Chapter 1: Prologue
A/N: I don't own Cats, I'm sure that's a surprise!
A large, portly black tomcat sat on a luxurious satin cushion. He was almost completely black with a white bib and paws. His paws looked like gloves and spats, giving the tom a refined look. He buried his white face into his gloved paws and shook his head. It was clear that the middle-aged tom was trying to keep a torrent of emotion stifled inside.
The scene of the makeshift den inside the abandoned vacation home could not easily be interpreted.
Sitting directly across from the hefty, tuxedoed tom sat a smaller, more muscular tabby tom. This cat was a steel gray with black stripes and hard silver eyes. The smaller cat was much younger and his muscles were well defined beneath his groomed pelt. He leaned forward, his black paws resting delicately on another elegant pillow. His intense gaze intently stared at the older tom as if he could pierce through the white paws.
A ways away, in another room sat a fair white queen. She sat so perfectly, it was if an artist's brush had carefully constructed each line of her body. She was a real beauty, not a single splotch of color stained pristine fur. A large book rested open in front of her as she sat erect, looking at the pages. Brilliant diamonds sparkled in the candlelight as they rested along a pink ribbon tied at her throat.
The older tom shook his head, burying his grief even further. "I don't know Munkustrap, I don't know. She has been like this since…since then!"
The silver tabby, Munkustrap, glanced towards the graceful queen. He turned back, staring at the ground in front of him. "I mean, she's reading a book, Bustopher… that's more than nothing…" He added weakly, giving a meek shrug.
Bustopher threw his paws down to his knees and shot an angry glare at Munkustrap. "This is not a time for jokes! I'm serious!" He angrily pointed a paw at the queen in the adjacent room. "She hasn't turned a page since you got here, about an hour ago, or even before that! She's not reading." Bustopher quickly dropped his paw before she noticed. He gave a feint sadistic chuckle as he realized how silly a thought that even was.
Black paws massaged Munkustrap's temples as he continued to stare at the ground. He couldn't bear to bring his eyes up to meet these two cats filled with pain and grief. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that…I was trying to be optimistic."
A snort of derision was his only reply.
"I really am sorry, but I don't know what else to tell you." He added as he began to fiddle with a bare thread on the cushion beneath him.
"I know…I was really just hoping she would perk up if someone from the junkyard came…" After a moment of tense silence, a loud, grief filled groan emitted from the very core of Bustopher as he buried his face once again. Munkustrap could barely make out his words as Bustopher mumbled through his paws, "I've lost more than one kit!"
Munkustrap was struck speechless. How do you respond to that? He had never had kittens yet, so he could only imagine the pain ripping the poor father. The young daughter's emotions were completely unavailable to his mind. How could such a tragedy fall on such a loving family?
Munkustrap could still picture William running through the junkyard, a blur of white and black. He had been best friends with Pouncival, and oh, the trouble those two had gotten in. William had been much younger than Munkustrap, but older than his white sister. He was only a year or two out of kittenhood.
No one could predict how cats act when they loose someone dear, but the junkyard hadn't been prepared for a tragedy to fall on such a young tom. Bustopher had stopped coming to the yard completely, and many had feared his parental duties were failing as well. Victoria, William's sister, had completely shut down. The Jellicles had begun to wonder if this broken family could ever be repaired.
Munkustrap had been so eager to come on this visit in hopes that everything was not as lost as it had appeared to the yard, but he quickly realized it was far worse. After a few more agonizing moments of miserable silence, he cleared his throat, claiming Bustopher's attention back from his self-pity. "I must head back. It's getting dark, and I need to lead patrol tonight." He couldn't leave fast enough. He really did care for Bustopher, and especially Victoria, but there was nothing he could do at the moment. The despair seemed to clutch at him and almost physically weigh him down.
Bustopher looked up with an almost forlorn expression. "Oh yes, of course. I-I thank you for coming." He quickly stood and held his paw out as if to usher the tabby out of the den.
Munkustrap nodded, unsure of what to say next. As they approached the small hole in the boarded door, he turned and held his paw out to the grieving father. "I really am sorry for your loss. We'll be holding a service for William at the yard tomorrow."
The black and white tom stiffened, and eyed the silver tabby before him. He then gave a curt nod and turned away. Munkustrap was clearly able to show himself out. The young tom shrugged, and slipped into the night.
Bustopher stood in the doorway and watched Victoria with tears in his eyes. Running through his mind were prayers that her snowy paws would turn a single page, or do something to indicate she was even alive. Instead, the queen sat as still as a ghost, her rhythmic breathing the only indication that she wasn't a complete specter.
"Victoria, darling. I think we can call it a night." Bustopher tried to purr as he went around and extinguished all the candles.
Even in the darkness, the queen continued to stare at the book with her unseeing eyes. A shiver ran down Bustopher's spine, it was a chilling sight. The old tom was filled with grief as he turned to the window to stare at the rising moon. He had never felt so alone. He had been torn apart by the death of his mate, Isabella, but this new level of desolation left him completely unable to cope. His lovely mate had died before either of his kittens could remember, and Bustopher was her memory's keeper. He did not want that responsibility for the rest of his family too.
He turned back towards the ghost in the room and tried to rub the weariness from one of his eyes. "Please, Victoria. William would listen to me."
Victoria's ear flicked at his last comment. It was the first response Bustopher had had from her since William's death, two weeks ago.
A/N: So what do you think? This is obviously going to be a multi-chapter story… but unless I hear that you really like it, I might just put it on the back burner for a while… But if you really like it, let me know (review, anonymous review, PM, anything). If I hear that you'd like me to continue sooner, I will make this one of my priorities along with my other story, I just needed to get this chapter out, it was bugging my mind. Hehe That aside, I also like to hear critiques or constructive criticism. Hope you enjoyed! :D