying on his side and resting his maned torso on George’s forelegs. The silver tabby lifted an eyebrow into the cat’s direction. The Rum Tum Tugger smirked. They shared a long blink, then Munkustrap extracted a paw from his fluff and looked at the kitten that appeared beneath it.

“What happened?”

“Eel,” Pouncival sniffled, showing Munkustrap his injured paw.

“Eel?” Tugger asked, playful confusion in his voice, but the kittens were too drained to laugh about it.

Munkustrap examined Pouncival’s paw, finding only a small bruise that would vanish quickly with a bit of ice.

Jemima’s head popped out under Munkustrap’s chin, pointing at the book that lay sprawled on its back a few metres away. “It’s a monster book.”

“I see,” Munkustrap responded, exchanging a look with Tugger.

Tugger nodded, rubbed against George one more time and then stood up, sauntering over to the book. He pulled a paw back and lashed out, slapping the book until the kittens were certain the monsters inside had nothing left to give, and then he sat on it.

“Aha,” Tugger said, smugly grooming his paw. “Nothing to be feared now.”

Pacified, the kittens emerged from their protective living blanket. Pouncival limped noticeably.

“I’m sorry, Pounci,” Tumblebrutus said, sadly reaching out a paw to bat at Pouncival’s ears. “We ought to go to Jenny, she’ll make it go away.”

George jumped up, almost running Munkustrap over. “I’ll lead the way!”

“Very good. I’ll come meet you at the nursery later for a story,” Munkustrap said, quickly straightening up and ignoring Tugger’s immature tittering.

The kittens made agreeing noises and the small procession toddled off, lead by George and tailed by Electra, one or two of them giving the book a good smack when they passed it, just for good measure.

The two tomcats watched them go, Munkustrap shaking out his fur to smooth it out, hackles still a little raised from the sudden cacophony of screeching.

“Eel,” Tugger mused after Electra’s triangular tail had vanished around the corner, standing up from where he still sat on the offending book and examined the opened page.

“Moray,” he read, squinting at the letters, ears pressing to his skull without his notice.

Munkustrap joined him. “Oh. That does look terrifying. Poor things.”

The page showed a long, spotted fish with a gaping mouth full of sharp teeth, drawn in such a way that it seemed to jump out of the book.

“It’s very-” Munkustrap started, but in that moment Tugger hissed and arched his back, swiping at the drawing and ripping out almost half of the page. Then he sat back on his haunches, dragging a paw through his mane and yawned.

Munkustrap said nothing, but the grin tugging at his muzzle was certainly obvious and also went stubbornly ignored.

“I like my fish without teeth, please and thank you,” Tugger grumbled after yawning again, trying to hide his embarrassment.

“I agree.” Munkustrap closed the book to look at the cover. “Creatures from the deep sea. If they were looking for a book to be frightened by, they certainly found one.”

“Those look weird,” Tugger commented, abandoning his mane to look at the cover. “I don’t know about you, but I’m in a spooky mood. Let’s see what else they’ve got.”

“As long as it doesn’t end with your ripping the poor book to shreds…”

“Hush.”

Munkustrap grinned and hushed.

Tugger gave his paw a lick and leafed through the thick cardboard pages of the book, the smell of wet paper and mould rising to their noses. He saw Munkustrap scrunching his face from the corner of his eyes. Hand-drawn illustrations of the most interesting sea creatures adorned the pages, and the font was big and bold enough for even him to read, were he interested in doing so. He was not, and so he leafed on, halting here and there to giggle about especially strange-looking fish and various other sea-dwellers. Munkustrap had draped himself over his shoulder and purred whenever he remembered to do so, occupied with trying to read the texts quicker than Tugger could turn the pages. Every now and then he would chirp with soft annoyance when the page was turned just when he came across an exciting fact, but his annoyance was quickly forgotten as soon as they both set their eyes on the new page, hunting for information and entertainment like Bustopher for his next dinner.

“Oh,” Tugger said when they came to the last few pages. Munkustrap opened his eyes after his very long absolutely-not-about-to-fall-asleep blink and looked. Tugger lifted one paw and pointed at a small round sea creature, aptly named “puffer fish”. “Look, it’s you!”

Munkustrap’s purr broke off into a rumbling laugh that made Tugger’s whiskers quiver, a heavy warmth pooling in his chest.

“Oh? Am I really so prickly?”

“Nooooo,” Tugger sighed languidly, leaving the book be for now and rolling over. Munkustrap gave in and let himself be gently flung on his back with a little “oof”, Tugger landing on top of him like a purring, fluffy blanket.

“It’s just the shape that made me think of you. You’re round, even more so when you’re cold or angry.”

“Why, what happens then?”

“You puff up. Like... a puffer fish cat.”

“Oh, I see.” Munkustrap laughed again, an unworried, airy kind of laugh, letting his head fall back and stretching his hind legs.

(Heaviside above, Tugger was so in love.)

Legs sufficiently stretched and front paws comfortably resting on his chest, Munkustrap almost mourned Tugger’s weight on him vanishing as he lifted himself up and sat back on his haunches, even though breathing came a lot easier now.

Before he could complain, big paws began to knead his vulnerable underbelly, and Munkustrap felt a little weak with the revelation of how much he trusted this cat looming over him, of how he trusted him enough to let his claws get even in the vicinity of the most tender part of his body.

“So soft,” Tugger hummed appreciatively, gently pressing his muzzle against Munkustrap’s round belly, paws still making biscuits as if it was going out of style. Munkustrap sighed blissfully. A pair of black paws sunk into Tugger’s mane, starting to knead in kind, claws just short of reaching the skin underneath the thick, fluffy coat.

“So soft,” Munkustrap reciprocated with a dorky smile, his purr bubbling up again and vibrating under Tugger’s paws.

The heavy warmth in his chest was back. Tugger blinked a long, long blink and kneaded with a little more force, joyfully noting how Munkustrap seemed to melt under it, his own rhythm faltering. “My puffer fish.”

A playful frown. “Ah, now I don’t have a nickname like that for you – that just won’t do. Let me get up and see if I can find a long, cocky fish with big fins on its neck.”

Another “oof” followed when Tugger let himself fall forward again, paws shifting to make biscuits on the silver tabby’s sides instead, his head tucked under Munkustrap’s chin.

“No can do, ’m afraid. Gravity… you know how it is.”

“I do know. Seems to be especially bad in warm patches of sun.”

“You’re very warm. ‘S gotta have to do with it.”

“Am I? Then you’re probably right.”

They stayed like that for a while, their purring lining up and reaching the exact same frequency that seemed to make their very bones vibrate.

Then a small weight collided with Tugger’s back, and Pouncival appeared behind Tugger’s mane, paw fully healed and very unwilling to wait much longer for Munkustrap to come to the den and tell them a story at his own pace.

Munkustrap sighed and pressed a kiss to Tugger’s nose, who groaned in protest. But he gave in after three or four more kisses, because really, he loved hearing Munkustrap’s stories, and he loved to interrupt him in the middle of a “key scene” even more, so he held onto Munkustrap’s tail with his teeth like a kitten crossing the street with their mother and let Pouncival ride on his back like a cowboy on a wild horse, bucking and bouncing.

(Munkustrap had to put his paw down when the rest of the caboodle wanted to ride on Tugger, too, including George.)

 “You’re a fluffer fish.”

“What, you couldn’t come up with anything better than that, my beloved puffer fish?”

“I would have, if you’d let me read the book.”

Mirrored smiles on white muzzles, one surrounded by stripes, the other by spots.

“There’s nothing I enjoy like a horrible moray…”

“Now I’m insulted.”

“Don’t be prickly, now.”

Munkustrap wheezed with laughter.

Everlasting eel, Tugger thought. I am so in love.

Me: (finds out that cats yawn and lick their paws when they are embarrassed) man I’m gonna use that in every fic ever (I’m not an expert in cat behaviour, so don’t come for me sjdkajskd) Fun fact! In my fics, all kittens with two “canon” names, like Sillabub and Jemima, are seperate kittens, and I wanted to use all of them here, but I constantly lost count and stayed with the 98 kittens instead. The others are still existent, of course, they’re just... napping somewhere. I love that I finally got this done. The cuddles and biscuits scene was there first and the Plot™ came afterwards. It worked out, I suppose! XD Thank you for reading, and I’d like to say one last word: Eel. <3 Oh yeah, and this Tugger and Munk are obviously not related. Just in case.

[namethat-i-oughttohavetoldyou]

Habitual Gestures

Some Mungoteazer shenanigans for @0zzysaurus​! Unfortunately this got a lot more plot-heavy (not really, but yknow) than shippy, I hope you can forgive me :’D It seems that I am absolutely unable to write in some random humans without giving them some soft scenes. Oh well. Also, there are some suggestive mentions in here, but nothing explicit happens. Just some euphemisms. All my love to those who read/like/reblog and enjoy!

The ceramic bowl was prodded by a black paw, and Mungojerrie gave a confused meow at the sight of its contents.

“Dry food,” Rumpleteazer said, aghast. “On a Sunday!”

She reached for the skirt of the cook with a begging paw. Mungojerrie in the meantime tipped the bowl a little on its side and let go, producing a loud bang noise from the ceramic hitting the tiles. His ears pricked and he repeated this action a few more times.

“Now, now,” the cook scolded, stooping to detach Rumpleteazer’s claws from her skirt. “Stop your warbling and say your little prayer, be a good kitty!”

“Meeaaaaawrow”, Rumpleteazer answered (at least to the ears of the cook; her actual words shall not be repeated), obviously unwilling to obey.

“Maybe we have to change brands again… spoiled little beasts,” the cook grumbled, scratched Rumpleteazer behind the ears and left them to it.

Mungojerrie commented their plight with another mournful wail, but it was no use. The wet food stayed safe and sound where-ever it had been hidden, and they felt far too hungry and neglected to search for it or smash a few wine glasses in protest. Instead, they tipped the bowl over and slunk off to the attic.

“We ought to move out,” Mungojerrie lamented, falling dramatically on a dusty armchair. “We’d never be treated like this on the junkyard.”

“It’s not even half as draughty here, though,” Rumpleteazer sighed, leafing through an old newspaper and drawing moustaches on every human who didn’t have one yet with an ink pen she’d stolen from the study. “I couldn’t bear having to sleep there every night. I don’t know how they do it.”

“Well, if it gets too draughty, they can move to the house of the guardsmen, I suppose. On the other hand, it’s draughty in there, too…”

“We should move into the nursery when we’re there next time,” Rumpleteazer suggested wisely, jumping up on the armchair and sitting on Mungojerrie’s lap. “Or with Munkustrap. Either way, with so much fluff, we won’t even notice the wind.”

“True,” Mungojerrie admitted, but then he frowned. Rumpleteazer didn’t like that. She began to groom his face.

“We’d have to help Munkustrap out with his play if we stayed with him, surely. And I haven’t really practised my lines yet…”

“Then why don’t you start practising? I know it’s not very exciting, but-”

“Au contraire, Madam Teazer.” Mungojerrie wrapped his arms around her and sat up as much as he could, eyes alight. Rumpleteazer couldn’t help but kiss his excited expression.

“My ears start twitching and my tail won’t stay still if I only think of the play! And am I ever so excited about having been trusted with a lead role.”

Figures, Rumpleteazer thought with a fond eyeroll. Toms. They loved superheroes.

“But I admit that I might be too excited,” Mungojerrie continued, “because I never remember my lines. And I can’t really start singing something else instead, as everyone always suggests to me, because some old poll’ wouldn’t sing ‘Twinkle twinkle little dot’ in the heat of the moment. That would destroy the atmosphere, y’know?”

Rumpleteazer had been distracted by a dust bunny about half-way through his monologue, so she gave a vague hum in response.

Mungojerrie took her head between his paws and pressed their noses together. “Help me practise, please?”

“Certainly,” Rumpleteazer replied, and ten seconds later they both balanced a dustpan and its accompanying sweeper on their heads, in lieu of their dog costumes that were safely stored somewhere in Jellylorum’s den.

They shoved a stack of puzzle cartons off a cupboard to represent Munkustrap standing between them, then Rumpleteazer counted them in.

“Five, six, seven, eight!”

“…”

“…”

“What are we waiting for?”

“Well, you have to bark first.”

“Do I?”

“I’m sure.”

“Oh, alright.”

Mungojerrie barked, a truly terrible sound coming from a cat, in fact so utterly terrible that Rumpleteazer burst into pealing laughter.

“Oh, come on now, you know I haven’t practised yet,” Mungojerrie complained, crossing his arms and pouting, dustpan slipping down.

“I’m sorry,” Rumpleteazer gasped and doubled over.

Mungojerrie waited a few minutes, then he readjusted his dustpan and went into position again. “Are you done now?”

“Yeah, yeah. Five, six, seven, eigh-”

“Mee-WAK!”

This time, Rumpleteazer rolled into the stack of puzzle cartons, screeching with laughter. The stack collapsed, thousands of puzzle pieces covered the floor, and Mungojerrie gave up and jumped into the pile as well. His dustpan went flying with the momentum and sailed over the cupboard, knocking the rest of the puzzle cartons clean off. Within seconds, both Cats (and a sweeper) were buried in pieces from at least 30 puzzle sets.

“We should practise more often,” Mungojerrie commented a few minutes later, after they had emerged from the pile and were now batting the pieces back and forth, observing the delightful chaos around them.

Rumpleteazer chewed on a puzzle piece, grimaced and spat it out. “Agreed. Also, since I haven’t really trained my abs today, lets keep practising how to bark. At least we’ll have something to show off when we see Munk the next time.”

Mungojerrie thought that to be a grand idea, so he gave his best attempt at a power stance, paws slipping on the puzzle-covered floor, pulled a sinister face, thought of the Rottweiler in the backyard of the local butcher and gave it his all.

Rumpleteazer was in tears in a matter of moments, desperately heaving for air in-between bouts of uproarious laughter.

They made so much noise that the family downstairs grew concerned.

“Oh, Arthur, please go upstairs and check what they’re doing,” the lady of the house instructed their butler. She worried her silk scarf, clutching her pearls whenever a particularly hair-raising noise rang out. “Maybe they’ve eaten the rat poison and are in agony or dying! I knew we should have given them wet food today, oh my, oh my.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Arthur the butler said tiredly, slowly climbing up the stairs and the rickety ladder, his old joints creaking.

The blood-curdling noises only grew louder the closer he came to the carnage that had once been an orderly stack of puzzle cartons, and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief when he came face to face with two tiger-striped cats staring at him with outrage, neither dying nor in agony. The way they were positioned gave him a very clear idea of what they had been doing.

“Here, kitty kitty,” he murmured tenderly, grabbed them by their scruffs and set them on his arm. “Now look at the mess you’ve made! You should be ashamed of yourselves. The young master will need days to sort them!”

The cat on the right blinked at him very slowly, and Arthur had to admit that they probably couldn’t care less. Oh, to be a cat, he thought.

“Now, do keep your urges in check when you’re on unsteady ground, hm? We wouldn’t want you to hurt yourselves.”

Rumpleteazer hissed and Mungojerrie puffed up his fur indignantly. “Urges?!”

Arthur set them down again in front of the attic door, too old to carry them all the way downstairs. “Run along now, kitty cats.” With that, he locked the door behind him and made his way back down the ladder.

The two cats stared at each other for a little while longer, then they groomed their forepaws and yawned a few times in embarrassment.

“Rude,” Mungojerrie grumbled as they jumped down the ladder and slid down the stair railing on their bellies.

Halfway down the stairs, a truly marvellous scent rose to their noses – roast!

“Do you smell that, Jerrie?”

“I do! Oh Teazer, our Sunday is saved!”

They made a beeline for the kitchen, tails raised high and mouths open to catch as much of the heavenly smell as possible, only stopping shorty to admire the new vases on the cabinet in the hallway.

The cook was hard at work with peeling potatoes while the Argentine Joint was roasting in the oven. This would prove to be an obstacle, but it wouldn’t be the first time for them to steal food that was still in a pot on the stove, or in this case, the oven.

The cook, however, was an even bigger obstacle, for she allowed them to enter the kitchen, but they could feel her eyes on their backs like prongs on their scruffs.

Mungojerrie stood on his hind legs to look through the glass pane of the oven, tongue hanging out of his mouth. Rumpleteazer’s tail twitched from side to side, just waiting to jump at the oven door to rip it open.

“Come here, kitty,” the cook called.

Rumpleteazer heaved a sigh but obeyed. Mungojerrie didn’t even seem to notice.

The cook stooped low on the kitchen sofa to scratch Rumpleteazer’s head and then reached for something on the table with her other hand. Rumpleteazer’s ears perked up. A treat?

To her disappointment, the hand came back and held a piece of peeled potato to her nose. She dutifully sniffed on it.

“What do you think, hm? What do you think?” the cook asked her in her thick Italian accent.

Rumpleteazer meowed in response.

“Don’t you worry, we’ll add some salt to that now. Come, come.”

With that, she picked her up and showed her the pot of potatoes.

“Now, how much salt do we need, angioletto? One pinch or two?”

Rumpleteazer meowed cluelessly.

“That’s right, that’s right. Quanto basta, yes? Quanto basta.”

With that, she shoved a spoon into the tin and added salt, seemingly without looking. All her food turned out delicious either way, so Rumpleteazer decided to not question her methods.

“Get away from the oven,” the cook continued, and Rumpleteazer squinted up at her with confusion. Couldn’t she see what a well-behaved kitty she was?

The soft sound of paws padding over tiles made her stop in her thoughts. Oh yeah.

Mungojerrie gave a chirp of complaint.

Rumpleteazer wormed her way between the cook’s rough hands, flicking her tail at Mungojerrie. I’ll distract her.

The cook’s round face lit up in a smile. “Oh, come here, you.”

As she began to pet and scratch her, Rumpleteazer’s only thought was how she could die happily this way. The cook just might have been her favourite human, right after the little girl that was always happy to play in mud puddles with her and the kittens, and perhaps the aunt of the station master, because she shrieked so beautifully loudly whenever they ran away with her feather boa.

“Don’t you think I don’t see what you’re doing over there, you horrible cat.”

Or maybe not.

Mungojerrie was hanging from the oven door, turning back to throw Rumpleteazer a betrayed look.

“Get down from there, don’t burn your paws,” the cook scolded him, setting Rumpleteazer on the kitchen sofa next her and walking to the stove to look into one of the pots.

Mungojerrie let go and trotted to the doorway, defeated. Rumpleteazer joined him, and together they left the kitchen to curl up in the sitting room, dragging their paws.

One of the girls came running to pet them, but they squirmed away from her grasping hands and flew under the table next to the fireplace, where they had one of their beds.

“Oh, bugger,” Mungojerrie complained, scratching at his side and frowning.

Rumpleteazer loafed next to him and chewed on her bottom lip in thought. “We’ve got to get her away from the stove somehow. I will not eat dry food if they get to eat like lords and ladies! I refuse.”

“But how? Her eyes seem to be all over the kitchen.”

“Then lets get her out of the kitchen.”

Both of their gazes wandered to the gramophone that sat enthroned on a small side table just across from them.

In a matter of seconds, Mungojerrie stood next to the table and Teazer on his back, lifting the needle onto the record with careful paws. The Rum Tum Tugger had shown them how to operate a gramophone when they had stolen a record from the record shop for him. As soon as the needle was placed down, they changed places, and Mungojerrie leaned his entire body weight on the wind-up crank. It took a lot of effort for a cat to use a gramophone, which is why they preferred to sing by themselves back at the junkyard (or to listen to the guards’ radio from time to time), but Mungojerrie was determined.

With a soft crackle, the machine came alive, and two seconds later music blasted from the horn at an ear-shattering volume.

Every living being in the house jumped in surprise at the sudden noise (Mungojerrie fell off Rumpleteazer’s back and rolled beneath the table), but to the cats’ horror none of them ran to shut the gramophone off. Instead, sudden loud singing rang from the kitchen, and the family, infected by the joy in the cook’s voice, jumped off their seats and began to dance, in pairs and alone, waltzing from the carpeted floor onto the sofa to the coffee table and back to the floor, laughing and singing like they hadn’t done for a long time.

Normally the two striped menaces under the table would have joined them without hesitation, as they were Jellicle cats and loved a good dance, but right at this moment they were fairly disappointed.

“That didn’t work out,” Mungojerrie commented after a while of watching them frolic, and they left the sitting room for the hallway, the music a tad too loud for their sensitive ears.

“They have adapted,” Rumpleteazer sighed, “there isn’t much we can surprise them with anymore. Maybe we truly should move out.”

(But she didn’t really mean it. Dry food or not, they both had grown very fond of the family and their servants, whether they wanted to admit it or not.)

“Woe is us,” Mungojerrie said, squinting at the cabinet next to them.

The new vases seemed to tease him.

They looked at each other.

“Well, it’s worth a try, I suppose,” Rumpleteazer agreed.

Without losing a second, Mungojerrie jumped up and nudged a vase off the cabinet. It shattered on the tiled floor with a satisfying ping.

They pricked their ears and waited. One minute passed.

Then two.

Four.

Nothing happened.

“The music is too loud,” Mungojerrie realized, and Rumpleteazer yowled in desperation.

They smashed the other two vases as well, since they were at it already.

Then Rumpleteazer inhaled very deeply and gave an ear-splitting screech.

Jerrie almost backflipped out of shock, pawing at his ears in discomfort. “What was that for?”

“I’m pulling all registers,” Rumpleteazer responded drily, taking another breath to scream.

However, before she could open her mouth, she was suddenly lifted from her paws into flawlessly ironed shirt-clad arms, and Arthur the butler pulled her to his chest, taking one of her paws into his hand as if he was leading her in a dance.

“Are you singing as well, my kitty?” he mumbled, a faraway smile on his old, wrinkled face.

Then he slowly waltzed with her through the hallway, humming softly under his breath.

Rumpleteazer didn’t try to fight back, instead pressing her head beneath Arthur’s chin and purring, smelling old people and soap. Mungojerrie sang quietly and streaked around Arthur’s legs, always careful not to make him stumble.

They circled the end of the hallway a few times and then moved into the direction of the sitting room. Mungojerrie gave a chatter of warning before Arthur could step into a shard of the shattered vases.

“Dear me,” Arthur said, raising an eyebrow at the cat in his arms.

Rumpleteazer purred a little louder.

He sat her down again and warned them to watch their paws, then he began the straining walk to the attic to retrieve the only dustpan and sweeper left in the house.

“One less to worry about,” Mungojerrie said, and Rumpleteazer giggled.

When they re-entered the kitchen, the cook was just poking a skewer into the roast to check how done it was. However, as soon as they appeared in her periphery, it was no use to try and lure her to the remains of the vases. The pot of potatoes was now boiling on the stove, and the pot with the greens stood at the ready, and the cook was ever so vigilant.

Mungojerrie pretended to choke to death on the kitchen floor, but he was mercilessly nudged to the side by the cook’s foot so she could get to the ladle laying on the table.

They even threw all sense of shame and modesty into the wind and tried to, as Arthur had put it. ‘follow their urges’ on the kitchen sofa, which resulted in them getting thrown out of the kitchen in less than five seconds.

Defeated, they climbed through the letter box into freedom, resigned to return to the Junkyard in hope of better food than a bowl of lousy dry food.

“It’s hopeless,” Mungojerrie moaned as the smell of the roast wafted out of the open kitchen window around the corner.

“So cruel of her,” Rumpleteazer agreed, throwing her forelegs into the air, “and so undeserved!”

Still, they couldn’t resist to jump onto the ledge of the kitchen window, opting to mourn their lost dinner.

The roast wasn’t in the oven anymore. Instead, it now lay on a tray in the middle of the kitchen table to cool, while the cook was busying herself with the rice, greens and potatoes, still singing at full volume.

“This is our chance,” Mungojerrie whispered, whiskers quivering with excitement. “Go to the front door and do something to lure her away!”

“But what?” Rumpleteazer asked, tail lashing and mouth open to inhale as much of the wonderful smell as possible.

“Think of something,” Mungojerrie said impatiently, giving her left ear a quick groom. “Hurry!”

Rumpleteazer chirped at the grooming, jumped off the ledge and galloped back to the front door.

“Think of something, think of something,” she mumbled, chasing her tail for a few seconds to build off nervous energy and get a clear head.

She stepped back and threw a glance at the roof. There was light in one of the windows – Arthur was still searching for the dustpan. Perfect.

Rumpleteazer cleared her throat, opened her mouth and produced the loudest yowl cat-kind had ever heard. All around the dogs began to bark and the neighbourhood cats called out for her, wanting to know if something had happened and if she needed help.

“I forgot my keys!” she shouted at the top of her lungs, hoping that it would placate her neighbours and lure the cook to the door.

Her neighbours gave various noises of acknowledgement, but the door didn’t open. The music, she realized, pawing at her left ear when a dog around the corner began to howl.

A loose brick on the pavement stared at her judgmentally.

“It was worth a try,” she grumbled to his direction, tail lashing with annoyance at the excessive howling. “Imagine if I was a pollicle! They’d come running if they only had an inkling that I’d left the house without a leash. Humans don’t just let their dogs run out of the door and do their business like us cats. Which isn’t surprising, mind you, because they would have probably started three fights before their family could even close the door behind them.”

The brick said nothing, it just laid there and looked judgemental. Rumpleteazer turned her nose up at it and stalked away, around the corner and back to Mungojerrie.

“I can’t think of anything,” she sniffed, flopping onto the window ledge.

“Come on, Teazer,” Mungojerrie pleaded, picking her up by the shoulders and shaking her gently, “this is our only chance! The rice is always done, and the beans are washed, we’re running out of time! You can think of something, I just know it.”

Rumpleteazer’s ears drooped, and Mungojerrie took a second to think.

“What if I promised you dessert?”

She immediately perked up. “Dessert, you say?”

Mungojerrie wagged his eyebrows suggestively.

“Ohhh. Dessert.”

“Yes, dessert.”

“I’ll think of something,” Rumpleteazer promised, flying off the ledge and around the corner so fast that she almost somersaulted into the gutter.

Confronted with the unmoving door, she began to doubt (and mourn the seemingly unattainable dinner… and dessert).

She kicked at the brick with sudden anger. Everlasting Cat curse this door! She had never come across a door that looked so unfriendly and unhelpful and rude overall. To be fair, she didn’t usually come across a lot of doors in her daily life, since she usually entered houses through windows, but Gus’ theatre door was always open for everyone. Such a friendly door it was, so well managed and served by the janitor; Gus really had done well with that. Although, she supposed, it only kept working so well because Jellylorum took care of him and everything else so well, never seeming to tire of listening to his ever-repeating stories, looking out for the kittens and young adults just as much, Rumpleteazer didn’t know how she did it! She could barely take care of herself if she didn’t have Mungojerrie, let alone an entire colony of cats of every age. On the other hand, what would Jelly do without Jenny, who was always there for her to pour her heart out as well as a shoulder to cry on, and they drank tea together at least two times a week, so that Jellylorum didn’t get lonely in the old theatre and Jenny didn’t lose her mind from giving lessons to her mice and cockroaches every night. Sometimes they invited Rumpleteazer to drink a cuppa with them, and she loved it because the tea tasted very good and she was allowed to put a little milk into her tea. Milk, a miracle, a wonderwork, the best thing there was in the world, apart from Mungojerrie and stealing roasts. And one could even make a living by selling it! At least humans could. If she was a human, she would like to be a milkman. Access to free milk, and you could share that joy with others! What a wonderful profession. She had met the local milkman many a time, a friendly young man who was always punctual, and the cook was always so quick to open the door for him–

Oh yeah. The door.

Focus, focus! She thought angrily, shaking out her fur.

Anyway. What did the milkman do that the door was opened so quickly? She had never heard him shout before, but there had been some kind of noise. What was it… a ringing? Yes, a ringing noise.

She frowned deeply, almost going cross-eyed. But how did he do that? He never had a bell in his hand when the cook opened his door, he only had one of his fingers outstretched. Was it magic? Human magic? Did their fingers ring?

The young queen climbed up on the banister and lifted a paw. Cassandra had shown her once how to drink tea like a lady, one claw splayed like the humans did it with their shortest finger. Maybe this would work just as well.

She unsheathed a claw and pointed it in the direction of the door. Unfortunately, her paw didn’t ring.

“Where is Mistoffelees when you need him?” she grumbled, sheathing her claw again.

Maybe she had to point at something specific. Straining every brain cell she had, she tried to remember in which direction the milkman pointed when the cook opened the door for him. He pointed… to the right. No, to the left.

Rumpleteazer jumped to the opposite banister and pointed again. Nothing. It was hopeless- wait!

“Now what do we have here?” she purred, whiskers spreading out and pupils widening.

A button! Buttons were lots of fun. Their potential was boundless! Once they had found one underneath the desk in the study and a secret door had opened. Maybe this button would open the door as well? That wasn’t quite what her goal had been, but now she was too curious to not give it a try.

She stretched out a paw and pressed the button.

A shrill ringing noise made her fall off the banister and hide behind the brick.

Then she gave whoop of victory. She had solved the mystery! All by herself! Oh, she would be getting that dessert, no matter if they managed to steal the roast or not.

Spurred on, she climbed the banister again and pressed the button another four to five times, and not ten seconds later she heard Mungojerrie’s warning call and the cook shuffling to the door, grumbling under her breath.

She took to her heels and made it back to the kitchen window in record time, Mungojerrie beaming at her from the kitchen table, the roast securely in his paws.

They hauled the Argentine Joint out of the kitchen, up the stairs to the study and behind one of the bookcases, one of their favourite hideouts inside the house. Downstairs, they could hear the cook bluster and rant.

“The joint is gone, even though I was so careful!” the cook wailed, slumped over the kitchen table, her balled fist hitting the tabletop.

“It was that horrible cat!” the youngest child crowed from the sitting room as the master of the house hurried to console her.

“Nothing at all to be done about that,” he sighed, glancing sadly at the empty tray. “We’ll send Arthur to the butcher and eat one tomorrow instead. For now, we still have all the side dishes, can’t let them go to waste now, can we?”

“Definitely not, sir,” Arthur agreed, having returned from the attic, covered in dust and puzzle pieces.

“Oh, we should find them, darling,” the lady of the house pleaded, worrying her silk scarf. “What if they choke on the bones?”

“Nonsense. The cat figured out how to ring the darn doorbell, I’m sure they know how to eat roast correctly, my dear.”

“Ah yes, that’s true.”

Upstairs, said roast had shrunk to a miniscule size, and Mungojerrie was purring loud enough to rival Jennyanydots when she was in a good mood.

“Say, Teazer, how did you manage to make the milkman noise?”

Rumpleteazer, pleasantly sated and excited for dessert, twirled her whiskers and put on a smug expression.

“Well, you see, my dear Jerrie, it’s old human door magic that Mistoffelees showed me once after I helped him steal a pair of socks…”

ADHD queen Teazer, amiright? Sdjfjksd Even though all the Catsiversary fics are standalones, I’m gonna keep these humans. I’ve grown fond of them and they are so much fun to write xD Also I referenced the German lyrics of R&M because the “the joint is gone from the oven like that” part is so much funnier in the old Vienna translation. (“Angioletto” means “little angel” and “quanto basta” means “just enough”.) I hope you liked it! Thank you for reading! ♥

[namethat-i-oughttohavetoldyou]

The Bicycle

And we continue with a spot of Demestrap for @munku-collar​! Unfortunately it turned out a little shorter, but this idea got its hold of me and wouldn’t let go, so. Well. I hope this aligns with your view on them enough that it’s enjoyable to read :’D All my love to those who read/like/reblog! ♥

The air was thick and smelled of rain when Munkustrap padded down the cobblestones, head upright and searching, stopping here and there to brush against scent markers.

It had been almost pressingly hot the last few hours, and now the sky seemed to be close to finally tearing open, and he wanted to be under a roof for that, preferably before the rain started. Long fur always took so long to dry…

Before he could consider ending his search and either returning home or waiting out the coming storm at Tugger’s house, a familiar scent suddenly appeared somewhere to his right, and Munkustrap stopped with surprise, surveying the garage door in front of him, only partly opened, ready to fall closed at the slightest gust of wind.

A roll of thunder made him start, and his fur bristled with static. Well, better not wait for the inevitable. He entered the garage.

It was musty and cool inside, as well as dark, the only light coming through the door and a tiny dusty window at the far wall.

“You’re early,” Demeter’s voice rang out kindly, and Munkustrap couldn’t suppress the pleasant shudder at the sound.

“I thought you had gotten lost,” he admitted, a sliver of shame in his voice.

He didn’t think of her as helpless, quite the opposite, but sometimes he couldn’t shut off the worry.

Quickly growing used to the dim light, he examined the garage. It was quite small and the ceiling was low, the simple plaster walls covered in cobwebs. Garden tools of all sizes and purposes were stacked haphazardly, firewood that probably had once been carefully piled up next to the door now in an unruly pile on the floor. He could see a few children’s outdoor toys as well, colourfully painted stilts next to tiny rakes and watering cans, patiently waiting for the start of spring. The sudden heat wave would be short-lived, as far as the cats could tell, and maybe they would get some night frost in the next few days, but it wouldn’t be long before Old Deuteronomy and Gus could leave their respective homes again, the gentle warmth of spring a balm for their old, achy joints.

Stepping carefully over the logs of wood, he made his way to the middle of the garage. It was occupied by only two objects: bicycles, one with satin flowers wrapped around the handles, the other so tiny that Munkustrap could barely imagine a human child riding on it. Surely they were just learning how to walk when they were this small, weren’t they?

Demeter sat on the bigger bicycle’s seat, one front paw contemplatively kneading the black leather.

Munkustrap thought about jumping onto the bicycle rack to join her, but after giving the bike stand a sceptical glance, he stayed on the cool concrete floor, opting to sit on his haunches to look up at her.

“I came here often, before...” she faltered, heaved a deep breath and shook her head after a little while, loafing as much as possible on the limited space that the seat provided. “I would help them find their tools, because they were terribly forgetful when it came to remembering where they had buried this or that shovel or fertilizer or whatever else they needed for their garden that day. Back then, this bicycle still had a second seat, for the little girl.”

A soft smile tugged at her whiskers. “It seems that she is old enough for her own bicycle now.”

A strange wistfulness filled Munkustrap’s throat in kind with Demeter’s voice, almost as thick as the air outside. It was a wistfulness that he would never be able to understand, but there was no need to. Just experiencing it along with her was enough, so she had told him time and time again. (Sometimes he still wished that he could do more, wished with all of his heart.)

“They have adopted another cat,” Demeter continued, claws unsheathing seemingly without her control, almost piercing the bicycle seat. When she noticed, she sheathed them again quickly, instead scratching at her other front paw. At his look, she stopped, continuing to knead the sturdy leather. “He’s very nice, I’ve met him. Friendly, loyal… just what they needed.”

Munkustrap threw all caution into the building wind outside and jumped onto the rack, pressing his face into Demeter’s flank with a deep purr. The bicycle held fast, barely budging from the added weight.

“They mourned me,” she whispered, voice shaking. “They still speak often of me, he says. Because they miss me.”

“Of course they do,” Munkustrap answered quietly, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight when the first sob forced its way out of her chest.

“I didn’t mean to leave them. I never wanted to leave them.”

“I know. They know as well, I’m sure of it.”

The way she turned lax in his arms and the softening of her sobs told him that this was exactly what she had needed to hear.

“I miss them,” she sniffled, leaning into him. “Everlasting Cat, I miss them so much.”

Munkustrap stayed silent, continuing to hold her, silently thanking the bicycle for not falling over.

The garage door was blown open a little further from the wind, and they could hear the rain pelting down onto the street outside, almost drowning out the far-off thunder.

“I hope the cobblestones don’t make it too hard for her to ride her bicycle,” Demeter said quietly, sinking deeper into Munkustrap’s embrace.

“It’s not far to the park,” Munkustrap said, “they have smooth walkways there. As well as the forest paths.”

“They will be muddy now,” Demeter mumbled, a fond grin evident in her voice. “I bet she will ride through the puddles like there is no tomorrow. I hope he can help them find the equipment to wash the bicycles afterwards.”

Munkustrap recognized “he” as the cat who now lived with the little family, and he began to purr anew. “I’m sure he will,” he responded, thoughts wandering to the many, happy, often dirt-covered children of one of the guardsmen.

“Maybe I will visit them one day. With Jemima. And Bombalurina, perhaps. It will be hard to leave again, though.”

The last part was said with a giggle, but Munkustrap could see in her eyes what he thought himself.

“Maybe it’s not necessary to leave. You said he was nice, didn’t you? Maybe he’d like some company.”

“Maybe,” Demeter murmured softly, flicking her ear.

Munkustrap gave it a lick, and it flicked again.

“That tickles.”

“Apologies.”

Demeter pulled her face from where she had hidden it in his thick chest fluff, laughing quietly through the drying tears on her face.

Munkustrap thought it the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

(Demeter “left” because of Macavity, in case I was a little too vague.) As mentioned, this is a little shorter than the others, but I hope you still liked it a little! It was bittersweet to write but I still like it, I think. I know you have very different hcs concerning Demeter’s human family, so I hope this was still bearable to read, honorary Demeter! :’D Thank you for reading! ♥

[namethat-i-oughttohavetoldyou]

read: if you don’t like me or my stuff, you should probably block me for tomorrow <3

[namethat-i-oughttohavetoldyou]

Trails of Revelation

Hiiiiiii @afairytalestray​!!! A cannonball hit my askbox, and I’m throwing it back now, haha. I put a bit of my own spin on your request, I hope you can forgive me for that! All my love to everyone who reads/likes/reblogs! ♥

A slight tickle in his nose was the only warning before the Rum Tum Tugger erupted into a series of sneezes.

He sneezed once, twice, thrice, and about a dozen more times, his face twisting into stranger and stranger expressions as he clawed at the metal wall he had lounged against with annoyance.

When no new sneeze followed the most recent, he shook out his mane and washed his muzzle, grumbling under his breath. Hopefully nobody had seen him.

That wish seemed to be in vain, for he heard a familiar voice saying: “Bless-”, only to trail off and fall silent. Tugger pricked his ears, stood up and went to investigate.

The voice’s owner did their best to not be found, but they underestimated Tugger’s keen eyes, as was usual. They didn’t call him “artful and knowing” for nothing, after all.

Around the corner, over the old chicken cages, and – there.

Tugger opened his mouth and was immediately interrupted.

“I’d rather have no company right now.”

“If I didn’t know better,” Tugger said, sitting down and combing through his mane, “I’d consider you to be rude.”

The addressed cat snorted and rolled his eyes from where he stood on a pile of threadbare carpets. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you’re not a good listener.”

“Luckily you know better, and I don’t,” Tugger concluded cheerfully, appraising his look one last time in a nearby puddle and jumping onto the carpet pile. “So tell me, what are you doing, Mistoffelees?”

“Mr. Mistoffelees,” Mistoffelees corrected him, and then pulled a face as if he regretted it.

“My,” Tugger said, wagging his eyebrows, “did you go and elope after all? I thought I’d never see the day.”

Mistoffelees grumbled, brushing his front paws over his curved ears as if to righten them. Tugger pretended not to notice how said paws left a trail of glitter in the air where-ever they moved.

“Remember when I told you all that I would have something to show you soon?” Mistoffelees started, after he had opened and closed his mouth a few times.

“Certainly.”

“Well, it will have to wait.”

Tugger’s ears drooped. “Elaborate?”

“I will not. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have much to do, and said things require a lot of concentration.”

“What, am I distracting?”

Alas, Tugger’s smirk went unseen, but he didn’t need a verbal answer to know that it was ‘yes’, anyway. He was quick to follow the sparkly trail of Mistoffelees’ tail through the gaps between the carpets, trying to catch some of the glitter with his paws or tongue from time to time, but it blinked out of existence before he could touch it.

Thanks to their different length of stride, it took less than 30 steps for Tugger to catch up. Mistoffelees said nothing, but Tugger could tell from his twitching whiskers and ears that were just slightly pulled back that he wasn’t pleased with the general situation.

“You’re a nuisance.”

They came to a stop next to a stack of bent and broken easels.

“That might be one of my three names, now that I think about it…”

“Hmpf.”

Mistoffelees shook himself, casting off a cloud of glitter. Then he froze, watching Tugger observe how it was carried away by the breeze.

“That really wasn’t very impressive,” Tugger sighed eventually, throwing Mistoffelees a cheeky look. “I can see why we’ll have to wait a little longer.”

Mistoffelees’ mouth fell open. “You knew?!”

“You wound me,” Tugger sniffed dramatically, righting the single, artful (but not knowing) curl on his forehead. “Of course I knew. Did you underestimate me? I can’t blame you, I do it all the time!”

“It was supposed to be a surprise!” Mistoffelees whined, stomping his foot like a sulking kitten.

“And it was,” Tugger assured him, unsheating a claw to tap at a glittery particle still hanging in the air. “How do they say? Enchanté. I have been expertly wooed.”

Mistoffelees blinked. “Oh.”

The affectionate smile on Tugger’s face showcased all of his dimples. Unfair.

“Since I am aware that my... reaction wasn’t your intention, I will be the first to tell you that even though I cannot take a hint, I can definitely take a hint, if you get my meaning.”

A slow nod was the only reply. Then a frown, a nod, a deeper frown.

“In any case, I am certainly not someone to spoil a surprise, if you’re worried about that.”

Mistoffelees gnawed on his lip for a moment, then he looked up to his newfound ally. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to fly,” Tugger swore, drawing a circle on the right side of his chest.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And I’ve made a career out of it! Am I not just so successful?”

Mistoffelees snorted again, but this time he leant forward and rubbed his cheek at Tugger’s shoulder, his short, fast-paced purr rumbling up. Tugger said nothing, silently admiring the way the glittery trail looked on his coat, mutely acknowledging Mistoffelees’ wordless confession.

Well, almost mutely.

“That’s convenient.”

Mistoffelees laughed, and the glitter multiplied, covering his entire coat from paws to the tips of his ears.

“Would you…” Tugger started and choked on his words when Mistoffelees took his paw in his, swinging it back and forth a little as if to try it out. He swung them as well when Mistoffelees stopped, wrapping his bushy tail around Mistoffelees’ short, black one and cleared his throat.

“Would you show me?”

Mistoffelees stopped swinging their paws and gnawed on his bottom lip again. “It’s… I’m not done yet. I haven’t gotten far, and I’ve made such a circus about it that it would be disappointing to watch it as it is.”

“Nonsense. Everyone’s seen you float things and yourself around since before you could walk, and I have yet to meet a cat who wasn’t absolutely amazed by your magic.”

At the last word, Mistoffelees twitched. “You know… I’ve thought about calling myself ‘Mr. Mistoffelees’, like the magicians do that my family watch on the television a lot. Is that a good idea or embarrassing or-”

“The Marvellous Magical Mr. Mistoffelees!” Tugger boomed in his best announcer voice, joyfully observing how Mistoffelees jumped and a few nearby cats fell from their nap spots with surprise. “It sure has a ring to it, dontcha think?”

“Not so loud!”

“I have been told that I’m a great hype man, in case that position is still open in your employ,” Tugger continued unperturbed, cackling when Mistoffelees huffed and swung their paws anew, almost violently.

“It’s certainly still open. Although I’m of half mind to let you and Cassandra fight for it.”

“You don’t say! Cassandra?”

“I was just as surprised as you are. Performative magic seems to be her thing. She still seems to be a tad wary around Tantomile and Coricopat.”

“Huh,” Tugger said. “I’ll see if we can solve that problem, but it shall have to wait for now. First, you will awe me into the ground we are standing on, if you please.”

Mistoffelees swung their paws, leant up to touch their noses together in a tender gesture that made Tugger’s knees shake and heart stumble, then he let go of his paw and stepped back, shaking out his fur, a flurry or glitter enveloping the two tomcats.

“See? I am amazed already,” Tugger said proudly, breathed in a load of tingling glitter, pulled a face, and began to sneeze.

And there it is: my first Tuggoffelees fic. I tried to not write a story that has been written 7090594 times already, and I tend to hc Mistoffelees as quite confident, actually, but I hope you liked this anyway and in spite of all that! XD Thank you for reading! ♥

[namethat-i-oughttohavetoldyou]

Intermission

Hi bestie @munku-collar​, get a load of these cats! Some Demestrap for you. ♥ I hope you enjoy! All my love to those who read/like/reblog!

There’s disembodied music in the air making her heart pound, her tail whip and her body dance without ever getting tired, a wild, exhilarated grin on her face that she can’t and doesn’t want to control.

In the truest sense of the word, Demeter is going with the flow.

She also has a cramp in her left calf.

Damn it.

Plato whirls by and around her, dripping with the overconfidence that is so typical for young tomcats, and she lets herself be lifted, professionally and carefully, as is Plato’s style. (Victoria has chosen well.)

When he sets her down at the outer edge of the clearing to not stumble over other cats Demeter stretches up and up, playfully bops him on the ear with a paw and then proceeds to collapse on the lowest step in front of the tire.

She feels Skimbleshanks’ eyes on her immediately, good old Skimbleshanks, ever so hyper-aware and ready to step in in case of a failed lift, and she squints her eyes at him, too out of breath to tell him out loud that she’s alright.

Massaging her calf she snorts a laugh as Tugger prances past, carrying Bombalurina like a hard-won trophy, or perhaps a cat-shaped umbrella.

She hears Jellylorum and Asparagus applaud and whoop when Tumblebrutus and Mistoffelees use the temporarily empty clearing to, colloquially speaking, show what they’ve got. Demeter has never really considered jumping strength one of her talents, and right now she almost wishes she could. It’s enviable.

With a small half-breathless giggle and an inelegant flail of long limbs, Munkustrap plops down beside her, and Demeter couldn’t care less about potential sweatiness or otherwise dirty fur and pulls him close, determined to use the short time alone that has been granted to them, as a tired-out kitten or three will certainly follow quickly as soon as Munkustrap sits out for a short while.

Demeter can’t fault them for it, as inviting and comfortable to rest on as he always looks, but having it all to herself for a bit is at the same time unusual and very nice.

She tells him so. Munkustrap wraps his arms around her waist and nods. She can’t quite see it, but she can feel him smile against the back of her head.

They watch the small hurricane that is Tumblebrutus and Mistoffelees trying to out-perform each other for a while, catching their breaths and keeping each other warm as the cool night air meets their sweat-damp pelts.

Old Deuteronomy holds vigil a few steps above them, paws reaching up towards the moon, swaying from side to side, dancing in his own way.

The melody hanging in the air thrums in all of their bodies and even now pulls at her limbs, coaxing and teasing, calling to her – dance! Dance, Jellicle Cat, dance! – but she resists, because she knows it will not leave, and she can answer it later. She can take a moment to rest.

What a luxury that is.

She could very well rest until the ball is over, until the Jellicle Choice has been made, even until the day has awoken and the sun goes up to greet them, and still the melody would be there, waiting patiently until she takes the time to listen.

A little dizzy from watching the whirl of black and white of Alonzo hard at work, trying to impress Cassandra, Demeter closes her eyes and listens to Munkustrap humming, right leg bouncing in time to the rhythm. She will not be able to keep him sitting here for long, she knows, he could never resist the call of movement in any form for as long as others.

It makes the time he takes to sit with her all the sweeter.

She starts to rock them from side to side, dancing while sitting down, and his leg bounces less, but now she has to deal with him poking her flanks until she is gasping with laughter. Feeling revengeful, Demeter takes careful aim and jabs backwards at his belly, earning a squeal and ticklish giggling, and her flanks are left in peace.

Munkustrap leans down to rest his chin on her shoulder, and his ear flicks against hers as he speaks. He only says three words, but they both hear what lies beneath, sentences, paragraphs, several well-filled libraries worth of words passing between them.

Usually, he would make the most of it, coming up with a song on the spot just to package all those endless words into something that he thinks wouldn’t bore her to listen to (she could never be bored) but their time alone is limited tonight, so they leave it at that.

Demeter flicks her ear right back and gives in, surrendering fully to her feelings, reciprocating those three too-short, too-big, exhilarating words, rocking them side-to-side to the music; together they are not so much the eye of the storm but more a part of it, intimately rotating around each other, colliding with others ever so often. Their shared gravitation is too strong, she never loses sight of him and he never loses sight of her.

Bliss just might be almost being run over by Tantomile and Coricopat on their way down the tire, might be having to lean back to avoid being hit by Mistoffelees’ foot while he shows off with his trademark fouettés.

Demeter asks for Munkustrap’s opinion on bliss as Victoria shoos Mistoffelees away from the centre of the stage to make more room for Rumpleteazer in the row.

Munkustrap ducks to allow Tugger to jump over them and swagger his way to the front, thinks for a moment and then whispers something so scandalous into her ear that she cackles and smacks his arm. The serious answer follows quickly, and its enough to calm her down and make her eyes feel a bit misty.

She nudges him. He nudges her back.

Because Munkustrap’s lap is already occupied, Jemima plops down on Demeter’s with a little grunt of exertion. By the light of the Jellicle Moon, her fur has lost its red undertone and taken on a more golden hue; sunshine-golden, Demeter-golden.

Demeter hugs her kitten to her chest, leans into Munkustrap’s strong, safe arms and laughs.

Writing about Demeter seems to bring out the style-experimental side of me. Going without any dialogue is a very interesting thing to do, in any case. I hope I fulfilled your request to a satisfying degree :} Thank you for reading! ♥

[namethat-i-oughttohavetoldyou]

Occupational Hazard

(Mob boss voice) Heard y’all want some Munkustrap ‘n’ kittens? Well, lookie what I got here... @guyavot​ Delivery for you! I hope you enjoy :) As always, all my love to those who read/like/reblog! ♥

The day ended with Munkustrap almost stumbling over a kitten, which was on itself not an unusual thing to happen, because they seemed to appear out of thin air whenever he stood in one spot for longer than a few minutes. Although, regarding the very kitten he almost stumbled over, this occasion was a little concerning, because said kitten also never stood still for longer than a few minutes.

“Are you feeling well, Pouncival?” Munkustrap asked, ever the worrier.

Jellylorum, who had followed the wayward little tomcat, shook her head. “Oh, don’t you mind him, he’s just overtired and urgently needs to go to bed,” she assured him, emphasizing the second part of her sentence with a very sharp look into Pouncival’s direction.

Pouncival scowled, but didn’t try to argue her claim, which was a pretty obvious sign that Jellylorum was right. Instead, he hopped on the spot and reached out for Munkustrap, who lifted him up almost absentmindedly.

“Shall we get you back to your den?” Munkustrap asked the disgruntled kitten.

Pouncival buried his little nose in Munkustrap’s fur and snuffled.

“Off we go, then.”

The two adults made casual conversation on the way back, exchanging news and gossip, from Demeter’s new-found love for bicycle riding to Jennyanydots’ new pet project of teaching the ants in the pantry how to cross-hatch, to the new occupation of one of the junkyard guardsmen, down to Jellylorum’s newest reading material. (Munkustrap drew the line at her suggestion of thinking of a murder mystery to tell the kittens at story time – “They’re a little young for that, don’t you think?” – but he was not averse to maybe plan such an evening for the adult cats.)

As soon as Munkustrap had hunched down a little to fit through the door of the nursery, he had Electra hanging onto one leg and Etcetera jumping around his other, unheeding Jellylorum’s words and scolding about bed times and general disturbance of peace.

“You have to tell us a story,” Etcetera demanded, bouncing up and down and pulling on Pouncival’s tail that dangled from Munkustrap’s arm, producing a complaining mew. “Otherwise we’ll never get tired. Our minds are very active in this stage of life, you know.”

Pleasantly surprised at how well she listened to Asparagus’ exasperated lectures, Munkustrap freed Pouncival’s tail from her tiny, ridiculously strong grip and settled down in a free spot, Pouncival crawling out of his arms and planting himself on top of Tumblebrutus, who was most likely the first to fall asleep, his eyelids heavy and whiskers drooping.

Sillabub squirmed her way down from George’s back onto Munkustrap’s shoulders and gripped tightly onto his ears to not fall off. “Yes, you have to, please please please!”

Munkustrap carefully stretched out the leg that Electra was still wrapped around and got comfortable, making sure to not sit on any pillows or toys that the kittens had claimed for themselves. Sillabub tightened her grip on his ears, but Munkustrap didn’t bat an eye. He was used to it, and moreover he was sure that his tail and ears had grown calluses from how often they were pulled or held onto.

Such was the life of a kitten wrangler, as Alonzo reminded him not all too seldom with that sappy smile on his face, the existence of which he refused to admit.

“Well, let’s see. You surely must have heard the story of Etterberry and Cat Morgan’s adventure with the needlefish?”

The kittens shuddered, but bravely shook their heads.

“No? I thought I had! Now that I think about it, I might have told that one during Jennyanydots’ tea party last week. Maybe it’s a little too scary for you yet.”

Loud protest rang out of the nursery all the way to the tire, where Cassandra had just draped herself for the night watch. She pricked her ears and rested her head on her paws, looking forward to listening while keeping an eye out for danger, even though she had in fact been present at Jennyanydots’ tea party where Munkustrap had presented the story to be deemed appropriate to tell a younger audience.

“I hissed at Macavity,” Etcetera exclaimed proudly, earning herself admiring looks from her playmates and a hidden grimace from Munkustrap, “I’m not scared of anything! And Jelly’s here, she can protect us, too.”

“Certainly,” Jellylorum said from where she had taken refuge at the back of the low den, sewing up the loose ends of the rug she was weaving for Coricopat’s and Tantomile’s approaching birthday.

“You convinced me, Etcetera,” Munkustrap assented gracefully, reaching behind him to pluck Sillabub from his shoulders and setting her on his lap, where she snuggled against his soft belly fur and made little air biscuits, tilting her head to look up at him in anticipation.

Munkustrap did his best to relax deeper into the cushion he was sitting on and gestured generously with his arms. The kittens followed their stripy call and settled around him in a half-circle. George panted with excitement.

“Do you all remember the shipwreck Etterberry found when Cat Morgan hijacked the submarine in the eastern sea? Why, on this day our heroes found out why cats prefer not to swim, especially when the water is deep enough to be dark and cold, and your paws do never touch the ground, no matter how much you try and elongate.”

“Could Alonzo touch the ground?” Rumpleteazer whispered, awestruck.

“No, not even Alonzo. Nor could ten Alonzos stacked on top of each other.”

“Wow,” the kittens breathed.

Munkustrap smiled, patted Sillabub’s head and continued.

Even though he had started softly to try and ease his little audience to sleep, projecting his voice came natural to him, so the longer he spoke, the more cats entered the nursery, drawn in by his voice and the gasps of excitement paired with Jellylorum’s low purring in the back corner of the den, the rug laid aside for the next day.

Munkustrap was in peak form this evening, and even though he tried his best to suppress it, he couldn’t help but gesture dramatically, pulling funny faces, his tail twitching and ears flicking, fully entrained in his own story.

His audience was very animated as well; the kittens were completely enthralled, they gasped with delight and fear, shrieked with laughter, gripped each others hands and tails at particularly thrilling parts and scampered in circles around him or each other whenever the tension was too high.

Just as Victoria and Plato slunk into the nursery to join Coricopat and Tantomile at the side, Munkustrap’s story reached its climax.

Sillabub quickly vacated her bravely defended spot on his lap as his twitching tail began to whip, and clambered over Electra to grip Mungojerrie’s offered paw.

“Fearless Etterberry reached the water’s surface with her last ounce of strength, pulling Cat Morgan behind her like a buoy that had forgotten how to swim,” Munkustrap told them, making paddling movements with his arms. “She could make out a lifeboat in the distance, but alas, it seemed too far to reach with her not very streamlined cargo. Little did she suspect the approaching danger, for the needlefish had followed them and were now in the middle of taking a run up, their iridescent bodies gleaming and cutting through the water like daggers.” He emphasized this by swiping his paw through the air, making the kittens gasp.

Plato’s mouth was hanging open, fully absorbed and scarcely noticing Victoria clinging to his paw like a vice with fluffy white fur.

“The brave queen paddled and paddled, trying her best to stay afloat and keep her unconscious companion from drowning, when a sudden gust of warm water met her paws!”

“Did Cat Morgan pee his pants?” Tumblebrutus whispered a little too loudly.

The adults, hidden in various nooks and crannies of the den to not disturb, chuckled. The kittens shushed him, far too breathless with tension to laugh.

“She had come across a current, a most unlikely saviour, but one who’s help she accepted gratefully. With this drift’s help, she advanced towards the lifeboat far quicker than she would have normally been able, thanking her lucky stars for yet another time they had rescued both her and her companion’s pelt.”

The kittens breathed a collective sigh of relief, but Munkustrap wasn’t yet finished.

“Unfortunately, she did not expect Cat Morgan to have such unlucky stars, who were still hard at work, even though he himself was very much not, bobbing around on the water as he did.” Munkustrap’s voice lowered to a soft growl as he hunched over and raised his hackles, his eyes wide open, staring at each kitten one at a time. “The needlefish followed, for they also used the advantage of the current, advancing faster… and faster… and faster.”

Plato gave a distracted open mouthed mewl of pain as Victoria’s paw clamped down on his, two of his fingers giving a concerning creaking noise. Victoria quickly let go, wrapping both arms around his chest and whispering an apology in turn.

Munkustrap moved up onto his knees so he could move around more, too much energy in his body to keep sitting still on the floor.

“They took aim at Cat Morgan’s limply dangling back paws, defenceless and vulnerable, for his boots were brand new and hadn’t seen a lot in their life time yet, and they picked up a deadly speed, keen to impale him with their sharp jaws. Closer and closer they came, and the first needlefish was about to meet his target, when whoosh!”

Munkustrap cast one paw towards the sky, miming throwing something behind his shoulder. “Etterberry threw him over the edge onto the lifeboat with ease, still unknowing of the disaster she had just prevented. Just as quickly as she had saved Cat Morgan’s boots from their holey fate, she followed, glad to be out of the water. But then, a sinister gleam caught her eye, and she paused, turning and committing what may have been her last mistake: she leant over the edge of the boat.”

Jellylorum choked on her purr, coughed two times and groomed her left paw with embarrassment. Cassandra outside on the tire had to force herself to retract her claws, leaving deep gouges in the old rubber behind, her slender frame almost vibrating with tension.

“For she knew of the needlefish’s speed, there was no doubt about it, but she did not know of another one of their talents. The scorned fish took a run up once more, and just when Etterberry leant just a little further, they breached the water’s surface–“

The entire junkyard seemed to hold their breath.

Munkustrap inhaled deeply.

“And SPRANG!”

He jumped to his feet at this exclamation, making the kittens screech and the adults flinch with surprise and hitting his head on the low ceiling with such force in the process that he bounced off and landed on his back with a thud. 

A small, inquiring paw batted at his muzzle. “Munkustrap, are you sleepy?”

An equally concerned set of needle-pointy teeth pulled on his right ear.

“Oh, he’s very sleepy, Sillabub,” Jellylorum’s calm voice said comfortingly. “My, he stayed up just as long as you all! Such a shame that he fell asleep before he could tell the end of the story.”

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” Tumblebrutus was quick to assure her, worriedly pawing at Munkustrap’s fluffy tail. “I’m very tired now, we can all go to sleep and make up our own end in our dreams! Maybe we can tell Munkustrap how it ends tomorrow.”

“That’s a very good idea,” Jellylorum praised him, giving his head a lick. “Now, say goodnight to our Storyteller and have victorious dreams.”

Munkustrap heard a small procession of kittens marching past him, rubbing their little heads on his flanks and hugging his tail as well as abashed and concerned adults leaving the den under Jellylorum’s assuring guide, affirming that she would take care of “all of this here, don’t you worry now”.

When the last kitten had vanished in the pile of bedding in the middle of the nursery, Jellylorum came to sit next to the knocked-out silver tabby, carefully nudging his shoulder.

Munkustrap opened his eyes and saw swirling colours, many of which he was sure he had never seen before.

Soft laughter eased the rushing noise in his ears.

“You are as much a dramatical cat as any other,” Jellylorum told him, half scolding, half affectionately. “And yet I wonder if I ought to tell you to tone it down, as cruel as that would be. But this is anything but advisable for your health.”

Munkustrap watched the swirling colours, trying to think of new names for them, just for fun. “Ah, well. Occupational hazard. You know how it is.”

“I do,” Jellylorum replied fondly, settled down beside him and continued to work on her rug, her purr starting up again, safely but surely lulling him to sleep, ears twitching with tired excitement about the new stories he would undoubtedly get to hear the next morning.

(Along with a dent in the ceiling that would need fixing as well as some salve for his aching head and an exasperated head shake from Jennyanydots. All part of a long day’s work, he supposed.)

Nobody: Me: Cat Morgan shan’t be lonely... I will give him a side kick. (sees sign of Brussel’s city district Etterbeek) Ah, perfect. (I already mentioned Etterberry in “Eel!”, by the way!) I would like to say that needlefish (see picture above) are in no way aggressive; they just jump out of the water at speeds of up to 60 km/h when they try to flee from predators. Their pointy jaws can, however, kill a human. (Wow, cursed fish facts are becoming my brand, huh?) I hereby formally apologize for misusing these wonderful pointy little creatures for a story told by a cat. He wouldn’t know any better, I suppose. Munkustrap and Jellylorum are master gamers at Black Stories and other murder mystery games and they read Agatha Christie together. Fight me on this >:) I hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading! ♥♥

[namethat-i-oughttohavetoldyou]

The Fine Art of Kitten Wrangling

And to the person who had to wait the longest - @falasta​, thank you for your patience! This one is, with over 4k words, the longest of the Catsiversary fics, out of the simple reason that you gave me the perfect opportunity to use a fic snippet that I didn’t really know what to do with. I hope you enjoy! ♥ All my love to all who read/like/reblog! :)

It was not often that a cat looking for trouble came to the junkyard, but when it did happen once upon a time, it was always the hottest topic in London for weeks on end.

On one of these occasions, little Pouncival laid on his back in the middle of a small private clearing, all four legs stretched towards the sky, and gave his best efforts to contemplate his third name. This was quite a hard exercise for such a young kitten as him, and Asparagus had often assured him that it was just fine to think about his second name until he could bring up enough concentration to start with his third, but Jemima was already thinking about her third name a lot, and she was younger than him, so he could do it just as well as her.

Or so he claimed.

In reality, his thoughts kept drifting to the latest game he and Tumblebrutus had come up with, and from there to Munkustrap’s last story, which had been very entertaining and made him giggle when he only thought about it in passing, and from there they drifted to the new toy he had found in the rubbish that a human had left at the outskirts of the junkyard a fortnight ago… And when he remembered what he had tried to do in the first place, he promptly fell asleep.

His surprise was great when he was rudely awakened by someone slapping at his outstretched legs. His outraged squeak only drew a threatening hiss from his attacker.

Pouncival raised a warning cry, just how Alonzo had taught him, although it sounded more like a mouse choking on a too-big piece of cheese. He felt very brave, either way.

The attacker stood tall in front of him. It was a rather bedraggled looking tomcat, and as far as Pouncival could see (which wasn’t very far, as he was covering his face with his paws), he was sporting brown fur with black patches, was missing half of his tail and his teeth were more crooked than Plato’s milk teeth had been.

“Where is your leader.” the tom said, and it didn’t really sound like a question.

Pouncival carefully lowered one paw, resisting the urge to suck on the other like a nursing kitten. “At the vicarage,” he managed to squeak out, only remembering that he probably should refer from answering any questions. Then again, it hadn’t really been a question, had it? Jenny would certainly believe him if he told her –

“I don’t mean that ole’ shoe brush,” the tom snarled, tail lashing aggressively. “Your leader. Where is he.”

Pouncival was very scandalized at this ugly, know-nothing cat calling Old Deuteronomy a shoe brush, but he had enough sense to not argue. That wouldn’t be very clever, after all. And he wanted to be clever, just like Mister Mistof–

“Bring me to him!” the tom shouted at the poor kitten, who cowered and brought his paw back up over his face.

“To whom?” he whispered.

“The silver one. With the deadly kick.”

Pouncival took both paws off his face this time and frowned. “But he’s not our leader. He’s our storyteller.” He turned to the hills of junk behind him, impatiently waiting for reinforcements. After a moment of consideration, he raised a second warning call, just to be sure. It was quite a bit louder this time.

The tom flinched at the call, his claws extending. “He is your leader.”

“No, he’s not.”

“He is your leader,” the tom repeated.

“Is not.”

“He is.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Bring me to him!” the tom barked, in a tone that would have made the bravest pom make a run for it.

Pouncival wasn’t a pom. He stood his ground, tail pulled between his legs.

Before he could inhale to utter a third warning cry, Alonzo was suddenly between them, going to town on the unsuspecting tom who very quickly lost his tough attitude after a few well-placed hits against his muzzle.

Pouncival sat back on his haunches and lifted one paw back to his face to suck on it, purring a little to calm himself down. Everything was alright now, he was allowed a little self-soothing, wasn’t he? Jenny surely wouldn’t reprimand him.

Apparently, Alonzo had grown tired of smacking the impoliteness out of the other cat, since he came to a stop, breathing heavily, tail waving quickly from side to side in warning. He turned around to Pouncival. “Alright, Pounci?”

Pouncival nodded dutifully, still sucking on his paw. Alonzo wasn’t big on physical affection, but that was alright. He hadn’t been hurt, anyway.

“Your leader,” said tom wheezed, licking at his shoulder. Everlasting Cat, he was surely insistent.

Alonzo hissed. “What about him?”

“The silver one. Bring me to him. I want to speak to him.”

“Say please,” Pouncival said, feeling a lot braver now that Alonzo was there.

Alonzo sent him a look, but he didn’t hide his amusement well.

The tomcat pulled a face as if he had a bad case of gas. “Please. I want to speak to him.”

With a grunt, Alonzo picked up Pouncival by the scruff of his neck and nodded at the tom, gesturing to him to follow.

The junkyard-Jellicles were no strangers to unexpected guests, and they were always open to newcomers, always offering shelter and food if they had enough of both. The streets were hard on any cat that didn’t have a human home, and thus every cat was welcome, as long as they abided by the rules. Sometimes, when a cat in need of help came to them, he or she was mistrustful or downright rude, but the Jellicles knew better than to take it personally. Those who made the junkyard their permanent home came out of their shell after a certain amount of time, becoming a part of the community without much troubles after staying for one or two Balls. Thus, Alonzo didn’t chase the tom away, even if he was inclined to do just that with how rudely he had treated the poor kitten he was carrying.

It was very hard to withstand the temptation.

“Get Munkustrap, if you would” he told Plato as soon as he entered the main clearing, setting Pouncival down in Jennyanydots’ lap, who immediately began to groom the kitten, purring loud enough for Alonzo’s whiskers to pick up the vibrations a few meters away.

Plato blinked slowly and shook his head. “He’s not here. He’s escorting Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer to their human family.”

Alonzo could feel the strange tom bristle behind him. “Thank you, Plato,” he said, breathing deeply before turning around to avoid grinning a bit too widely.

“You’ll have to wait–“ he began, but the tom beat him to the chase.

“I am Geralford and I will become the new leader of this tribe!” he announced unceremoniously.

A perplexed bout of silence fell over the junkyard.

“Erm,” said Alonzo.

“I will challenge Mousetrap to a duel of strength and endurance, and the winner shall acquire leadership over this tribe!” Geralford continued self-confidently, every singly hair on his body raised up to make him appear taller.

Someone snorted a laugh at the tom’s creative mispronunciation of Munkustrap’s name.

“Ah, my dear,” Jellylorum piped up from the sidelines, “that’s not quite how it works, I’m afraid.”

“Winning leadership by fighting? Cat above, where are we, the middle ages?” Asparagus muttered from his position on the pipe. Tumblebrutus next to him shook his head in exasperation, even thought he hadn’t listened and wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to be exasperated about.

Geralford huffed. “I was told by trusted sources that the Jellicle Cats had claimed the Junkyard as their territory. Mousetrap defeated Macavity and gained the position of the leader of this tribe in the same night,” he spoke confidently, looking down at Alonzo, who had flopped down into a nice patch of sunlight and was snickering quietly.

To everyone’s surprise, Mister Mistoffelees raised his voice. “Macavity never was the leader of our tribe,” he scoffed, irritatedly scratching at his right ear. “He is a fiend and an intruder, and that is all he has ever been.”

“And Old Deuteronomy certainly didn’t become leader by fighting for it. What a distasteful idea!” Jellylorum’s whiskers twitched with carefully repressed irritation.

“I will speak to Mousetrap about it,” Geralford said stubbornly.

“Nonsense,” Jennyanydots said, sending an immaculately groomed Pouncival off to go play and get dirty again. “It’s not on him to decide. George, dear, if you’d be so kind to show Geralford here where he can find something to eat?”

Alonzo’s grin grew a little wider. Sending George was Jennyanydots’ version of an intimidation tactic, even if he wouldn’t dream to even hurt a fly. Geralford, however, didn’t know that, and was appropriately worried when the calf-sized mutt plodded towards him, panting with excitement and tail wagging with joy.

“We will consult on a possible… er, management change,” Jennyanydots continued nonchalantly, turning around and making her way to the empty den behind the tire, which was often used for conferences, or, in this case, for meetings of the elders’ council. Jellylorum, Asparagus, Skimbleshanks, Marsily and Bustopher Jones followed her, leaving Geralford with a very dutiful George, who grasped the big tomcat by his collar and dragged him off to one of his preferred hunting grounds.

As soon as they had turned the corner, Alonzo stood up and entered the ‘conference room’, where he was met with a heap of elderly cats falling over themselves with laughter.

“A management change,” Bustopher boomed in delight, having to hold onto his monocle while he dried his laughing tears.

Skimble had pulled up his vest halfway over his head to try and stifle his boisterous giggling in it, without any success.

Alonzo smirked and waited until they had calmed down, then he said: “Well, what does the council decide?”

“A very good question,” Skimbleshanks answered, still having to cover his mouth from time to time to not start giggling again because of Asparagus having the hiccups.

Jellylorum dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, stifling a snort of laughter in it every now and then, and Jennyanydots groomed Marsily’s back to calm herself, her purring interrupted by fits of wheezing.

“Well, he’s a stubborn one, and he won’t leave it alone and make a tantrum until we’ve come to some sort of conclusion,” Jellylorum offered, “so we’d rather think of something fast. I’m not looking forward to him making a fuss like that everyday until Munkustrap agrees to fight him to the death.”

Alonzo made a great mistake in asking: “Don’t you mean Mousetrap?”

The following fits of laughter were so severe that more than a few cats curiously poked their heads into the den, fighting grins of their own with the infectious guffawing that greeted them. Soon, the den was full of at least 30 mirthful cats, walls trembling with their laughter.

“I don’t – hic! – I don’t think Geralford will be – hic! – content if we tell him that the Everlasting Cat chooses the next Jell- hic! -le Leader, and no-one else,” Asparagus said finally, fighting against his hiccups.

“I will allow no fighting,” Jennyanydots said resolutely, “we have enough problems with Macavity’s henchcats. Cat knows what he’ll do after he finds out that defeating Munkustrap didn’t help him in his quest to become leader.”

“Then we’ll throw him out. He stands no chance against all of us, even without Munkustrap here,” Plato spoke up.

Bustopher hummed, tapping his chin in thought. “Mightn’t we have a little fun? He seems a little dull, if you get my meaning. And it would serve him right.”

“It would,” Cassandra agreed, ears perked up with curiosity. “Do you have anything in mind?”

The kittens giggled in excitement. A prank, how wonderful!

“A competition!” Etcetera suggested, bouncing up and down.

Electra grabbed Etcetera’s tail and cuddled it. “Mh-hm. A competition.”

“If this competition doesn’t contain any fighting, I’m in favour,” Jennyanydots said, proudly patting the two kittens’ heads.

Jellylorum suddenly looked unusually sly. “Out with all of you,” she commanded, manoeuvring everyone but the elders out the door.

The kittens protested, wanting to know what the competition was to be about, but Jellylorum stood her ground.

“You’ll know, don’t worry,” she promised when Jemima threatened to cry if Jellylorum didn’t tell her right now. “But it’ll be worth the wait.”

Munkustrap returned the next day, herding Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer and looking a little crinkled. He obviously hadn’t gotten much sleep, which was unfortunate, but very helpful for the competition the elder cats had planned.

It wasn’t very complicated, really, but it promised to be very entertaining.

Alonzo had brought Geralford onto the clearing, followed by an eager George who begged to keep his new friend. Said new friend didn’t seem that sure of himself anymore.

“The competition for the leadership of this tribe will begin now!” Jellylorum exclaimed, making both competitors blink in confusion.

“Competition?” Munkustrap asked, fur bristling. “For leadership? Jellylorum, what is going on?”

“Oh, darling, don’t you mind that. Go and find something to eat, now won’t you?” Jennyanydots interrupted, quickly guiding him away from the clearing.

Meanwhile, Bombalurina walked up to Geralford, a squirming Bill Bailey in her arms. “Hold this for me, will you?”

Geralford didn’t even reach out to take the kitten, instead pulling a disgusted face and stepping back. “What?”

A disappointed murmur reached their ears from the tire, where the rest of the elder cats had gathered. They whispered among themselves and seemed to confer.

Geralford’s ears flattened to his skull, lips pulling back in a confused sneer.

Bill Bailey in Bombalurina’s arms gave an impatient mew, itching to continue playing with the other kittens.

Cassandra approached them, holding Carbucketty.

“I will not hold him for you,” Geralford hissed before Cassandra could even open her mouth. He was met with unforgiving eyes, as hard as steel.

Carbucketty was thrust into his arms without precursor.

Neither Geralford nor the kitten seemed to be very convinced of this arrangement, and Bill Bailey squirmed more impatiently when Bombalurina held him in front of Geralford’s face.

Geralford took him reluctantly, holding both kittens in one hand each at an arms length.

Bill Bailey gave another annoyed mew, accidently kicking Carbucketty as he writhed in the uncomfortable hold. Carbucketty gave his best hiss and scratched at his littermate in retribution, leading to a very unusual brawl, suspended in the air as they were.

Geralford obviously hadn’t expected this to happen, and promptly let both kittens fall. Luckily, Bombalurina dove down quick enough to catch them before they fell on their heads.

The murmuring of the elders grew louder, and Skimbleshanks hurried across the clearing to see if the kittens were alright. He needn’t have worried – the shock of the sudden fall had removed all thoughts of murder and revenge from their little heads, and not five seconds later they were off, chasing after a moth.

“Me pleasure to tell you that you lost,” Skimbleshanks told Geralford unceremoniously, face stern and unforgiving.

Geraldford looked even more confused than before, but Bustopher interrupted.

“There, there, old chap, not too hasty now. The other competitor has not even had a chance to claim his victory!”

Speaking of the devil, Munkustrap re-entered the main clearing, tail dragging behind him with exhaustion. He lifted his tail in a friendly greeting when Alonzo walked up to him, Tumblebrutus throning on his shoulders. They quickly became engrossed in conversation, and the attention of the elders shifted from Geralford to them.

Alonzo went down the list of everything Munkustrap had missed during his outing with the twins, excluding their new guest. He purposefully left out a few details; he didn’t deem it fit to stress out his friend with a potential threat, not if they had it covered so far. Munkustrap nodded and listened attentively, so attentively in fact, that he barely reacted when Alonzo casually grabbed the kitten on his shoulders and set him in Munkustrap’s arms, except by readjusting his hold so that Tumblebrutus was comfortable. The kitten in question didn’t seem to have anything against being held, gleefully dangling his legs and kneading Munkustrap’s shoulder fluff with tiny paws.

An appreciative hum came from the cats on the tire. Munkustrap’s ears twitched into their direction, but since he didn’t sense anything amiss, he let them be.

Just as Alonzo came to the end of his report, Demeter and Jemima turned the corner. Jemima wasted no time to swiftly climb up Munkustrap’s left leg and settle across his shoulders like a small, purring scarf.

“Oh, hello,” Munkustrap said with a smile, giving Demeter a nod and gently bumping his head against Jemima’s. “Glad to be home?”

“Very much so,” Demeter sighed, exchanging a wave with Tumblebrutus and touching paws with Alonzo. “Our humans treat us well, but Cat above, they are ever so loud.”

Bill Bailey came plodding back to Bombalurina, having decided that he did want to be held a little. Bombalurina picked him up and presented him to Munkustrap. After a beat, Bill Bailey stuck out his arms towards Munkustrap demandingly, and the Storyteller obeyed, situating him on the arm that Tumblebrutus didn’t occupy already.

Pouncival came next, hissing at Geralford in passing for good measure and then attaching himself to Munkustrap’s shin.

“Hello, Pouncival. Are you tired?” Munkustrap asked, wiggling his leg a little. The attached kitten grumbled and clung.

“Hmpf.”

“I see.”

Geralford sat down on the saddle of a rusted bike, trying to make it look like he wasn’t pouting. At least he wasn’t screaming anymore, so this suited the Jellicles just fine.

Cassandra snatched up Carbucketty when he scampered past, and with a delighted squeal he was placed on Munkustrap’s arm next to Tumblebrutus. Munkustrap didn’t comment, still chatting with Demeter about humans and their unpredictable temper. No sooner had one presented one’s belly to them to show one’s trust, they started to attack and try to mess up one’s fur with their fingers! Humans were peculiar.

A discontented grumble came from the tire, but this time it wasn’t because of Geralford, but because of the Rum Tum Tugger, who swaggered onto the clearing, Etcetera and Electra following him like ducklings.

With a smirk and a wink, Tugger lifted Etcetera in Munkustrap’s arms, which resulted in a small ripple of movement; Jemima moving from across Munkustrap’s shoulder onto his arm next to Bill Bailey, Etcetera crawling up to dangle backwards over Munkustrap’s right shoulder. Munkustrap didn’t have enough hands free to help readjusting their positions, but they sorted it out themselves fairly well.

Munkustrap frowned as Tugger draped Electra over his other shoulder like a towel.

“Is something wrong?”

“On the contrary,” Tugger chirped, scratching Jemima’s chin. “You’re all looking very comfortable, I must say.”

Munkustrap looked down at himself, seemingly only now realizing that he was covered in kittens. His right arm, where Tumblebrutus and Carbucketty were situated, was starting to go a little numb.

A soft pitter-patter of small paws made itself heard only a few moments later, and then Mungojerrie shot out of a heap of junk and launched himself at Munkustrap, wrapping himself around his waist like a little tiger-striped monkey. Munkustrap didn’t budge a centimetre, that stance of his absorbing Mungojerrie’s impact effortlessly.

“Aren’t you sick of me for today?” he asked the cheeky kitten, and Mungojerrie beamed up at him.

“Never!”

“Where’s your sister?”

“Ahh… she must’ve been just behind me.” Mungojerrie pressed his cheek into Munkustrap’s soft belly fur and turned his head as far as it would go. Munkustrap was a little worried for his neck.

“Me legs are longer’n hers,” he said after a while when Rumpleteazer did not appear. “Might be with George, to play fetch.”

Alonzo nudged a part of Munkustrap’s shoulder that wasn’t full of kittens with his forehead. “I’ll go and look for her.”

“Thank you,” Munkustrap said, sounding a little distracted.

Walking would be an effort, as it was, since he didn’t want to lose any kittens or kick Pouncival off.

“Kitten wrangler,” Bustopher mumbled into his moustache, and none of the cats on the tire had ever thought of any designation to ring more true than this one.

“Etcetera,” Munkustrap said, careful to not move his shoulder too much, “Etcetera, would you mind sitting up a little? I wouldn’t want you to slip off.”

Etcetera chirped and held onto Munkustrap’s ear to pull herself upright, curling up and wrapping her arms around his neck. “All safe.”

“That’s good,” Munkustrap replied, discreetly wiggling his numb arm a little. The kittens that were attached to it squealed with glee.

Shuffling a few steps proved to be impossible, he was quite stuck. Not that he minded, of course, any minute with his kitten hoard was time well spent, but only now he could make out a foreign scent and an unfamiliar coat pattern, which could only mean that they had a guest. One who he wouldn’t able to greet for a while, as it seemed. Munkustrap was mature enough to admit to himself that this knowledge made him a little antsy; he was eager to meet any newcomers and try to help them feel at home, but the others had apparently managed well, so he tried his best to tamp down his restlessness.

Mungojerrie’s tail hit Pouncival in the face when he wrapped his arms a little tighter around Munkustrap’s waist. “’Scuse me. I’m a duffer at aiming.”

Pouncival bared his teeth at the tiger-striped tail, but didn’t try to bite or catch it. Munkustrap was grateful; he was a little too preoccupied (and also occupied) to prevent a brawl.

Jemima had grabbed onto the ring on Munkustrap’s collar and swung her legs, her heels colliding with Munkustrap’s ribs like little hammers. “Munkustrap, the elders are scheming,” she whispered conspiratorially.

Munkustrap flicked the ear that wasn’t being held onto. “Oh?”

“They’re reliving their young years,” Carbucketty ruminated, giggling shrilly when Tumblebrutus reached over to bap him on the head.

When he turned his head to the tire, Munkustrap was marginally unsurprised to discover that all eyes were on him. His slow blink was reciprocated by seven pairs of eyes, but nobody approached to explain anything to him, and he couldn’t exactly walk over, either.

Before he had decided if he should call out to them or not, Alonzo returned, holding Rumpleteazer upside down by the ankles. She didn’t seem to be bothered by it, instead chattering without pause about her opinion on spices she had found in her human family’s kitchen.

Alonzo swung Rumpleteazer upright with a single flex of his arms, producing a shriek of elation and catching her in the air. Then, she was held out towards Munkustrap.

The silver tabby in turn came to a devastating revelation:

He had neither an arm nor any space at all left to take her.

The long, mostly sleepless night finally took its toll as he spiralled into desperation. Poor Rumpleteazer, hopefully she wouldn’t take it personally! And worse; what if she or another kitten needed a hug, or a private talk, or wanted to play? He was severely indisposed…

(The fact that every single kitten of the junkyard bar Rumpleteazer was currently attached to him in some way didn’t occur to him in his panic.)

The elders decided to relieve him of his misery and declared the competition as concluded; Geralford retreated to a far-off corner to sulk as Skimbleshanks hurried to take the squirmy Rumpleteazer and notify Munkustrap that he had indeed won, having to stifle a hysterical snort at the absolute confusion displayed on the overtired tomcat’s face.

One after another, the kittens left the sinking ship, scurrying over each other and around and through Munkustrap’s legs like a downy anthill. Munkustrap touched offered small paws and patted little heads here and there without even trying to ask what all this had been about, which certainly said a lot about his current state.

“I have a den that’s calling your name,” Marsily told him kindly as soon as the kittens had dispersed, having clearly picked up on their Storyteller’s exhaustion. “And a story, albeit a short one. Walk with me?”

Munkustrap walked with her, eyes growing larger and larger the more Marsily talked. When they turned the corner, the cats on the tire smiled and trilled with satisfaction at his exclamation of “Kitten stacking?!” and following incredulous laughter.

Pouncival toddled to and fro, indecisive how he should spend the rest of his afternoon. He wasn’t really in the mood to try and contemplate his third name again, maybe he truly was a little too young yet. Playing was the next-best option, but he felt a little too riled up. Maybe he could go to Plato and ask him to throw him…

Without his notice, Pouncival’s legs had carried him directly in front of the spot Geralford had claimed for himself to nurse his lost pride.

With his heart in his throat, Pouncival stared at the other’s scrawny legs, trying to think of a way out without provoking an unpleasant reaction.

But then again… Geralford had lost the fight, hadn’t he? Even if it hadn’t really been a fight.

Resolutely, Pouncival lifted his head and stared directly into Geralford’s eyes.

This kind of direct staring came as close to a middle finger among cat kind as one could get, but Pouncival was sure that he could be forgiven for it this one time. He hardened his glare when Geralford stared back, huffing and puffing with anger.

Geralford unsheathed his claws and raised his hackles, teeth bared.

They stood at a stalemate for a few long seconds, tails whipping and backs arched.

And then, Geralford looked away.

Pouncival was so surprised that he choked on the hiss he’d prepared in the back of his throat and plopped on his behind. A second later he pranced off, ears and tail as perpendicular as they would go, carrying his own little victory with him and out of sight.

Geralford grumbled under his breath and hid his head under his paws. Maybe he would have to wait a few more days before he could confidently show his face again.

Being a duffer at something: to be bad at something “Marsily” is my chosen name for Exotica. :) Also, meet my OC Geralford! He fucking sucks <3 I am so, so very happy that I was finally able to use this thing ajskdjakd it was just gathering dust in my WIP folder and I thought it was a shame! Poor Munkustrap, he has only two hands and three (dozen) kittens. Thank you for reading! ♥♥♥

[namethat-i-oughttohavetoldyou]

Gift-Exchange of the Aerial Kind

Heeeyyyyy @fluffytuffles​, you requested some kittins, so I got ya some kittins. This, as many of my stories do, started as a funny one-liner, and then ran away from me faster than you can say cumulus cloud. Enjoy! ♥ All my love to those who read/like/reblog!

“How’s the weather up there?”

Alonzo sighed.

“Hey, hey Alonzo, how’s the weather-”

“I heard you the first time.”

“You shouldn’t ignore someone speaking to you,” Etcetera huffed, crossing her short arms. “It’s not polite.”

“I suppose. The weather isn’t that much different from how it is down where you are.”

“It must be warmer, surely,” Electra tried to assist, “warm air rises up. Is your head warmer than your paws, Alonzo?”

“Not really.”

Silence arose, for a short while.

“...Are you sure?”

Alonzo sighed.

Really, it was to be expected. After the incident with the eel monster book, Asparagus had begun to encourage the kittens’ curiosity about all things nature and science, or natural sciences, as he called it. It gave the question if there were any unnatural sciences, but that was something that Alonzo really did not want to find out.

Demeter had somehow unearthed a book that specialized in cloud shapes and what that meant for the weather they were going to have soon, and the kittens had downright devoured it. Now all they seemed to think of was clouds, arguing for more time outside to play as soon as they spotted an indicator for a “cumulus cloud” and throwing around enough nonsensical words (at least for Alonzo’s ears) that Munkustrap had taken a look at the book himself and was now brainstorming rhymes about clouds in his free time.

Alonzo had tried his best to remain unaffected as always, but that was not easy at all when the affected party was so… insistent.

“I don’t think my head is high enough that I would notice a difference, other than the temperature of the ground or the wind,” he said, as patiently as he could manage.

“Huh,” said Etcetera, and that was that.

Or not.

“Then would Old Deuteronomy notice a difference?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Would Munkustrap notice a difference?”

“I’m taller than him!”

“Would Bombalurina notice-”

“I don’t know,” Alonzo gritted out, carefully sheathing his claws from where they had burrowed themselves in the brittle rubber of the main clearing’s tire. “I don’t think her head is high enough, either.”

“Then how high would one have to be?” Etcetera demanded, stomping both of her hind paws on the floor. She reminded Alonzo of a disgruntled bunny.

“How would I know?”

Frowning, Electra crossed her arms as well. “Well! You certainly seem to know what isn’t high enough, so her question is warranted.” (‘Warranted’ was her favourite word of the day, even though someone had spilled milk over that page in Jennyanydots’ dictionary.)

Alonzo’s eye twitched. He breathed deeply, counted to ten, then backwards to one.

“I am but a lowly Jellicle cat. What do I know about science? Ask Demeter. Or Asparagus, or find whoever is carrying the book around at the moment. If you’d excuse me.”

With that, he stood up and made himself scarce.

The two kittens stared after him, shaking their heads.

“He ought to remember his manners,” Electra said, with a scorn in her voice that would have made Jenny proud.

Etcetera shook her head again and sighed deeply.

“It’s probably the weather. He’s grumpy because he got wet this morning.”

“Well, if he’d known what rain clouds look like, he wouldn’t have gotten wet.”

They set out to find Demeter, separating briefly to cover more ground.

Etcetera stared upwards ever so often, wondering if she could convince Pouncival or Tumblebrutus to climb up one of the higher hills of junk that lined the narrow passageways and report about possible weather changes.

Jennyanydots definitely wouldn’t allow it if she asked, so she should avoid talking about it at all in her vicinity, if possible. Even if it was a little dishonest. But then again, she didn’t have to tell Jenny about every single thing she did, did she?

(Mostly Etcetera did so anyway, but that was because there was always something interesting that had happened during her day, and she needed to share it with someone who was willing to listen. And Jenny was always willing.)

Her observation of the sky was suddenly disrupted by a colourful string, seemingly suspended in mid-air. Etcetera’s eyes went wide, and she crouched, her back end wiggling vigorously in time with her ears as she took aim. Taking cover somewhere wasn’t that important, because the string didn’t have any eyes to spot her with and she also wasn’t really training to hunt. Nobody was watching her, either, she reasoned with herself, so it should be alright.

Baring her teeth and unsheathing her claws, she pounced.

The string didn’t stand a chance.

It was a nice string, Etcetera thought as soon as she was thoroughly tangled in it, light blue and soft. Maybe it had once been part of Munkustrap’s cardigan.

The question remained: where had it come from?

She rolled on her back, back paws still violently kicking at the bunched-up string, and cast her eyes upwards. She half-expected to see Mistoffelees somewhere above her, maybe in the middle of a new magic trick.

But there was no Mistoffelees anywhere, and even if there had been, Etcetera wouldn’t have noticed him.

Instead, her entire field of vision was filled with clouds.

Oh, she thought. “Oh,” she said, shortly after.

Clouds were big.

That by itself was not really a new revelation. Of course they were big, that’s why they could block out the sun and make it rain in the entire city.

But now that her view wasn’t obscured by trash, grumpy Alonzos or dangling strings, the sky seemed to stretch out indefinitely, and the clouds hung over her like gigantic, hovering mountains.

White and far away and weightless, and still so incredibly real and close and beautiful and big that it took Etcetera’s breath away.

It felt like someone had inverted an ocean and thrown it in the air, where it had stuck and now loomed over her head.

For a moment, Etcetera felt incredibly small. Then she looked down at the string still wrapped around her paws, and when she looked back up at the cloud mountains she felt even smaller, but it was a surprisingly comforting feeling.

“Thank you for the string,” she whispered to them, all small voice and small paws and small everything, fur fluffed up against the cool breeze.

Tantomile called Etcetera “little cloud” sometimes after she was bathed, and now her chest swelled with pride when she thought of this honorary title.

With a last look upwards, she carefully tied the string to the bow around her neck and plodded on to look for Demeter.

Maybe there was a way to reach the clouds and visit them? They probably hadn’t heard her thanking them, as far away as they were.

Would the clouds expect a present? As an exchange for the string, and maybe for the rain and shade and all the other marvellous things that clouds did?

Etcetera plopped down on her haunches.

Now this was a dilemma.

Electra would probably know a nicer word to describe her situation, but Etcetera could not afford to be distracted at this moment.

According to the book, it was very cold up in the sky, so maybe the clouds would like a cup of warm milk? Or a scarf? It would have to be a very, very long scarf. Maybe she could ask Peggy for help. Her scarves always turned out unintentionally and impressively long.

But perhaps they liked the cold, they never came down to warm up, after all. Did clouds like ice cream? Ah, no, they didn’t have tongues to lick it.

Etcetera sighed forlornly and chewed on the end of her string. What a tragedy! They had given her a present so selflessly, and here she was, unable to even think of a gift to make up for it!

This was how Demeter found her, holding and chewing her string, all the while sighing and whining about her own indecisiveness.

Demeter cleared her throat, brows already on their way up her forehead at the miserable sight in front of her.

“Etcetera, are you alr-”

“Oh, everything is terrible!” Etcetera wailed, clutching her string and falling into a very amused Demeter’s arms. “The sky is so very, very far away!”

“Yes… I suppose that’s true,” Demeter said, settling down and embracing the distressed kitten with gentle arms.

Etcetera immediately felt a little better.

“It’s so far away,” she repeated, and lifted a paw to show her string, “but they still bothered to give me this present, and I can’t think of anything to give them in return! Do you think I’m ungrateful, Demeter?”

Demeter took her offered paw and admired the string, ooh-ing and ahh-ing when Etcetera demonstrated how long and soft it was.

“On the contrary, it’s very nice of you to worry about returning the favour,” Demeter answered, secretly casting a wary glance upwards at the clouds. Was someone trying to play a prank?

“Can you help me think of something?” Etcetera asked desperately. “Please, please, Demeter. I promise I’ll jump in a mud puddle later and distract Asparagus so you can have the pipe all evening.”

Demeter snorted. “You know, sharing is-”

Big, wet kitten eyes blinked up at her. Then they squinted, and eventually fully closed. The little body before her even turned a little on the side to expose more of her belly.

Well. Who would blame Demeter for being unable to resist?

“That sounds like a great idea, Etcetera, thank you,” Demeter sighed, with what was truthfully just playful reluctance. Having the pipe for herself all evening did sound like a very nice way to end her day.

They quickly found Electra, who was busy staring at nothing, claiming that she was practising so she could productively spend time with Jemima, and filled her in.

“You’ve put yourself in quite a predicament,” Electra mused wisely, and Etcetera could only agree.

Together they wandered to and fro, alternately throwing ideas around and chasing each other to clear their heads. After one or two hours of this, they agreed that the clouds might like something cloud-shaped, and that they certainly wouldn’t mind if they wouldn’t be able to do much with it; after all, they could still put it on a shelf and look at it.

That was Demeter’s reasoning, at least, and both kittens considered it to be sound after some intense thinking.

The cloud-shaped present in question came to them surprisingly quick, in the shape of Demeter’s little girl arriving on her bicycle, her mother close behind her.

They had just left the tiny fairground in Covent Garden, and the girl held a puffy thing on a stick, her little brown face sticky with sugar.

While Electra admired the humans’ beautiful saris, eyes and mouth agape, Etcetera zeroed in on the strange treat. It was wonderfully cloud-shaped. And edible.

According to Demeter, it was called ‘cotton candy’, and it dissolved in water. Etcetera gave a squeaky meow in joy. Clouds had plenty of water, so they would be able to eat it!

Now she only needed to acquire some of it, and find a way to send it up.

Demeter was suitably distracted by the two humans, so Etcetera told her plan to Electra.

“We need to get to the fairground.”

“But that’s so far away… maybe we can ride in the basket?”

“They just came from the fairground, they’re not going to go back now. We could ask Jelly or Asparagus…”

Electra hmm’d, then her ears perked up. “I know who can take us!”

Bustopher Jones was a little busy – Munkustrap was trying out a new song – but he still agreed to accompany them.

“It’s been a while since I was at the fairgrounds,” he said, waving Munkustrap goodbye and patting each kitten’s head in greeting, “but I do know one or two humans who help out at the food stalls from time to time. We just might be lucky.”

The promise of an exquisite dinner made them walk faster, and they arrived at Covent Garden scarcely forty minutes later. Bustopher had been politely informed that they would absolutely not leave without cotton candy, so he guided them to the closest stand that offered it and put on a performance that would have impressed even the Rum Tum Tugger.

“Oh my,” the stall owner said when Bustopher heaved his heavy body onto the counter, plunked his head on her arm and started to purr like a decently sized motorboat. She started to laugh when he kicked his hind leg at her attempts to pet his velvety fur.

Etcetera’s and Electra’s arrival was commented by her with a delighted gasp, but the kittens only had eyes for the cotton candy.

“At your service,” the stall owner said graciously, pulled out a stick and created a cloud of cotton candy that was bigger than both kittens combined. She obviously had expected it to get devoured on the spot, so her obvious surprise was understandable when Etcetera carefully held the stick between both forepaws, awkwardly hopped off the counter and then walked away on her hind legs.

“…?” the stall owner expressed, eyebrows wandering in the direction of her hairline.

Bustopher cleared his throat nervously and purred a little louder. Electra, who’s whiskers were sticking together with sugar, left him to it and jumped off to join her friend; it was probably better to not overwhelm the poor human.

“Phase one is completed,” Etcetera said with satisfaction, sticking the cotton candy-stick into a forgotten bottle so her paws were free. “How high do we have to go so I can deliver my present?”

“Very high.”

“That high?”

“Mh-hm.”

Etcetera nodded resolutely. “Let’s find the highest possible place, then.”

They hid the cotton candy behind a bush and walked but a few steps before coming to an abrupt stop.

They sat on their haunches and stared up, and up, and up and up and up.

“Exceptional,” Electra said. Etcetera nodded, awestruck.

The ferris wheel towered above them, the tiny fairy lights wrapped around the gondolas blinking. They felt almost magically drawn to it, the way the humans inside reached their arms into the air and waved at everyone who looked into their general direction. It seemed almost impossibly big, and they were simultaneously gripped with the urge to jump on immediately as well as with an almost crippling fear of height.

It was exhilarating. It was exceptional. It was perfect.

They threw one last glance at Bustopher, who was currently cradled in the stall owner’s arms and rocked like a baby, then Etcetera retrieved the cotton candy and they approached the entry-and-exit-point of the ferris wheel.

To get on an otherwise empty gondola, Electra scratched at the ankle of a child while Etcetera darted past to not confuse any more humans with her walking on two legs.

The little boy screamed and jumped back, and the operator, thinking that he was simply too scared to get on, closed the door and gently pushed the boy to the side to clear the way for the next gondola. Electra squeezed in through the gap under the door.

The further they rose off the ground, the more excited they became. Etcetera held her string and the cotton candy tight, tail twitching from side to side. Electra bounced from one side of the gondola to the other, kneading the leather seats with all her strength.

“Look, look! There’s the theatre!”

“Really? But it’s the wrong direction…”

“Oh. Then it’s a different theatre. But look! There’s Admetus! Hey Admetus!”

Admetus did not appear to hear them as he pranced across the roof of the pub across from them and soon vanished from sight.

Etcetera joined Electra on the seat, and they both fell quiet when the wind picked up and the clouds pulled back a little to reveal the star-speckled night sky. The ferris wheel turned slowly, stopping ever so often with a small creak to let passengers exit and enter.

When they could look onto the roof of the gondolas left and right to them, Electra turned to her friend. “It’s time.”

Etcetera squeezed her string one last time and then climbed onto the wooden banister of the gondola, cotton candy clenched tightly in her left paw.

The ferris wheel stopped at the highest point with a soft jolt, as if the whole world waited just for her.

Shaking just a little, her tail held safely by Electra, Etcetera cleared her throat and held out the cotton candy towards the clouds.

“Hello,” she whispered, stretching her arm as high as it would go. “Thank you very much for your gift. I wanted to give you one in return, and I hope you like cotton candy. I can imagine you don’t get many presents, with how far away you are, so I hope this will, uh…”

“Suffice?” Electra suggested.

“Yes, thank you. I hope this will suffice. We really tried out best.”

Etcetera stared up at the clouds and waited.

  Nothing happened.

She hadn’t really expected a cloudy arm to reach down and accept the cotton candy, but… well. She didn’t really know what exactly she had expected to happen.

As she stared upwards, she once again became aware of how very big and how very, very far away the clouds were. Maybe they couldn’t even hear or see her up there, just like Admetus on the roof.

Maybe they had a field glass up there so they knew where to send the string, and they hadn’t expected that she would want to return the favour.

“They have candy apples as well,” she tried after a while of nothing happening, “would you prefer one of those?”

The paw holding the cotton candy slowly fell back to her side.

“Well. Um. Thank you very much for the string,” she told them again, suppressing a shudder as a gust of chilly wind ruffled her fur. “I’m glad that you’re looking out for us. And for the rain. Yeah.”

With that, she returned back into the gondola, settling down next to Electra.

A mere second later, the ferris wheel started to move again, creaking and groaning.

Electra laid her paw on Etcetera’s shoulder to comfort her. Etcetera leaned into it, and they shared about half of the cotton candy before the sugar became too much even for them.

Bustopher looked upon their downtrodden faces and the half-eaten cotton candy, then he took them to another vendor, who gladly tied a yellow balloon to Etcetera’s bow.

Waiting for them at the fence of the junkyard was Demeter, who thanked Bustopher for his help and passed along an invite for a cup of tea at Skimbleshanks’, which was accepted happily.

The kittens reported of their failed adventure and their ride on the ferris wheel. Demeter was highly impressed.

“I’m sure they know how grateful you are for your gift,” she told Etcetera, who gave her a questioning look.

“Really?”

“Of course. Otherwise they wouldn’t have given you the string in the first place, hm?”

The kittens perked up a bit. “Yes, probably.”

“Now, you must tell me more about your ride. I don’t think I’d dare to go that high. The sky must’ve felt so much closer…”

Electra and Etcetera both thought Demeter to be one of the most brave cats they had ever met, so it was hard to imagine her being too afraid to try the ride. Maybe they would take her tomorrow.

“The sky didn’t feel much closer, to be honest. The ground just felt much further away.”

The wistfulness left Demeter’s eyes, and she turned to Etcetera. She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, then she came to a stop, her tail brushing across the ground with the whisper of well-groomed fur.

“I know how we can send up the cotton candy to the clouds.”

The kittens bobbed up and down in joyful excitement. Was there a way after all? Did she know an even higher place than the ferris wheel?

Indeed, Demeter turned her head upwards, but when they whipped around to look, their eyes landed on the yellow balloon, floating serenely over their heads.

“Will they know it’s from me?” was all Etcetera asked, because it really was a good idea.

“You can leave a scent mark to be sure,” Demeter suggested, and that’s exactly what she did as soon as they had pulled in the balloon and securely tied it to the cotton candy stick.

And then, with reverence suited for a dragon or perhaps a very beautiful pidgeon, Etcetera let go.

  In silence they watched as it hovered a short moment, pushed down by the wind, and then flew up, and up, and up and up and up.

They only looked away when it was but a tiny yellow spot among the cumulus clouds.

Etcetera was sure that she didn’t imagine the rain tasting and smelling a tiny bit sweeter than usual when the weather changed a few days later.

[gets emotional about the size of clouds and the miracle of life] [projects it on a fictional cat and gets unreasonably deep about it] Boom. I am the pinnacle of evolution. Everything is up to interpretation here, really. Are clouds sentient in the Cats universe? Who knows. Alonzo definitely doesn’t. >;) The height of the ferris wheel is perhaps a little bit hyperbolic, but the kittens are very small, after all. And Etcetera does have a habit of causing things to feel bigger than they really are. Thank you so much for reading! ♥♥♥

[namethat-i-oughttohavetoldyou]

Evening Glow

An anonymous request this time, so I won’t tag anyone, but here be Jellydots. :) All my love to those who read/like/reblog! ♥

Warm evening sunlight hit Jennyanydots’ nose like an affectionate kiss and coloured her whiskers in a wispy honey tone when she left her junkyard den after darning the last sock in Mister Mistoffelees’ ever-growing collection.

She slow-blinked at Bombalurina and Cassandra as she passed them and they took the time to wave back, hunched over a list of some sorts as they were. Demeter dozed nearby, peaceful and undisturbed by the gaggle of kittens climbing onto her and pouncing on her spotted tail.

Jenny had spoken to her just recently, pleasantly surprised at the ease in her voice, the relaxed softness of her shoulders and the giddy spring in her tread when she returned to Bombalurina’s side afterwards.

Then again, it never took even the most hard-boiled strangers more than a week or two to lose the tension between their shoulder blades and eyes, and even less for them to dare and raise their voice, steps guarded and diction stilted, mind, but gaining confidence with every passing second, the songs of the Jellicles unburdening their hearts and relieving their fears of bodily contact and affection as easy as a kitten finding their mother through her purr alone.

Our cats, Old Deuteronomy said often, immeasurable pride in his voice. Jennyanydots would only smile and purr in response, warmth filling her chest until she was sure her pelt was glowing like Mistoffelees’ during his most daring performances.

Nonetheless, it was good to see her enjoy herself. Jenny nodded contently to herself and righted her flapper dress, untangling one of the tassels with the tip of a claw. Normally she wouldn’t dare to think of wearing it to venture into the depths of the city, lest it get dirty or torn, but today was a special occasion, and special occasions called for deviations every now and then.

As Bustopher always said; it was only healthy to break routine from time to time.

She left the junkyard, flitting through the legs of one of the smoking guardsmen standing at the gates. She heard nothing but a soft “Oh, it’s you” and a chuckle, then she was off.

Traffic at this time of day was, quite frankly, unbearable, but Jennyanydots swallowed her annoyance and waited patiently at the traffic lights, admiring their colourful lenses and wondering what they were for, only moving across the street when the humans did, cooing over her dress and reaching out to pet her. She pointedly ignored impatiently grasping hands, only allowing touch whenever a polite (and clean) hand was presented to her to sniff at first.

The number of pedestrians only multiplied the closer she got to her destination, making her lose sight of her way more than two times. She jumped up a fence, almost hissing when a surprised passer-by swatted at her with a newspaper.

“Terribly sorry,” he said, putting the newspaper away.

“Meeaurgh,” Jenny answered indignantly.

She did end up hissing at him when he had the audacity to try and pet her, balancing on the fence, a few tassels helplessly tangled from all the stir.

“Why, I ought to…” she grumbled as she turned a corner into a side street, hoping to find easy access to the roofs.

The baying of a courageous poodle grated on her very last nerve. She turned around to give him a severe scolding, when a scent wafted from the other side of the street, calming her fiery temper so quickly that she almost felt drowsy with it.

The poodle had stopped barking as soon as she had turned around and hid behind his human’s legs, who sighed as if this was a regular occurrence.

Jennyanydots honestly did not give an obscene word about the feelings of this meddlesome dog, instead crossing the street and burying her nose in the soft fur behind Jellylorum’s right ear faster than Jellylorum could say the abbreviation of her name.

“Being tardy is truly not your style,” Jellylorum commented drily, nuzzling the area of Jenny’s head that she could reach in their current position.

“Can you blame me, love? You know how seldom I leave the junkyard to visit other places than my humans’ humble abode, and everything until now has only served as a painful reminder of why I avoid the city centre.”

“There, there,” Jellylorum snickered, pulling back a little to groom Jennyanydots’ ear, “no need for dramatics, dearest. The world is big and improper, but that’s hardly news to us, is it now?”

She was joking, of course, and Jenny muffled a laugh in Jellylorum’s well-groomed fur and pulled her head back.

“You can say that again.” She turned around halfway to bare her teeth at the poodle again, just to make a point. She was almost impressed at how he managed to completely conceal himself behind his human, even though he was fairly big. Plato could learn from him, she thought.

“Well, no matter. I do hope you know a way to our destination far away from the streets? I just might end up losing my mind and scratch someone, and-”

“Certainly,” Jellylorum interrupted, her stuttery, throaty purr washing over Jenny like a calming wave, smoothing down her raised hackles and slowing down her agitated heartbeat. “Right up here, if you please.”

In no time at all, they were on the nearest garage roof, and Jennyanydots took the time to untangle her tassels anew. Jellylorum helped, pointing out and admiring the new shiny lace that adorned the hem of the dress. (Jenny had added it after she had tripped over a bunch of loose threads; the dress was getting a little old. But no-one needed to know that.)

On their way across the roofs of London they passed two or three sweepers hard at work, a dovecot and a very surprised and dusty little boy, who came flying out of one of the chimneys.

Jellylorum meowed at him to ask if he was alright when a little girl shot out of the very same chimney and almost landed on the two cats, small face covered in soot and hands reaching for the boy, who seemed to be her brother.

“Don’t be scared, Michael, everything will be alright,” she said comfortingly as her brother smeared damp soot from his face into his sleeve.

“Come, my dear,” Jellylorum said to Jenny, who looked concerned, certainly wanting to stay. “They seem to have it handled.”

True to her word, the chimney spat out two additional humans, clearly adults as seen by their size. The man even winked at them and doffed his cap.

“Oh,” Jenny said, relieved, “These two I remember! You’re right, Jelly dear, they will be just dandy.”

On and on they walked, balanced and climbed, and Jennyanydots relished in the exercise. Not that she got too little of it, training mice and cockroaches and, most recently, ants every night, but she hadn’t been up on the brim of London’s black, grimy top hat for far too long. How quiet it was up here, how endlessly the roofs stretched in all directions, how much the chimneys reminded her of dark forests from fairytale books.

“Here we are,” Jellylorum said at last, crawling up the last metres of the new theatre’s copper roof.

They sat on one of the wooden windowsills of the dome, snacking on the pastries that Jenny had stashed in the pockets of her dress (she would have to thank Peggy for this simple but ingenious design choice) and waited, comfortable silence surrounding them like a down quilt.

“A very good choice of day,” Jennyanydots remarked after a while, wrapping and unwrapping their tails, voice only interrupted by her impressively loud purr. “There will be no clouds tonight; we will certainly have a good view of the stars. If you don’t mind staying for a while longer, that is.”

“With the utmost pleasure,” Jellylorum answered, and the smile on her face was so fulfilled that Jenny couldn’t help but bury her face in her mate’s fur once more.

“Would you mind taking up a new habit?”

“You are speaking my mind, love.”

“Then it is decided,” Jellylorum said brightly, and pulled back just enough for her lips to meet Jenny’s in a kiss.

Behind them, a shower of fireworks lit up the night sky, and through the cheer of the humans on the streets sounded Jellylorum’s throaty, stuttery purr, in sync with Jenny’s soft titter, and they both glowed like Mister Mistoffelees’ pelt during his most daring performances, unable to tell if it came from the fireworks or if they had created it all by themselves.

"Peggy” originated here, in case my meta references are becoming too confusing. ;) This was calming to write, I do love myself an established relationship. Not much needs to be said, they can just... be. :) And I always challenge myself to write as proper and old-fashioned as possible for the oldies group jsfksdf it’s a lot of fun! Thank you for reading! ♥

[namethat-i-oughttohavetoldyou]

Effortful Fashion

Inspiration gripped me, and here we go with the first request! @jelliclekay​, here is some fluffy Tuggerlurina for you! I hope you enjoy! As always, all my love to everyone who reads/likes/reblogs! ♥

Bombalurina frowned deeply enough to cast a metaphorical shadow over the junkyard.

There were many things that she could accept, but the Rum Tum Tugger being more fashionable than her? Now that was too much to bear.

With an elegant leap and a furious, very unelegant and noisy landing, she was at his side, enviously staring at the hot pink claw caps on her lover’s front paws.

Tugger jumped in surprise at her appearance and quickly followed her eyes, a smirk building and building until the corners of his mouth almost reached his ears.

“That’s not fair,” Bombalurina complained, mournfully staring at her own, perfectly ordinary claws. “What does a queen have to do to get such an alluring accessory?”

Tugger’s grin widened even further and he brushed a paw through his mane. “I shall give you a step-by-step manual.”

Bombalurina growled a little, but when he sat and offered his lap as lounge spot, she didn’t even think to hesitate, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and giving him her most smoldering look. The way his whiskers trembled subtly (but not subtly enough) told her that it had had its intended effect.

She could see Cassandra approaching from the corner of her eyes, also very interested in the ways and means of acquiring these desired ornaments.

“Firstly,” Tugger purred, raking a claw-capped paw along Bombalurina’s thigh, “make sure that your family’s new curtains are very expensive by trial and error.”

“By stealing them?” little Mungojerrie piped up, who had sneaked into their little group without anyone noticing.

Tugger brushed at his mane, ears flicking with irritation about being interrupted. “No, no. Just scratch at them a little, or bite, whatever you prefer. Make sure that they see you when you do it.”

The gathered cats leaned in, listening intently.

“Pay very close attention to their reactions. They will always try to stop you, by the way, no matter how expensive the curtains are, that’s just what humans do. However, I have made the experience that they will be up to one-hundred-and-fifteen percent faster to pick you up or chase you with a broom when the curtains are very new and very, very expensive.”

Cassandra snickered at the percentage. “Did you ask Jenny to calculate that for you?”

“Maybe. The point is, there may be more expensive curtains in the public rooms of a human’s house than in their bedrooms. I couldn’t tell you why, I’d certainly put the beautiful stuff into my own den so I can admire it in peace and quiet, but well, humans are humans. They have other etiquette than we do.”

The last part was mostly addressed to Mungojerrie (and Rumpleteazer, who had joined them not long after), who, albeit having been adopted by a rich human family, still rather spent their time in the nursery at the junkyard. (As they were still kittens and missed their mother, nobody scolded them for worrying their human family, even though it had taken the adult cats a long time and careful consideration to choose one that was capable of taking them in.)

“Now,” Tugger continued, “once you have located the most expensive set of curtains in the house, it is time for the last step.”

The tiger-striped kittens wiggled with excitement, and Cassandra emitted a rapturous mew, which was met with amusement from the entangled pair of lovers. She groomed her forepaws with mild shame, but she was far too sovereign to be embarrassed for very long.

“You stalk the curtains –  be sure that the humans are nearby, but not in the same room – you stalk them, you search for a high place to jump off of, and then… you strike!!”

The gathered cats imagined slashing their claws through the curtain from top to bottom and purred.

Tugger thought back on himself screeching and thrashing, claws helplessly entangled in the lace, and wrinkled his nose. Very unsexy.

“Take care of yourselves, mind,” he said into Mungojerrie’s and Rumpleteazer’s direction, “some humans might rather want to declaw you than glue these pretty little trinkets on. You know your humans best, choose wisely.”

The kittens nodded seriously, ears pressed to their heads.

“Alright, off you go,” Cassandra told them importantly, “you have a mission to fulfil.”

Both pairs of black ears stood upright immediately, and they cartwheeled off the bucket they had sat on and dashed away to say goodbye to their mother and ask for an escort back to their human family.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Cassandra raised her hackles and turned to stare at Tugger, outrage blazing in her eyes.

Bombalurina blinked and nonchalantly groomed her ears, still comfortably seated on her tom’s lap.

“They stick them on your claws with glue?” Cassandra asked appalled, shuddering with horror. “I think I’ll pass. No thank you!”

With that, she was off, searching for a sunny place to lounge and look aloof and alluring, probably hoping to attract the attention of a certain black and white tomcat.

Bombalurina snorted. “She will keep her paws clean until the end of time itself. It’s almost admirable.”

Tugger raked his claws over her thigh again and buried his nose in the thick auburn fur at the nape of her neck. “Ah, everyone has their vices.”

She turned back to him, unsheathing her terribly ordinary claws and brushing through his mane. “Very true,” she purred, voice deepening even further when Tugger wrapped his arms around her and held her tight for a few moments.

“And now how do I deserve being outshone by the clutziest tomcat of the Jellicles?” she teased him, pulling one of his paws away from around her waist to admire the claw caps. Everlasting, they even sparkled.

“There, there,” Tugger huffed, pulling back from nosing through her fur and pushing down his mane so he could look her in the eye unobstructedly while she still sat on his lap, “no need to mourn what never was.”

“The audacity!”

A guffaw. “I didn’t mean it, honest!”

Bombalurina pressed a paw to her chest and the other to her forehead, feinting a dramatic faint. “From my tom, no less! The betrayal, the cruelty!”

Tugger nodded gravely, taking the paw on her chest and pressing his left cheek to her right one. “I am unreformable. Dyed-in-the-wool, even.”

“Irritating?”

“Most definitely.”

Bombalurina sat back up and wrapped both arms around his shoulders, lifting her tail to brush it along Tugger’s chin.

“Apologize or Demeter sleeps in my den tonight,” she threatened, not meaning it in the slightest.

Tugger knew that, but his face still turned sincere, and expression that was seldom seen on his handsome face. “Disregarding the claw caps, I haven’t had the privilege of being born with such a luxurious fire-red coat like yours. And even besides that, your beauty is incomparable.”

Bombalurina swallowed thickly. “You’ll make me cry,” she said, her voice a little hoarse.

“That won’t do. In what other curtains shall I get stuck for you to laugh at me again?”

“I knew it.”

“You did, didn’t you? Unreformable, as I said.”

She threw her head back and laughed.

“There we go.”

“You wonderful, dorky, clumsy tom. Sometimes I do wonder if you shut off your head as soon as you enter your human’s front door. You’re always oh so suave while you’re here...”

“No-one to impress and no-one to entice,” Tugger explained easily, batting at her tail with a sparkly, hot pink claw cap-adorned paw. “Just me and a pair of humans who’s exasperation grows every day. They might have gotten mad already if I didn’t leave to come here from time to time. It’s a very healthy balance, I assure you.”

“Evidently,” Bombalurina hummed, caressing his healthy, shining pelt with one paw. “You chose wisely. And then shut off your head.”

“I’m like a sea squirt.”

“A what?”

“A sea squirt. I search for a fitting home to stay, and then I digest my own brain,” Tugger said proudly.

Bombalurina grimaced. “That’s… I’m not sure if that’s a fitting comparison.”

Tugger shrugged. “Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. Anyhow.”

He wrapped his arms around her again and she happily leaned into it, still drawing random patterns into his shiny coat with her perfectly ordinary, beautiful claws, surrounded by breathtaking auburn fur.

“Tell me this: what kind of curtains do your humans have hanging in their living room, my love?”

Yes, I normally headcanon Jerrie and Teazer to be kittens, and yes, that part about sea squirts is true. I love sea creatures. Also, I base most of my Cats stories in a vague time around the 1920s-1930s, so this is an outlier and shall not be counted XD Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! ♥

[namethat-i-oughttohavetoldyou]

There Are Many Benefits To Being A Matelot

Yo-ho, yo-ho, a pirate fic for @cryptidvoidwritings​ >:) First time writing the Raffish crew! At first I wanted to think up different names for them, but I thought it would be a little confusing and you did ask for Tuggerstrap in particular, so the Raffish crew happens to share the names of the cats who portray them during the musical. I hope you enjoy! :) Quick warning: alcohol and sex are discussed, but neither consumed or performed.  Love to everyone who reads, likes or reblogs! ♥♥♥

The screams of the seagulls almost tuned out the other racket going on above them, therefore, Tugger was as relaxed as one could be.

Although…

He stretched and threw his left leg over Munkustrap’s right.

Now he was relaxed.

Munkustrap commented this with little more than a soft huff of breath, eyelids heavy and ears flicking ever so often in half-asleep, drunken stupor.

Tugger turned his head to admire his companion for a moment, from the tips of his black ears to the equally black, folded paws that were resting on his stomach, down to his worn-out leather boots with the small lopsided heart carved into the left heel, courtesy of Tugger himself.

“Why not your initials?” Grumbuskin had asked while observing the shoe-carving almost a year ago.

“He can’t read,” Tugger had answered. Munkustrap had just sat there and giggled.

Well, maybe they just all drank too much too often. But then again, who would withhold this one last source of pleasure from them?

Or rather second to last source. One source was currently lying right next to Tugger.

Said source was also humming and somehow swaying even though he was laying down, so maybe they should really give the drinking problem a little more thought. Later, though. When they weren’t so drunk.

Growltiger and Griddlebone’s duet reached a new level of volume on the deck above them, and Tugger crossed his arms behind his head and wondered what it must be like to have a paramour.

Might be nice to have someone waiting for you at the shore. But then again, wasn’t it much nicer to have them right with you on the ship, at all times? Maybe he preferred having a matelot instead of a lover.

Tugger grabbed Munkustrap’s tail, who stopped humming for just a second to quietly huff again, then resumed humming.

Yeah, matelotage was much better. More benefits to it, too. Griddlebone probably wouldn’t inherit any property if Growltiger decided to kick the bucket.

(Not that Tugger was very eager to inherit anything soon. He had his own pair of worn-out boots, thank you.)

He petted the soft striped tail in his hands, smoothing down the fur and watching the tip twitch lazily.

“Don’t pull,” Munkustrap said without moving his lips, blinking excruciatingly slow.

“Would never think of it,” Tugger answered and pulled a little.

“Mmph.”

Tugger hid a grin in his shirt collar and turned his head to where Mistoffelees and Mungojerrie had long become an unorganized cluster of limbs. Skimble sat at the bulkhead and stared at the ceiling, fully immersed in the passionate singing that went on up there.

“You’re pining.”

Skimble startled and shot Tugger an offended glare. “Yes. And what about it?”

Tugger shrugged. “As long as Growltiger’s still alive…”

“Well, maybe we should wish upon a star, all of us together. Our contracts are far from over.”

That was true.

Piracy was great, all in all: sailing was fun and there was always enough to eat (and too much to drink), it was nice to fall asleep to the sound and movement of the waves, they had health insurance and what was matelotage if not the greatest invention ever? (Poor Skimble. Maybe they would have to consider polygamy, he seemed so dreadfully lonely sometimes.)

The only disadvantage was… well. They had a boss. And said boss was, frankly said, an asshole.

There was a reason why the crew only consisted of five cats. They were the toughest and most steadfast, and they survived getting bullied, shoved, kicked and punched just because Growltiger felt like it without much of a complaint. At least in Growltiger’s vicinity.

Tugger spent many hours of his day wishing for the Navy to catch up to them and simultaneously fearing what would happen to the crew if they did so.

“Kind of hard to wish upon a star when we’re down here, though.”

Skimble scratched his chin. Then he stared at the ceiling again. Tugger did the same.

Truth to be told, everyone was pining a little for Griddlebone; it was almost impossible not to. She was one of the most beautiful living creatures wandering on this green earth, that much was certain. Her voice was hypnotic and her sense of humour even more so, and she could drink tea in the most fanciest manner Tugger had ever seen, and he and the rest of the crew thought that to be highly impressive, not to say attractive.

If Growltiger did kick the bucket and Griddlebone was willing to go for a bit of mattress sport, Tugger wouldn’t think twice before accepting. He’d probably bring Munkustrap, though, just to have something familiar to fall back on should something not go according to plan.

…Yes, matelotage was much better than just having a lover.

“I made the right decision,” Tugger told Munkustrap, pulling a little on his tail.

“Ah,” Munkustrap said.

Then: “That’s good.”

“Yes.”

“…”

“Concerning you, I mean.”

“Oh.”

And then Munkustrap smiled, and smiled and smiled and smiled and Tugger pulled a little on his tail again because he could barely stand it. He would surely burst if he looked at the smile for even one second longer, so he continued with staring holes into the ceiling.

From the corner of his eyes, Tugger could see Munkustrap’s paws unfolding themselves, and the right one reached, grasped Tugger’s, held on and pulled back to refold with his left.

Tugger let go of Munkustrap’s abused tail and rested his remaining paw on his chest, absentmindedly playing with the loose buttons of his linen shirt.

“I’m glad you made the decision.”

Tugger silently noted that he said ‘decision’, not ‘right decision’ and squeezed his paw.

Munkustrap squeezed back.

“Me too.”

For a while, nothing was heard but the two lovers’ voices hitting new record heights, the seagulls and Skimble scratching his chin from time to time.

“What do you think of polygamy?”

Munkustrap’s eyes opened a little wider; he almost looked awake now. “Probably a lot of effort to manage so that nobody is jealous of someone else. Why do you ask?”

Tugger was about to lift his paw off his chest to point at the lone tomcat sitting at the bulkhead, when suddenly all hatches slammed shut at the same time with a BANG.

The tangle of limbs and fur that was Mungojerrie and Mistoffelees flinched and untangled at a breathtaking speed. At least that’s what Tugger assumed was happening, because with the closing of the hatches their only source of light had been decimated.

To be precise: it was pitch black, with only slivers of light poking through the ceiling beams.

Munkustrap’s wide yellow eyes stared back at him when Tugger turned his head back around, apparently very suddenly very sober.

A loud, wailing shriek rang out and made the Raffish crew’s ears press to their skulls. Then the ship vibrated with a lot of cats stomping about, a lot of screaming and several swords clashing, interspersed with a splash of someone falling into the water here and there.

“The Navy!” Mungojerrie breathed, at the same time as Mistoffelees whispered “It’s Gilbert!”

The noise kept up for several more long minutes, then there was a very big splash, and loud cheers of “Huzzah!” relieved the crew’s accumulated tension.

Growltiger had been defeated.

As their crewmates whooped and hollered, Tugger and Munkustrap looked at each other without a word. The hatches were closed; there had been no way for them to enter the fight and help, but they hadn’t really felt like it anyway. They could reach the gun deck easily, however, and the gun ports were most probably still open. A successful escape was more than likely.

Maybe they’d even come across Griddlebone, swimming around in the Thames somewhere.

Tugger squeezed Munkustrap’s paw, and Munkustrap squeezed back.

Matelotage was great.

Poor Griddlebone hadn’t gotten anything out of being Growltiger’s lover other than wet fur and a head cold, if she was truly unlucky. But at the moment, she wasn’t their problem, and they all enjoyed their sudden unemployment very much.

“Now, tell me, Skimble,” Mungojerrie grinned as the five of them climbed out of the gun ports into blessed freedom, whiskers blowing in the wind and sharp teeth bared to laugh at the moon, “how did that star you wished upon get below deck?”

All pirates are bisexual, I don’t make the rules. This was utterly and completely inspired by the time I saw Cats in Vienna; Everlasting Cat bless Dominik Hees’ pirate Tugger and his unstoppable urge to cuddle with Alexander Auler’s giggly drunk pirate Munk. ♥ Originally this thing was almost four times as long, but it got a little long-winded and world-building-y so I had to reduce it quite drastically XD It’s very probable that I’ll come back to it at some point, because I love pirates. You love pirates. Everyone loves pirates. Thank you for reading! ♥ Also: