A/N: Well, ladles and jellyspoons! Another CATS fanfiction from yours truly! Have I finally found my fandom? The Cat only knows...:P. This hopefully lengthy and probably, at points, disturbing piece of claptrap sprung from a flash-back idea I had for Precious Metals, my other (and as of late, dismally discarded) CATS fic, and grew from there. However, I'm beginning to babble so I'll let you get on with it, shall I? Enjoy!

PROLOUGE

Introduction

A long time ago (possibly in a galaxy far far away – you never do know about these things) there were three young brothers, and they were Jellicles.

The eldest, Munkustrap, was a silver tabby, quiet and mostly serious, obedient to his elders but with a core of steel and a warm sense of humour that made him a good candidate for the tribe's future leader.

The youngest, Tugger (Not yet discovering the self-imposed title of the Rum Tum) – well, his size may have once made him a good possibility, but he was proud and boastful, and rather too doted upon by the females of the tribe, his own mother being in no good state to care for a kitten ('no better than she should've been' – according to his nursemaids). Also, although no-one said it aloud, he had never been, and probably never would be, the bravest or the brightest cat in the junkyard – his curious nature was not tempered by a great deal of common sense, and it got him into scrapes more regularly than it got him out of them.

Then there was the middle kitten, Runda, a slender, red-haired creature with not a small degree of magical talent, and whose high intelligence was not often put to a great deal of use when it came to dealing with other beings; quite often was he rebuked for misdemeanours caused by a quick temper and a strong urge to be proved better than his elder brother.

Technically, the three were only related on their father's side, only really half-brothers – Deuteronomy had always been unusually charitable for a tomcat, even for one who was the current alpha for the largest Jellicle tribe in London and the surrounding areas. And it showed, as Munkustrap was the only one who bore even the slightest similarity in colour and many toms would've taken only he under their wing and discarded the other two; perhaps another reason as to why it wasthe tabbywho was to be chosen as heir apparent – the 'crowned prince' of the tribe, as it were.

As to the other two – Tugger's mother had had little or no interest in kittens, as has been stated previously, and would have been unmoved by leaving the then-tiny Somali kitten to starve, had not some last remaining spark of compassion compelled Grizabella to hand him over to the more kitten-friendly queens of the tribe, before disappearing back into the rain-soaked night.

Runda's mother was dead – had died soon after he had been born. Later, much later, some would whisper that she had taken after her mother, his grandmother, (a certain blue-point Siamese, a visionary of her kind, who would have been, in a skewed way, proud of her grandson) that she had been a prophetess and had taken her life after seeing what her kitten was to become.

(Macavity!)

There are little or no records regarding Munkustrap's dam at all. She, too, is presumed to be dead.

Life one – missing kittens and discovered powers

Only

There is shadow under this red rock

(come in under the shadow of this red rock)

and I wll show you something different from

your shadow at morning striding behind you

and your shadow at evening rising to meet you

I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

- T.S Eliot's The Waste Land

Runda was a gawky, clumsy kitten, and he hated it. He knew he had more grace than his fluff-ball of a younger brother, Tugger, whose over-large paws spoke of the great size he would one day grow to, which did not make him any more nimble on them, but the thought comforted little.

He wished he could have the stoic grace and speed of his big brother Munkustrap. The silver kitten, only just past his seventh moon, already expressed the responsibility and strength that would one day cause him to be the tribe's alpha.

The cause of Runda's jealously – although he did not know the word yet, the feeling fitted the label perfectly – leapt down from the top of a near-by crate, startling the red kitten out of his thoughts.

"Where's Tugger? Aunt Tiggy says it's his nap-time."

Runda shrugged, "How should I know?"

Munkustrap's ears flicked back. "You were meant to be watching him, that's why."

Oops. The younger cat tried not to look guilty. He had been, but then he'd gotten so caught up in sounding out the words in the headlines of an old newspaper (he was teaching himself to read and enjoying it immensely) he'd let the smallest of the trio wander off – a habit little Tugger was all too fond of.

Munkustrap sighed and ran a hand through his still slightly kitten-fluffed headfur, a trait he'd picked up from his father and made Runda want to giggle to watch. "C'mon then. Help me find him before he gets himself stuck in box or something, like last time."

Now that provoked a giggle. The elder sibling gave a small glare that would be well perfected over the coming years, then clambered back over the row of crates, the ginger kitten following with some difficulty.

In the end, it took little searching to ascertain where Tugger had gotten himself this time, for a thin layer of April snow covered the ground, making it all too easy to discover the direction the youngest of Deuteronomy's sons had taken.

Up, naturally.

Somehow – only the everlasting cat knew how – the tiny tom had managed to clamber to the very top of one of the narrow and rotting poles of a recently-dumped four-poster bedstead, and was, of course, very, very stuck.

"Help! Help!" he mewed, terrified. It had seemed like a good idea at the time… if only he hadn't looked down…

At the bottom of the post, Munkustrap huffed out a cloud of air, getting more annoyed by the second, and gave Runda a look that said, quite clearly, 'you know this is all your fault.'

"Yeah, yeah, I'm gone already," the middle kitten muttered, trying his claws on the post.

They sunk in easily, which may or may not have been a good thing. He adjusted his grip, and began to climb.

The weather was spring-wintry, as previously mentioned, and frost had made the pole icy. The cold burned his paws but he still clambered on, spurred on by his elder brother's disapproving look from below and his younger brother's panicked cries from above.

Eventually, he reached the summit, and the little tawny fluffball nearly made him fall off again.

"Tugger, get off me!" Runda was half tempted to shove the little kitten off and see if he'd bounce. The way he was acting now made it likely. "How in the deepest basement did you even get up here?"

"I don't know." He looked up with grey-blue eyes that would one day turn to bright gold and cause dozens of queens to fall at his feet. "I was playing really near, like you said to, then I thought it'd be fun to see the whole junkyard at the same time, and this looked big enough."

I thought it'd be fun would be another thing, another phase to be much over-used in this one's future.

"Whatever. Here, c'mon." The ginger kitten grabbed the smaller one by the scruff of his neck and dropped him down to Munkustrap, who caught him safely and began to give him a thorough dressing- down.

Runda rolled his eyes and was about to begin the descent, when a strong wind, unseasonable for this time of year, rolled past and shook the ageing post, weakened further by even the slight weight of the two kittens. The one that was still up there crouched and dug all four sets of claws in, as the pillar swayed alarmingly. He wanted to cry out, wanted some adult cat to come to his rescue, as he slid even further off the slippery-cold pole, but all he could manage was a pathetic 'eeep,' before he finally lost his grip…

And fell, to the sharp and splintered teeth of the shattered bed-frame below, the shocked and frightened cries of his siblings ringing in his ears.

Instinctively, the red kitten spread his paws wide and clenched his eyes and teeth tight shut in preparation for the jarring, possibly fatal impact.

That never came.

After a moment, Runda forced himself to relax enough to open one eye. Was he dead? No, he couldn't be. He could still smell and feel the biting cold, still hear the gasps of the onlookers - his brothers been joined by two of the other kittens, and several older cats – and still feel his heart pounding in his chest.

Then why did he seem to be standing on mid-air?

Gingerly (no pun intended) the little cat flexed his claws, still extended to land. It felt like there was…something…under his paws. The nearest he could compare it to was some very soft material bundled under his feet and supporting him.

"Runda, you're floating." Breathed Tugger, from his place between his father's paws.

"It's a miracle." Said Deuteronomy, firmly.

"It is magic, leader…"

"…nothing more."

The mystical twins watched the scene with mild amusement, then turned their eyes to Runda, who still was still floating, uncontrolled and unable to move.

Well done, apprentice. They chorused, in Runda's spinning head.

"I'm not –"

You are now. Be at peace with your powers and your destiny, for both shall be great.

Well, they were right, from a certain point of view.

NINE LIVES

(The documentation of the life and rise of Macavity, the Napoleon of Crime.)

To be continued…

A/N: If you've heard the jingle,

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