Part 1: A Matter of Successions

Jellicle cats are black and white
Jellicle cats are rather small
Jellicle cats are merry and bright
And pleasant to hear when we caterwaul

Jellicle cats have cheerful faces
Jellicle cats have moonlit eyes
We like to practice our airs and graces
And wait for the Jellicle Moon to rise

Munkustrap

"Jellicle cats come out tonight! Jellicle cats come one, come all! The Jellicle Moon is shining bright! Jellicles come to the Jellicle Ball... no. No. Needs more feeling." Munkustrap looked over the poem once more. He's known that he'd be reciting it for the tribe for months now. The poem was brief and punctuated, an old Jellicle favorite for announcing the Jellicle ball. Although it would not be his first ball, it would be the first one in his honor, meaning all eyes were going to be on him. Munkustrap had a rich, melodic voice that was well-suited for story-telling; at least his father said so. Since his juvenile years, he was narrating stories to the young kittens, which he had a natural talent for.

He would not only be in charge of announcing the ball and organizing every single detail, but he would also present his father with a rendition of a popular Jellicle tale. But that had already been rehearsed and rehearsed and rehearsed. So much that he left himself with almost no time to practice his invitation announcement. He was eager to do it well; for this would be his father's last ball as the tribe leader... and Munkustrap's last as tribe successor. Old Deuteronomy had revealed that Munkustrap would have this honor when he was just a kitten – he had his entire life to prepare for this moment and he felt far from ready.

He went over the narration once more, with twice the bravado. "Jellicle cats come out tonight! Jellicles come to the Jellicle Ball!" Another worry struck him; how did he announce the ball's purpose without making it all about himself? Yes, it was about him, but it was also about his father... yes! His father. That's what he'll go with. The ball was not for a few days, but the cats were already talking about the Jellicle Moon's annual rise. Munkustrap both eagerly awaited and dreaded the occasion.

Clack!

Munkustrap peered over at the discarded clock that good old Skimbleshanks had fixed up. 11:58 P.M. He'd been at this since dusk. No one was around to hear him or judge him, all scattered around the area asleep on whatever throwaway item suited them best. The junkyards of London's West End were a perfect haven for the Jellicle Tribe. No strangers coming in and out, no dogs trying to chase or harass them. Most of all, they were well-hidden from the city's most notorious criminal cat: Macavity. When Munkustrap failed to see the logic in choosing an open area as their home, Old Deuteronomy called them "hidden in plain sight." Macavity thought he was so clever as to check every nook or cranny of the city that seemed obscure, that he'd never consider such a public place with plenty of space. And it was true. Not once in his life did Munkustrap see the criminal cat for himself.

Clack!

Another minute had gone by and Munkustrap hadn't even gone over a single verse. How did time escape him so easily? Think of Father! No, think of the tribe. They were going to rely on him sooner than he knew, and he wanted to be there to cater to anyone's needs or wishes. In a way, he already was the sort-of peacekeeper within the tribe, or at least in his own family. As the oldest son of Old Deuteronomy himself, Munkustrap kept an air of calm and dignity about him at all times... even when a certain brother of his stretched his patience to the limit. Said brother would blame it on how little he'd been sleeping as well; and Munkustrap had to admit that he was correct. His late nights of rehearsal were catching up to him, and he could only keep his eyes open for so long. And the Jellicle Ball itself would go on far past midnight.

Munkustrap liked precision. He always set a schedule for himself and followed all of his own, basic rules. Almost nothing he did was spontaneous, but that didn't mean he was boring. He simply preferred routine over the unexpected. He had a morning routine of his own, but sometimes he'd take a break from getting ready for his day to spend some time alone with an soft blanket that he'd found not long ago. He didn't know why he did it, and wished he didn't feel the need, but he had to. Sometimes it made him feel better, sometimes he felt he was just wasting his energy. But after, he always found himself breathing easier; not weighed down by the stress of real life. Adult life.

Sirens blared from across the streets and red lights zipped by, alarming the tabby into hiding. He stepped out when he realized it was just the ambulances going by as they always did. He arched his shoulders and stuck his nose in the air; he could smell smoke. A fire. Must be one of the old factories. He hoped there would be no police disturbances on the night of the ball; the last thing he needed was an unexpected twist on his plans. He lowered his paws onto the chilly gravel and went back up to the clock, which now said 12:02 A.M.

That's enough, he thought. No more for tonight. I'll get it right tomorrow.

Rum Tum Tugger

Without opening his eyes, Rum Tum Tugger swung his tail at a chirping bird and it went flying off. It was hardly sunrise. How did those pests get up so early? He can recall how many times he "accidentally" broke the alarm clock that rudely disturbed his sleep every morning. How his brother managed to get up to that clamoring object, he didn't know. Their father was like that too, so it must be an 'old cat thing,' as he'd lovingly tease. He'd been having a nice sleep and wanted it back just for one more minute. But now that he was up, there was no returning to rest, so the Maine Coon stretched his limbs and leapt from the branches.

Early mornings were the best time for hunting anyway, so he'd come to learn. Animals were more relaxed and unsuspecting. In the summer, they would normally sit tight and not want to move because of the heat. Rain and snow slowed them down. Tugger always paid attention to the details of his environment when he was out looking for a meal. He'd been practicing the 'stalk-and-pounce' method since he was a kitten. Any cat who wanted to live past adolescence learned this.

Sometimes, when he wasn't even hungry, he'd scare a mouse into running just so he'd get a good chase in for the day; any excuse to have some sort of adrenaline rush. He called himself a pleasure-seeker, his brother called him a trouble-maker. Both were true! There was nothing he enjoyed like a horrible muddle, so call him whatever you please. He'd often thought of "a curious beast" as the most tantalizing compliment. He sniffed around and realized he was nearing a small rabbit hole. Rabbits were an exciting chase, but only if they were far enough from their silly little hideaway. It wouldn't be hard to dig with his paws and make a biting reach for one, but that's no fun.

Rum Tum Tugger wanted nothing handed to him. One would think that the youngest son of Old Deuteronomy could get whatever he asked for (and he technically could), but that gave him no pride. Nothing was better than finding something for himself. He crossed the green and waited eagerly for one of the rodents to pop its head out; a yawn escaped him in the process. It amazed him how awake he was after he'd been out so late the night before. He very much preferred night over day; more opportunities to catch, more she-cats about the area. And Tugger knew how well-loved he was by them.

His wild mane made him easily recognizable, and the leopard spots on his chest and around his paws stood out from his black fur. All the lady cats knew who he was when they spotted him, and it never surprised him to have a gaggle of females hypnotized by his very presence. It pleased him, in fact. Kittens would screech and squeal with the slightest movement of his pelvis, while the older queens would gaze on. And they're all lucky he hadn't found a mate yet. What's unlucky for them is that he never will.

They made the moves on him first – there was never a challenge in trying to score with anyone; that didn't mean he didn't revel in the limelight when he got the chance. And why shouldn't he? They obviously put him in the spotlight, might as well show off why. Of course, none of this meant he'd never had his way with any of the she-cats before, quite particularly the equally flirtatious and quite vivacious Bombalurina.

He knew she was as much of a tease as he was, but he also knew that she still wanted him. When they both realized that they would just end up playing hard to get with each other for the rest of their nine lives, they came to a compromise. Once every so often, if no one else was around. No name-calls, no I-love-yous. It was especially harder to hold back during mating season when the urges were stronger and the women were much feistier in trying to steal his attention. Bombalurina almost seemed to enjoy making his life a living hell during the season, bragging all about their time together and making the other prepubescent kittens aggressive whenever he was near. Not to mention the change in his own temperament.

Tugger's ears pricked up and a new scent filled the air; a toffee-colored rabbit stuck its head out from the ground and looked around. Rum Tum Tugger stuck low to the ground and made soft, prowling steps toward it. Sometimes he and his brother would get so into their hunting games that their father would call them 'absolutely feral.' In a way, weren't they? The Jellicle cats never lived with humans, and their collars were fashioned by the cats themselves; it was like having a personalized name tag, but without anyone's name dangling anywhere, and much less demeaning.

Out of nowhere, a pigeon swooped down and landed about three feet away from where the cat was stalking. It was like breakfast landed right in front of him. But which one? Why not take the opportunity and chase both? Yes. Rabbit for him, and a fine, fat bird for his brother. He'd been worrying about his brother's diet, given all the stress he's had. He needed to eat if he was going to make it through the ball without collapsing. The unsuspecting bird bopped its head around, pecked at the grass, not realizing its demise was inching closer...

He could hear his father's voice right now. Stealth and patience. He knew these were important when hunting. Almost anything his father had to say was important, but that didn't mean he was always ready to oblige. He was much less inclined to wait for the right moment to strike than his brother, who could sit still for minutes deliberating his next move. Tugger's philosophy was when you're close enough, jump! Once when they were kittens and it was his brother's turn to show his skills, Rum Tum Tugger couldn't take it anymore after nearly ten minutes of focusing on the same bird and yelled, "JUST KILL IT ALREADY!" And sent the fowl flying. He earned his brother's signature death glare. How Munkustrap hadn't murdered him yet, no one knew.

Rum Tum Tugger moved in scurrying motions and lashed his claws out at the bird; its wings flapped frantically, but Tugger pricked his fangs into its neck, making it still. The rabbit had jumped back into its hole, and with the pigeon still in his clutches, Tugger realized he hadn't thought of how he was going to catch the rabbit after scaring it off. He never bothered to think things through; as Old Deuteronomy called it, he lacked "intuition." Luck and circumstance were all Tugger could rely on, and some days it just wasn't on his side.

But it was only morning and he'd made a nice score to present to his brother. His own appetite could wait. The sun had nearly risen.