A/N: Ah, this is my first cats fiction. And like, i had to come up with a title in about five minutes. Ok, didn't have to, but i did for your sake. :)
I heart Cats. like you have no idea. Well um, anyone who reads Cats fanfiction probably does have some idea. (I'll shut up) TO BUSINESS!:

Summary: The full backstory of The Magical Mr. Mistoffelees and his lovely hattricks. (Don't worry, he doesn't play hockey. But that gives me an idea...) Also, does anyone else wonder why the Rum Tum Tugger wants to sing the conjurer's song? (I know, it's a considerably vague summary, but ... hey it got you to click.)

Disclaimer: I own none of T. S. Eliot's beautimous cats, nor have I ever written music to his poems. Also, meeting them in my dreams doesn't constitute ownership of Jacob Brent or John Partridge.

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Mistoffelees' house was far from impenetrable; his humans had a bad habit of leaving windows and doors ajar, and their rooftop was an easy hop from the restaurant's next door. Even that one stormy night in November Tugger had found an open window on the top floor, which was why today, early April, Tugger was downright bewildered to find the house locked down like a bomb shelter.

He had already checked the aforementioned window to the upstairs den. No luck. He'd sauntered shamelessly down the stairs of the restaurant and nicked a chicken leg before being chased out, but when he reached Mistoffelees' front door, it was, for once, shut tight. The curtains on the door were pulled.

Curious.

Knowing the kitchen window was often open or at least uncurtained, he leapt daintily onto the sill outside, still carrying the chicken leg, but was displeased to find another glass barrier and darkness inside. Alright, so it was cold for April. Did that really call for such caution? What kind of burglar were you going to find in this neighborhood, anyway? Aside from the Rum Tum Tugger, of course, but his visits were infrequent and Mistoffelees was the only one who ever knew he was there.

He dropped the chicken and yowled expectantly. See if that kitten got any of Tugger's dinner, now.

He stretched lazily, growing increasingly impatient with his lack of service. He had no desire whatsoever to traipse around to the back of the house now that he was on this window, anyone was perfectly capably of letting him in from here. Gazing into the darkness of the quaint kitchen, Tugger could see no sign of movement, even that quiet little black thing, but nonetheless reached up and scratched the window with a large paw.

It didn't take him long to circle the house once and a second time to be sure that indeed, anything that could serve as an entrance or exit to the house was barred. Surely that didn't mean the kid was trapped inside?

His chicken now lay abandoned on the front step, because he really had no desire to eat it cold. Tugger wanted to trot around the block, maybe for some sign of Mistoffelees. There was none. Funny, that Bombalurina should also be missing in action today, although it was common knowledge she had made plans to go mousing in the alley behind the Glutton, so her absence wasn't nearly as suspicious as Mistoffelees'; and furthermore Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer were off terrorizing pollicles at Cornwall Gardens, and Alonzo was stuck watching the kittens all day and all night.

This really only left Munkustrap to keep Tugger company, and it needn't be said that wasn't his first choice. That wasn't his funnest choice, anyway.

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Indeed, Munkustrap turned out to be less of a bore than usual since he wasn't needed for any business by anyone, unless Tugger's business counted. He was always a good partner for hunting birds, at least when he wasn't distracted by "guard duties," as Tugger referred to them, because he was quick but quiet.

In fact, they had a poor naive pigeon cornered between them after only fifteen minutes; of course, after Tugger launched a reckless (and ineffectual) dive-bomb attack out of his position on the tree branch, which earned him a sharp swat from Munkustrap, they never really got another good chance.

"Weren't you going over to see that little black kitten today?" Munkustrap asked, after they'd found a safe place for relaxing downtown under an abandoned Ford.

"Oh, yeah! He wasn't there. I mean, I didn't see him there. All the windows were shut, I didn't see anyone, actually."

"What do you mean, you didn't see anyone?"

"Oh, you know, those humans. I couldn't find them. And all the windows were shut. Did I say that already...? It was so weird."

"When was that?" Munkustrap asked, gazing across the road at someone taking out their trash.

"Um...maybe an hour ago? No, maybe two?"

"Maybe they're all back now."

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The Rum Tum Tugger was getting bored. He had already seen this side of town today, but Munkustrap wanted to look again for Mr. Mistoffelees. ("What if he was expecting you, and they were all just asleep, and you insulted him by not showing this morning..." and so on. Munkustrap could give quite a lecture.)

Tugger sniffed at the chicken leg he had abandoned several hours before, and as he was wondering if it might still be any good, his thoughts were interrupted by a shout.

"Hey, Tug, did you hear that?"

Yes, that chicken is calling my name. "Hear what?"

Munkustrap took a moment to answer. "There! That!"

Exhasperated, Tugger shouted back, "Where are you even at?"

"Come here!"

Tugger rolled his eyes and followed his friend's voice to the corner of the restaurant. Dusk was falling. He could just make out Munkustrap's bright verdant eyes in the shadow of a beastly pick-up truck. Then, suddenly, he heard a very distinct cry from the alley between the restuarant and the building next door.

Munkustrap saw that Tugger had heard. "That's a cat," he stated.

"That's a hungry cat," Tugger agreed.

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NOTE: I hope that didn't bore anyone, I couldn't think of how to start this darn thing!! Feedback would be appreciated, I think my introduction here is less that satisfactory.