Disclaimer: Obviously I do not own 'Cats'. Andrew Lloyd Webber does.

Dedicated to my little brother who was away when I wrote this. If he was here cracking jokes I'd never have been able to finish!

The Junkyard was not pleasant in this extreme heat. In fact, it had begun to smell. The only cat brave enough to bear the great blast of the sun (and indeed the stench) was Cassandra, who sat so poised and still that a passing human may have mistaken for a statue. She had seen greater heat waves and she would see greater yet.

Watching her from one of the highest peaks of the junkyard was The Rum Tum Tugger. She acknowledged his watchful gaze with only the briefest of glances and slunk off into the shadows.

The Maine Coon smiled to himself. Was she teasing him? He would have followed her but it was too hot to lift a muscle. Instead, he lay stretched out under a large overhanging branch that did an excellent job of shielding him from the sun. The last thing Tugger wanted was to get sunburn. He couldn't imagine anything worse than raw pink flaky skin. He would rather, as amazing as it seemed, spend a week being ignored than appear outside with a sun-burnt face. Although, if such a traumatic event did happen to him he was sure Mr Mistoffelees could help him out with some spell or potion.

Speaking of which, where was Misto? Tugger carefully scanned the area. It wasn't like the tuxedo cat to disappear completely. Maybe Tugger just couldn't see him from so high up? No, he knew Misto was small but he wasn't that small. He was probably inside like the older toms and queens. When Tugger was bored of being adored by the giggling kittens below then he'd go find his friend.

It was a pity the older cats weren't here. He was on his best behaviour. All these years of being scolded for misbehaving or being inconsiderate or cheeky and they were missing him behaving perhaps the best he would ever behave in his lifetime! Typical. Well, it was their loss. Next time he saw them he would pull out all of the stops, be at his absolute worst. They could scold all they liked.

Hang on, why did they scold? It wasn't as if he was a kitten and he was respectful...some of the time. Now that he thought about it, they were just plain rude. How did they expect him to act like Munkustrap when they treated him like Pouncival? It must be jealousy. They were missing their own wild youth.

"Dirty old coots," he chuckled under his breath.

At least the kittens treated him with desire and respect...even if it was, at times, way too overenthusiastic for even him to cope. A small group of them stood beneath him, exchanging excited whispers. Occasionally, Etcetera would dissolve into a fit of uncontrollable hysterics, or they would all pause and look up at him admiringly before returning to their huddle. He had no idea what exactly they were planning but it would no doubt be highly amusing. They were sweet kittens. The young toms weren't too bad either. They would march around with enough of a swagger in their walk to be The Rum Tum Tugger himself and if he gave them so much as a nod, their chests would swell with pride. Tugger could only conclude from everyone's behaviour that they were either madly in love with him or wanted to be him.

That was what real power was. It wasn't having control over many cat minions or having awe-inspiring strength or intelligence. It was about being lusted after and loved by as many cats as possible. And that, thought Tugger with a thin lipped smile, is something I have plenty of.He stared out across the junkyard, surveying his kingdom. He, The Rum Tum Tugger, could have anything he wanted.

Across from him, Bombalurina caught his eye and gave a sly wink. He pursed his lips and ignored her, choosing instead to try and get Demeter's attention. Oh dear, the poor kitty was trying so hard to ignore him. Her eyes stared fixedly ahead of her as she chatted to Bomba.

"Demeter," he purred loudly, "Demeter, Demeter, Demeter."

Eventually, the queen cracked. She turned around, her eyes burning with angry hatred. Unfortunately, her glare never reached the Maine Coon, who was too busy inspecting his paws. He looked up in time, however, to receive a mock angry glare from Bomba, which he gleefully returned. He considered ignoring the heat and leaping down the junk piles to squeeze between their two slim bodies with his own equally impressive one. He'd put his arms around both (at the risk of getting mauled by Demeter) and lick the side of Bomba's face before bounding out of reach.

Bomba was delicious. No... That came out wrong. He didn't mean she was tasty in an edible way; she tasted of cat – obviously – and also strangely of fish. Anyway, that wasn't what he meant. He meant she was saucy, tempting and, like him, perfectly formed. That was what he meant. He liked to see her, to hear her, to smell her, to touch her, to... well, not so much to taste her but he could ignore that. After all, he had never been one for cannibalism. He especially liked waking up in his den and realising it was her next to him (and not just because it meant he hadn't made another terrible mistake or that she wasn't a kitten who had broken in).

Most of all, however, he loved their little games. He would alternatively ignore her or lather attention upon her and she, in turn, would caress him until he could ignore her no longer or tease him. The Rum Tum Tugger did not like her teasing him. He was not some hapless fool like the other toms she showered with her attention. She would deliberately let him see her with other toms, too. It would start with her running her paw up the young tom's leg as she danced. He hated this mostly because it worked. He wouldn't say this to her though. No, he would instead say he was rescuing her. After all, Bomba liked experienced 'dancers'. After that they came to his favourite part of the game – the results. Why? It was always, no matter what, a draw.

The game had started when they were very young kittens. Of course, it was perfectly innocent then. Tugger smiled to himself. Even he found it hard to believe that he and Bomba were once naive and pure minded. It had started with games of tag and other kitten favourites, such as stuck in the mud.

Thinking of that game, in particular, made him wince. Why had no one bothered to explain to him and his brother Munkustrap that when someone really is stuck in mud then walking in-between their legs doesn't help? In fact, it just makes your so-called saver stuck, too. Then you both look like idiots. It had been Bomba who had discovered them, still standing there and arguing about whether or not they should shout for help.

They had shut up as soon as they saw her. All three had stared at each other in silence. Until, that is, Bomba burst out laughing. Eventually, she calmed down enough to ask if they needed any help. Tugger, being the more sensible of the two, had politely informed her that they were not stuck but were in actual fact playing humans and horses, and would she kindly leave.

"So," she had purred to Munkustrap, "do you always ride your horse backwards?"

Before Tugger had time to reply with what would no doubt have been a witty and humorous response, his pathetic brother had told her everything. The next thing he knew, he had been forced into a pool of cold water by Jellylorum. His brother had sat opposite him, glowering.

"I asked him to get help, Jelly, I told him! He was being stupid," Munkustrap had moaned in-between scrubs.

"Don't be a tell tale," the older cat said sternly. "What were you two silly cats doing out there? No, don't struggle, dear, you'll only make it worse. It was very lucky Bomba was there to help."

Said kitten had given a nauseatingly smug smile in Tugger's direction.

"You dare tell anyone about this," he hissed, "and I will pull all of your fur out and tell little Quaxo you love him and want to kiss him!"

The other kitten looked up at him with large sincere eyes and swore she'd never tell a living soul.

To this day, Misto (or Quaxo as he was then known) still thought he'd had a chance with the spicy red queen.

The fur pulling hadn't gone quite so well. In the ensuing struggle, Tugger had lost half his mane and Jellylorum had been given the ideal opportunity to clean up the rest of 'that horrible bird nest'. The cheek.

There had been one game the pair played on a regular basis. It was called Traffic dodgers. It involved...well, the name said it all. The kittens (or road kill as they liked to call themselves) would take it in turns to run across the road just outside the Junkyard. As the day wore on, the traffic would get busier and more and more kittens would chicken out. Ultimately, the bravest kitten (the one who had successfully crossed the road the most times) was proclaimed champion. The much sought after prize was for all losing kittens to act as your servant for an entire day.

Tugger had been the undisputed champion for most of his kitten life. He had gotten to that immortal stage where the other kittens refused to challenge him for fear of having to, yet again, serve under that masterful tyrant. However, his score had finally been beaten soon before he had become an adult.

It had been a lot of the kittens' last match before they inevitably became boring, mature and sensible. Naturally, all of the kittens had turned up. Even Quaxo, who was of the squeamish nature, showed his face. Munkustrap had been referee.

Tugger still did not quite know what had gone wrong. Personally, he blamed the opposition (Bomba) for distracting him. He had stepped out into what he believed to be an empty road only to be blinded halfway by a pair of unnecessary headlights. Much to Tugger's delight, what followed was a magnificent overreaction.

All as one, the kittens had uttered a massive scream. Munkustrap had suddenly been at his side, taking charge of 'saving' his brothers apparently fast fading life. In reality, The Rum Tum Tugger was only suffering from concussion and a grazed leg. In fact, he hadn't even touched the car. Confused and panicked by the headlights, he had gracefully tripped over his own paws and allowed the car to pass smoothly overhead. However, that was not what the others had seen and Tugger had been more than happy to indulge in their wild grief. After all, it was not every day you heard people shouting you were too wonderful to die (maybe being insanely attractive did give him the right to immortality). The next thing he knew, Skimbleshanks and Asparagus were carrying him to the family den, where he lay in his mock coma for what felt like days (but was really five minutes). When he believed everyone was suitably bereaved and broken hearted he had slowly opened his eyes. With a look that could melt even the fiercest of cats he had asked what all the fuss was about.

As expected, a small, delicate form had thrown themselves upon him and began sobbing into his chest. Tugger had patted Bomba's shaking back and looked around the room. Old Deuteronomy, his father, had been to the right of him, smiling down reassuringly and under his arm had been a tearful Munkustrap (yes, his annoying older brother had truly cried over him). The door had been crowded with a mob of squirming kittens, all of which were straining desperately to get a look at him and on his left had been Jellylorum with a kind arm around a beaming Bomba's shoulders. Then he had felt sick. It was not because he had almost died but because the kitten hugging him to death had not been Bomba, as he had previously expected, but Quaxo. Blast.

The 'harrowing' event had both advantages and disadvantages. The bad news had been that the road was now guarded by at least one responsible cat at all times and that during all the commotion Mungojerrie had beaten his high score by six points.

On the plus side, however, he now had a war wound. It had impressed kittens and caused older queens to mother him and Bomba to lick it better. Now days it was more of an inconvenience as it had become infected. In order to protect his dignity he kept it covered by tying a cloth around the ghastly sight.

Speaking of ghastly sights, another bonus was that his brother had cried. However, in trying to get his brother to admit this he had accidentally exposed the whole charade.

Munkustrap had sighed into his paws then stared Tugger fixedly in the eyes.

"You need to grow up."

The hypocrite. Munkustrap had never grown up. He had been born that way.

He, Tugger, was much more relaxed. Unlike Munkustrap he had never limited himself and was ALWAYS willing to have a laugh. Life wasn't worth living if you spent your entire time being all prissy and neat. This is why open and free Tugger could have anything and stuffy Munkustrap could not.

"No, you couldn't."

Startled out of his daydream, The Rum Tum Tugger yet out a yelp of surprise and almost fell screaming off his perch.

"How long," he hissed at the grinning cat, "have you been there, Quaxo?"

"Well, Tugsy, that is for me to know and for you to-"

"Yes, I know, for me to find out. But, my magical friend, how can I if you don't tell me?"

"Oh...er...that...makes sense..."

"Yes and..."

"One hour and fifteen minutes and forty-three seconds."

"Exactly?"

"Exactly."

Tugger stared at the tom suspiciously. Of course, he knew Misto was... uniquely talented and he was very accepting of this...no, he was more than accepting – heck, he loved it. Misto was a cool cat. One tiny thing bothered him, however. Could the boy wonder read minds?

"No, I can't."

"What?!?"

"You've been talking out loud...it was weird."

"And spying on me for one hour, fifteen minutes and forty-three seconds isn't?"

"Um, yeah, anyway, you couldn't have anything you wanted."

"And why not?"

"Well, you couldn't have the Junkyard."

"Fair point. I wouldn't want it anyway. Too much responsibility. Old D is welcome to it."

"And you couldn't have Demeter."

"She wants me really," the Maine Coon replied coolly.

Misto rolled his eyes and continued. "And you couldn't have a mate."

"I couldn't have a mate," Tugger snorted. What was Misto thinking? Tugger was an idol. He could have any queen (or tom) he pleased.

"Misto, I have people falling head over heels to get a piece of me! Bomba is just dying to have my kittens."

"Ah, but could you have hers?"

"I think you and I, being reasonable toms, both know that this is physically impossible."

He grinned to himself. He would have to repeat that joke to Bomba.

"Actually, I know a spell that –"

"NO! It is physically impossible," Tugger cringed.

"Anyway, that's not what I meant. I meant you were not mature enough."

And there was that word. It seemed almost every conversation he had in the last few weeks had ended with that word.

"Hey, that's not a bad thing," Misto said quickly. "A world without The Rum Tum Tugger would be boring!"

Nevertheless, Misto was right. The one thing The Rum Tum Tugger couldn't have was a mate.

He couldn't have Bomba...

And it hurt.

Thanks for reading!
This was intended as a one-shot but I have some ideas for future chapters/sequels. If you think it is a bad idea for me to expand on this story please stop me before it's too late.