Okay, so, I had this random piece of inspiration, right? Everybody pairs Skimbleshanks and Jennyanydots, but nobody really talks about how they got together. So, I'm here to do just that.

Basically, this is about Skimble and Jenny back when they were younger, like, Victoria and Mistoffelees young. You know.

DISCLAIMER: Do I look like T.S. Eliot or Andrew Lloyd Webber to you? Of course I don't. Which means I have no rights to CATS.

The young marmalade tabby paced impatiently, looking down at the watch on his wrist. It was a small watch, mind; the stationmaster's daughter had gotten it for him, Everlasting Cat knew how, small enough to fit him. And it actually worked, too, which was nice. However, right now, Skimbleshanks wasn't too happy with the time. Too early. He urged the minute hand to go faster, his gaze occasionally shifting to the entrance of the junkyard, then back to the face of his watch, his eyes critical and impatient.

He had come back early just so he could greet one cat and one cat only when she arrived; Jennyanydots. The young queen who was now often called the gumbie cat, a reputation that was slowly growing with her just like his Railway Cat reputation was growing with him. Anyways...admittedly, young Skimble had a bit of a crush on the caramel tabby.

Okay, okay, so it was less of a crush and more head-over-heels in love. Who knew?

Regardless, the orange tom made a point of getting back from the station early these days, often returning to a scolding from the stationmaster, even a boot thrown his direction. But that was allright, as long as he got to say hi to his Jenny. She lived with humans in a real house, not a train station, which he couldn't help but envy; sure, the train staff were wonderful to him, but he didn't have a real home there. Not really.

And even here, in the junkyard, home of all the Jellicles, he couldn't stay too long. The stationmaster's daughter would worry about him, and then she'd launch patrols, and they could track him here, and then...no. Plus, how could he let down all his friends at the train station? So, Skimbleshanks didn't really have a home, whereas his beloved Jenny had two.

Once again, he had someone to be jealous of.

And what hurt him the most was that the other icon of his jealousy also had it better than he did.

Who might this icon be, you might ask?

Why, it was none other than the illustriously plump and famously round Bustopher Jones, the tuxedo tom about the same age as Skimble and Jenny both were, who was becoming fatter than both of them by the week, and who, and this Skimbleshanks knew and hated, Jennyanydots, his Jenny, had a bit of a crush on.

Freaking Busty-pher Fatso Jones! Of all cats to have as a rival, that was the real pits.

However, as the marmalade tabby mulled over his rivalry with the rotund young tuxedo, he heard a familiar voice behind him and whipped around, first with elation swelling in his chest...and then disappointment.

"Skimble! Skimbly! I'm here!" The sing-song voice of his beloved caramel-striped Jenny, skipping towards him happily, the usual laughter in her brown eyes, her coat shining after a good grooming. Her joyful face made him smile wide, like a dorky ninth-grade boy, though he quickly resumed his compusure when he saw who was walking next to her. Looking quite dissatisfied at the appearance of Skimbleshanks was none other than Bustopher Jones in his white spats.

Skimbleshanks wasn't against spats or anything (well, now he was, since Bustopher had started wearing them), but vests were ten times better than spats. Any day. He subconsciously straightened his as the object of his affections approached.

"A-afternoon, Jenny," Skimble greeted her, his thick, Scottish accented voice faltering briefly. He was always nervous around Jenny, it seemed, and it didn't help that Busty-pher Jones was giving him the evil eye, either.

His spirit immediately lifted when Jenny quickened her pace so she could leap merrily at her friend, tackling him to the ground. Though she was a little big for a she-cat her age, Skimble didn't really mind having her on top of him...except that it made him exceptionally nervous. However, he laughed along with her as she scrambled off and gave the caramel tabby a proper hug. "It's good to see you," he said. He almost mentioned he had been waiting for her, but then considered that sounded kind of stalker-like and decided against the idea.

"You, too." Jenny's bright face momentarily lifted all doubts, sorrow, and disappointment from Skimbleshanks's shoulders. "Well, I'm gonna go see Jelly and Grizz." She walked past then, humming a happy tune, still with a smile on her visage, completely unaware that Skimbleshanks was in immediate danger upon her departure.

Bustopher Jones stepped up in front of the Railway Cat and tilted his head down, glaring at him through his new monocle. He thought he was all that because he had a piece of glass in front of his eye, Skimbleshanks thought disapprovingly. How could Jenny even look at a tom so vain as Fatso Jones?

"Afternoon, Skimpy Skimble." Bustopher's tone dripped venom as he spat the rude nickname at the skinny tabby.

"Afternoon to you, Busty-pher Fatso Jones." Skimbleshanks smoldered up at the taller tom; he may have been shorter, but that didn't matter much to him. Size wasn't everything, that's what his Mum told him. "Sorry about using yer full name and all tha'. I know yeh just like to go by Busty." His frown turned to a twisted and competitive grin as Bustopher grimaced at him in fury, but that quickly fled as the larger tom picked him up by the collar of his striped vest and held him a few inches off the ground.

"Watch your tongue around me, you mongrel," hissed the black and white tom, throwing Skimble backwards into the dust. "And you stay away from Jenny. I already told you, she's mine."

"Fat chance!" spat Skimbleshanks. "Yeh want to know what we call your type in Scotland, yeh lard ball?"

"Do tell, Pollicle's toothpick."

Skimbleshanks grimaced inwardly at the rude name. "We call yeh fat! Just like ev'rybody else!" He howled with laughter at his own joke, which of course made him look like a corn ball, but he didn't care. Fatso would need some ice for that burn.

"That wasn't funny," Bustopher responded coldly, and marched on, though obviously defeated. Sucked to be him, the bloated bastard.

Skimble wiped a nonexistent tear from the corner of his eye. "Oh, but it was, it was!" he called after him, though his rival was swiftly moving out of earshot. "It was," he repeated under his breath, an evil Skimble grin on his face.

And trust me, Skimble grins are actually very scary.

So concludes chapter one! I need to wrap it up here so I can start a new thought; future chapters will be longer. This was just basically establishing the relationship in the Skimble/Bustopher/Jenny love triangle. :3