Jemima yawned widely and stretched out, from the points of her claws through the arch in her back to the tip of her tail.
She tucked her knees and elbows back underneath her and put her chin on her paws. The shade of the large black drain-pipe was cool and relaxing. Safely out of the heat of the sun-drenched junkyard, she could finally take a nap.
And she needed it. Jemima's nose twitched under her drooping eyes. Her ribs ached from a "sneak attack" a certain very annoying tom-kit had planted on her. She was glad she could find shade and seclusion at the end of this pipe, which wrapped unexpectedly from the middle of the junkyard, under the piles of junk, and ended up at the southernmost end. Nobody expected it, and few of them were small enough to go through the pipe to its other end.
Misto knew, of course; in fact, it had been he who showed the pipe to her and Victoria. But Victoria promptly forgot, so Jemima kept the information to herself to secure a hiding space.
And boy, did she need it.
She, along with Electra and Etcetera, was coming of age at the next Jellicle Ball in two months' time. And things had gone (for lack of a better term) crazy.
Not just things. Jemina's brow wrinkled. Certain tom-kits too. Plato, for instance. He'd become just a little bit overbearing. You couldn't walk by anymore without him interrogating you; wanting to know why and where and how, acting like he was Munkustrap and you were up to something very Rumpleteazer-like.
Sure, he was the oldest and the biggest of the new toms, but Jemima certainly didn't think that gave him reason to act like the Supreme Lord of the Junkyard. Even Alonzo told him off for being a self-righteous ass, and if anyone had self-righteous ass covered it was Alonzo.
Jemima blushed slightly, thinking of Alonzo. Then her thoughts drifted back to the annoying toms. Tumblebrutus, too, was acting crazy. He was tumbling, and hand-springing, and jumping and leaping and bouncing all of the time. He took especial pains to flip over Etcy and Ele and land in front of them with a smile. He also seemed to expect some kind of praise and took it very harshly the other day when Electra, who had been fairly frightened by his sudden appearance, yelled at him for being a "hyper-active jerk."
And Pouncival…
Jemima shuddered. She did not want to start thinking about Pouncival. He was the craziest of the bunch. Always the prankster, the class clown, the attention hog, he had taken to being—well—more annoying.
Especially to her, Jemima.
He would sprinkle water on her head, and then shuffle up extreme amounts of dust; bump into her every chance he got (which was bad: she was tiny and nearly knocked over every time) or, the worst thing, "sneak attack" her.
Which basically comprised of him tackling her whenever she was unsuspecting and yelling, "Sneak attack!" in very, very loud voice. To make matters worse, he did it at least ten times a day. Jemima wondered how she could still be caught so off-guard.
She liked Pounce; really, she did. He was funny and clever and playful. But it was just too much!
Jemima squeezed her eyes shut. She wasn't fool enough not to know what it probably meant. With her big brown eyes she could see the way Pounce's face lit up when she laughed at his jokes. She had an inkling of how he felt.
But she forced the memory of his merry face out of her brain. She didn't want to deal with that sort of thing. A grown-up thing. Jemima shivered.
The slower these two months went by, the better.
Voices fell on Jemima's ears. She sat up. The voices were awfully close. Her pert little ears strained to recognize them.
She thought no one else knew about this area!
She focused on the first voice, a male voice; drawling and careless, but with a bright ring to it. The second voice was softer and sultry.
Jemima held her breath and peered out of the pipe.
The Rum Tum Tugger was there. Only a few feet away from him stood Bombalurina, smiling in a rather seductive manner. It was clear they were having a lover's walk, or something like that.
Jemima shrank back into the pipe. It appeared they were moving in her direction. She hoped the shadow inside the pipe was dark enough to hide her. She flattened herself against the cool metal floor.
"It's quite a mouthful," Tugger said, striding a few steps ahead of the red queen. "Bom-ba-lu-ri-na. That's five syllables."
Bomba cooed, "Ooo, I'm so impressed. The Rum Tum Tugger can count."
He smirked and ignored the slight.
Bomba continued, "But your own name is five syllables."
"Oh?" he said.
"Yes! The-Rum-Tum-Tug-ger—five, exactly!"
"Well, I do like syllables."
"What's this?" she teased, "Are you admitting to liking something? How unlike you."
"I only like," he spun around suddenly and sang, mimicking his performance at the last Jellicle Ball, "what I find…for myself…"
Bombalurina stopped dead. Tugger closed the distance between them. In a heartbeat he had her pressed against him.
"Well, that's not a pleasant memory," Bomba said, a bit coldly. She made to move his arms but they encircled her waist. She glanced up at him.
Tugger shrugged nonchalantly, as though he weren't holding her captive.
"What exactly are you doing, Tugger?"
His finger moved up to trace down her forehead, over her nose, and circle her lips.
Her lips parted ever-so-slightly. Jemima held her breath.
Tugger was looking down at Bomba in bemused concentration. Bomba stared up at him with a mix of uncertainty and longing. The moment seemed to last for a long, tense time.
He sneered. "Naw."
Bomba pushed away, clearly fuming. But Tugger didn't let her get far—he kept his hold on her waist and pulled her back and planted a kiss on her angry lips. He tightened his grip and deepened the kiss.
Jemima felt awfully intrusive.
They finally broke apart. Bomba blinked her wide amber eyes at the tall, maned tom. "You really are a curious cat."
He grinned. "A curious beast." The suggestive rumble on the word "beast" made Jemima's stomach flutter.
Bomba slowly pulled away. She was smiling again, but it was a soft, uncertain smile. She held out her paw.
Tugger took it, sliding his fingers through hers.
Bomba bit her lip, seemingly unable to find words. Tugger tossed his head to the right, and they continued walking, neither one speaking.
Jemima held her breath until they had disappeared around the southern gate. She clambered to the edge of the pipe and peered around. They were gone.
Jemima wasted no time. She didn't know it they'd come back. She hopped down from the pipe and ran, a quickly as she could, in the opposite direction.
She made it almost back to the main junkyard area when she sensed something familiar coming her way.
"Sneak attack!" Pounce said, bursting out from behind a pile of old radiators. He blocked her path and caused her to skid to a stop. His arms were spread wide and he was grinning wildly.
Jemima gasped for air. She'd been running nonstop, and Pounce had managed to surprise her yet again. She panted, trying to replace lost oxygen.
Pounce lowered his arms. He was used to Jemima having a more enthusiastic, although not-always-positive reception for him. "What's the matter, Jem? You okay?"
Jemima nodded quickly. She didn't want him worrying; she was merely out of breath. But one glance up at his face showed that he already was.
"It's nothing, Pounce. I just ran all the way from…" her voice trailed off. No reason to let him know about her hiding place. Although it wasn't nearly as hidden as she'd like.
"Switzerland?" he suggested brightly.
She didn't find that funny.
Pounce sighed. "Boy, Jem, you are in a moody…mood. Been stuck around Plato lately?"
"No!" Jemima resented being called "moody" simply because his joke wasn't funny. That was not her fault. "No, I've just been…sleeping."
"A good sleep?" Pounce asked courteously.
"Well…" she trailed off again.
Pounce stepped around her. "You're awfully flushed, Jem. You sure you're all right?"
"Fine!" she snapped. Instantly she regretted it. Pouncival blinked in surprise. It was unlike her to be anything but sweet and happy.
Maybe it was this whole coming-of-age thing. Maybe that was what made you tense and unlike yourself. Changing. That sort of thing.
Jemima flushed. Pounce had the good sense not to say anything more about it. "So, Jem. What you doing all alone? You're usually with Victoria or stuck with Cori and Tanto. Are you playing hooky?" His grin was rather infectious. Jemima felt a small smile twitch at her lips.
"I was just being alone. No harm in that, right?"
"None whatsoever," he agreed. "That's why I have my chair all to myself."
He added, "If you want to use it, for being alone and stuff like that, please go ahead. I can even show you my other hiding spot."
Jemima felt like this was uncharted territory. Pounce was being unusually mature. She found that she liked him like this.
"I'll even give you a boost to get you up on the chair."
Jemima protested, "I'm not that short!"
"You're tiny!" he exclaimed, eyes full of mirth.
"Stop it, Pounce! That's rude!"
He snorted. "No; what's rude is that Bombalurina didn't even say hi to me today."
Jemima looked pointedly at Pounce. He shrugged. "She's always nice to me."
"That's dangerous," Jemima said, frostily. "Considering that you have the biggest crush on her."
"I do not!" Pouncival exclaimed.
Jemima didn't respond. She had noticed it years ago. Everybody knew it.
"Of course," Pounce said, tapping his chin in thought, "if she was interested, I wouldn't say no—"
Jemima didn't like hearing this. "She's with Rum Tum."
"Oh. Him." Pounce's voice was oddly flat. Jemima looked at him. Usually he (and all the other young toms) worshipped Tugger as a god. They would try to be just like him.
"Well, he's not really with her. He's all around." Boy, Pounce sounded argumentative. And he was eyeing her suspiciously.
Jemima stifled a laugh. "I promise you, Pounce, they are together."
He shrugged. "Maybe yes, maybe no. Wait, does this mean that he'll stop—"
Pounce made an obscene gesture with his hips and sneered at Jemima.
She had to laugh. Pounce's Tugger impression was spot-on.
He grinned wildly and sashayed around Jemima. She kept laughing. He rubbed up against her and crooned, "But I only like what I find for myself…"
One arm wrapped around her waist. Jemima tilted her head back as far as she could to look into his gray eyes.
Up close, they seemed unsure, holding back.
His finger traced up her throat to her lips.
"What I find for myself," he sang softly, finger still hesitating on her bottom lip.
Jemima's heart pounded so hard she was surprised everyone didn't hear it and come rushing over. She could feel Pounce's chest moving heavily against her back, the heat where their bodies were touching and the chill where they weren't.
She blinked slowly, still gazing up into his eyes. They were intense; but inscrutable. They held her transfixed. She couldn't move if she wanted to, and wasn't at all sure that she did.
"No," Pounce breathed suddenly, and stepped away. Jemima waited, but he shook his head and strode off into the main junkyard. He headed for his rocking chair and easily shoved Tumble out of his way, laughing as Tumble fell on Plato. He didn't look back.
Jemima felt very cold, although the sun was blazing. She walked stiffly into Jennyanydots' den and curled up in her pillow before bursting into noisy tears. What had just happened to her?