It took me weeks to write this chapter. I kept getting distracted, but now I'm excited it's finally up.
I tried to make Mistoffelees talk in an elegant way, but it just sounds really stupid.
Anyways, his birth name is Quaxo, yet when he arrives in the junkyard to start a new life, he changes it to Mr. Mistoffelees.
I don't own Cats, yet again.
"QUAXO!"
"I am in my room, Uncle!"
The sounds of heavy pawsteps came up the flight of stairs in the human household. Quaxo, a small black and white tuxedo tom, was stretched out daintily on the floor, studying his spellbooks intently. He had gone out with his group of alley cat friends earlier, causing mischief around London late at night. Though raised to be elegant, he was rather mischievous as well. His latest stunt was using his magic to pull pranks on his uncle. He looked up as an older – and much fatter – replica of him barged into his room, covered in fireplace soot. It's a good thing their owners were on vacation…
Quaxo nodded in greeting, hiding a laugh. "Hello Uncle Bustopher."
"Don't you 'hello Uncle Bustopher' me, young tom!" The fat cat snapped.
The young tux immediately frowned. "Uncle, why are you covered in soot?" Quaxo asked innocently.
"Don't play coy with me!" Bustopher growled. "You know perfectly well why I am covered in this dirty mess!"
Quaxo burst out laughing. "That was rather good, was it not?!"
Bustopher grew red in the face, trying not to explode on his nephew. Quaxo actually thought he would have a heart attack. "NO, IT WAS NOT GOOD!" The old tom yelled.
"There is no need to shout…" Quaxo muttered.
"It's those bloody alley cats you call 'friends'!" Bustopher continued. "They are a bad influence on you!"
Quaxo sat up, clearly annoyed. "And how is that so?" He shot back.
He scowled. "Ever since you buddied up with those rowdy toms, your life has gone downhill!"
"My life is fine where it is!" Quaxo retorted.
"I cannot take anymore of this ridiculous behavior, Quaxo," Bustopher spoke. "First thing, tomorrow morning, I am shipping you off to live with your sister."
He blew up at the news. "Now who's being ridic-…I have a sister?" Quaxo asked in surprise.
Bustopher nodded and sat on the human bed. "Her name is Victoria, and she is younger than you," he explained. "I did not say anything about her sooner, only for the sake of your curiosity."
"Where…where is she now?" Quaxo asked, still shocked over the fact that he, indeed, had a sibling – something that he longed for over the years.
"She currently lives in a junkyard amongst other cats. The Jellicles – "
"A junkyard?! No way!" Quaxo interrupted rudely. That earned the young tux a smack upside his head with Bustopher's silver spoon.
"Silence!" Bustopher barked. "Now, get your things ready. We leave at dawn." With that, the fat cat walked out of the room.
The next morning, Quaxo was awoken by his uncle. He grabbed his small sack, which was magically charmed to hold an infinite amount of things. The young tux gazed around his human home, knowing that he'd never be returning. With a heavy heart and ears flat, Quaxo followed Bustopher out of the house and to the dreaded junkyard.
"Yuck," he commented as the smell of the junkyard filled his nose hours later. He grit his teeth at the surrounding piles of junk, already feeling his sleek fur coat becoming grimy. "Uncle, must I stay here?" He asked, a slight edge of whining traced in his voice.
"Perhaps you can turn your life around here," Bustopher replied, not looking back to his nephew. "Besides, the Jellicles will be a good influence on you."
Quaxo made a face behind the fat cat's back. He had heard stories about the Jellicles all morning and how Bustopher once lived there. But, being the 'cat about town', Bustopher left, only to return occasionally – especially during the Jellicle Ball. Once he heard about that, Quaxo perked up with interest. He did enjoying singing and dancing, next to practicing his magic.
"…and the Ball is coming up soon," Bustopher was saying as they walked through the gates. "Perhaps you will find yourself a proper mate and settle down by then to perform the Mating Dance."
The young tuxedo tom scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Please," he muttered. "There is no one in the world who would be compatible with me." True, Quaxo did want to have a mate and family of his own, but there was one thing stopping him from doing so.
Quaxo was gay. Not bi. He was full – on gay. As in: he liked toms. Mating in the rear. But Bustopher Jones had raised him to believe that being gay was a moral sin. So, the young tom had to keep his sexual orientation private. It hurt when he got to see other gay toms be with someone, so why couldn't he? Either way, Quaxo felt as though the Everlasting Cat put him on Earth to torture his soul – doomed to be alone forever.
"Wait here," Bustopher instructed his nephew. "I am going to talk to Old Deuteronomy, the Jellicle leader. I know he will allow for you to stay, but it's better to ask anyways."
Quaxo nodded silently as the old tom went inside what appeared to be a makeshift den. He sighed and sat down on a nearby tire, gazing around. There was a cluster of kittens staring at him and whispering from a distance away. He scowled and looked away, watching over the junkyard as it came to life with activity. He took notice as the others caught sight of him, yet made no advances towards him. Sighing, Quaxo stroked his bowtie around his neck.
"Well, well. Who have we here?" A deep voice purred. Quaxo turned to see a black and leopard – spotted Maine Coon grinning at him from on top of an old oven. He wore a studded belt, studded collar, leather gloves on his paws, and a leopard print bandana tied around his left thigh. The maned tom hooked his thumbs in his belt, cocking his head to the side slightly. "You lost, kitten?"
"As a matter-of-fact, no," Quaxo replied, sizing up the tom. He was tall. Much taller than Bustopher Jones. "And I'm not a kitten. I've been a tom for a few months now."
He laughed. "Anyways, the name's Rum Tum Tugger. But you can call me Tugger."
"Nice to meet – "
"Ah, there you are!" Bustopher interrupted, walking up to the tuxedo tom. The Maine Coon fell silent, watching Bustopher. "You're all set. I will come back in a week to see how you are settling in. But first, let me introduce you to your sister."
Eager, yet slightly nervous, Quaxo nodded and began following his uncle. He gave a brief bow to the Rum Tum Tugger.
"Hey, wait!" A voice called.
Quaxo turned around as Bustopher kept walking. "Yes?"
"I never got your name," Tugger said.
This was it. Quaxo could start a new life here. Did he want to be a new tom, or continue being the same old Quaxo?
"My name is…Mr. Mistoffelees."