Well, here I am again! And I'm finally back because I just graduated from high school, and am more or less free. For those who may be wondering, I do intend to continue my other unfinished fics relatively soon. But I really wanted to write about another character, and since I have spent most of my life involved in theatre (I actually just won my school's performing arts award, bragbragandboast), this story about Gus flourished in my mind and grew in appeal.
So, here it is.
On a final note, I do not own Cats, or any works by T.S. Eliot or Andrew Lloyd Webber, or Shakespeare's Julius Caesar or A Midusmmer Night's Dream, Marlowe's Doctor Faustus, or Beckett's Waiting for Godot (and for good measure, the latter of which I have absolutely nothing against).
"And the ladies' shrieks ceased for a moment long enough to hear me cry, 'Et tu, Brute? Then fall Caesar!' after which the collective gasp rang out while I collapsed, as a weighty corpse, cold even to look at, onto the pedestal of Pompey!"
The old cat breathed heavily, having reached the end of his relation, and licked his lips. As if waking from a dream, he shook his head, and looked at his niece, Jellylorum, almost with surprise, having nearly forgotten she was even there.
She beamed at him. "Dear Uncle Gus, you tell your stories with such verve! It's like you're the young, sensational star yet again!"
Gus gave her a small, trembling smile. He could still almost see Brutus before him, posed to strike.
Jellylorum looked at him with tender affection. "I bet it would've been wonderful to see you perform."
Gus nodded. "Yes…but that was a long time ago." He lifted his head. "A long time ago…in this very spot."
He was referring to the dusty stage floor on which the pair sat. "Yes," he contineud. "Yes, it's been some time since I or this old theatre have been of any use."
Jellylorum followed his travelling gaze. It was true - she could barely recall the last time she had seen the thinning curtains open to reveal an elaborate set or backdrop on the stage, whose walls now let off a light scent of mildew. It had been ages ago that those faded velvet seats held anything other than a layer of cobwebs, and lately the only feet that trod the dark aisle were that of Gus, practically living here as he was, and Jellylorum, his frequent and adoring visitor. His son, Asparagus II, had of course come often, but that was before he became the father of four rambunctious kittens. Gus understood, and was content to remain here with the company of his memories and visions, and of Jellylorum, whenever she could spare the time. But she couldn't help but worry about him; she knew that he was quite old, and had difficulty leaving his glory days behind - which was precisely her concern. Gus just didn't seem able to move on. For the past few months, all he ever could talk about were his roles and characters in the many performances he had partaken in.
Looking at him now, his expression was vacant and his eyes glazed over, clearly occupied with images unapparent to Jellylorum. "Uncle?" she spoke tentatively. He didn't respond. "Uncle," she said more firmly.
"Hm? Yes?" he answered distractedly.
"I have to be getting back to the Junkyard now. Will you, er…" she paused uncomfortably. "Will you…be alright here?"
He stared blankly. "What do you mean?"
"I mean…here, by yourself. Do you think you'll be OK?"
He smiled and absentmindedly patted her on the head, as if she were a little kitten again.
"Of course I'll be alright, Lorry Dear."
"It's just that I worry about you," she began carefully. "You're all alone here, and not as strong as you used to be. If you lived in the Junkyard again, with the rest of us, it would be much easier to get help if you needed it, but here…if something were to happen to you, no one might find out until I come visit you again."
"Jellylorum," he said firmly, though with a hint of sadness, "I am old because I am meant to be. As it is with all else. Don't worry so - remember, it was not so long ago that I was taking care of you."
Jellylorum didn't say it, but thought that it actually had been very long ago.
"Now," he continued, "you had best get on home. Goodness knows Asparagus can't manage all those kittens himself!"
"Really, Uncle Gus!" said Jellylorum. "He has Jennyanydots, you know!"
"Yes, and four kittens!" Gus now chuckled a little, and Jellylorum felt a wave of relief to hear the old tom laugh. She nuzzled his cheek, and said warmly, "Goodnight, Uncle - I'll be back soon."
"Yes," he replied eagerly. "And then perhaps I can tell you again of my eleventh year as Faustus!"
"I look forward to it," she answered with her characteristic grin. Then she nimbly leapt down from the stage, making her way down the aisle.
And as she disappeared, Gus allowed his face to fall. Though the tom had weakened with age and was limited in gesticulations with his palsy paws, he could still put on a convincing act when convincing his niece that he was confident enough to be alone for who knew how long.
"Old Gus, are you just old hat, or an old fool as well?" he mumbled to himself.
He slowly pulled himself to standing, and on tottery legs disappeared down a wing to backstage.
He carefully stroked the ropes that served as pulleys for the curtains and backdrops. Fraying - even if they were ever to have a use again, a number would need replacing. He proceeded along the wall, fumbling for a light-switch in the darkness. And there it was - the backstage was dimly lit with a row of faint bulbs, adorned with nesting spiders. The interior was spacious, though cluttered in some corners with long-forgotten props that no longer maintained a use. Gus shook his head before pushing open a door. Again, he found a light switch that barely illuminated the corridor. He opened a door on his right: the light from the hallway hinted at the rows of mirrors framed with blown-bulbs, and in the back of the room a row of hangers supporting moth-eaten costumes.
Gus to chuckled bitterly to himself. "The theatre is certainly not what it once was."
Gus recalled some time ago the last theatre production he had seen in another, smaller theatre in London. It had been a new, absurdist play called 'Waiting for Godot.' Critics had praised it as the best English-language play of this century - but Gus hadn't thought much of it. "These modern productions are all very well…" he muttered now. Making sure to turn off all the lights, he wandered back the stage, and with some difficulty hopped off its edge, to settle in a front-row seat. Gazing forward, he tried to imagine 'Godot' on the surface before him - but it didn't seem to fit. Perhaps he was just too used to the old-fashioned theatrics.
A smile crept up on him as he recalled images and summoned them before him, intangible performers recreating his favourite works.
"It's been too long," he sighed.
"Too long indeed."
Gus turned to the seat next to him, his neighbour revealed to be a cloaked, translucent figure. "Ah," said Gus casually. "So we meet again, Firefrorefiddle."
"Gus, you old fool," the apparition replied. "I'm always here: right…here…" he illustrated each last word with a gentle tap to Gus' head with a single claw.
Gus laughed, before subsiding into a fit of coughs. He hacked callously, before saying, "You old fiend."
Firefrorefiddle tilted his head, as if amused. "Fiend or friend? And speaking of old…you may be old hat and an old fool, but do you really think that you're too old to learn a few new tricks?"
"I don't think I'll ever become accustomed to these new works, if that's what you mean."
"No…I am merely suggesting you adopt a new role."
"You fiend, just look at me: I'm no longer fit for the stage."
"You can still be a star without being in the spotlight."
This caught Gus' attention. "Well," he answered slowly, "I may be an old fool…but you're the first bit of sense I've had in a long while. I'm listening."
Just what has the Fiend of the Fell (or Gus, to be technical) got up his sleeve? Let me know what you think so far in your reviews!