Only Then


He died last night. Some of them are rejoicing over his death, some are worried about it, even frightened. Some, like me, are weeping over it. Why, they asked me, was I crying? Why do I shed my tears for a cat who never knew what tears were? Why do I grieve over the death of a cat who brought so much terror and trauma into my life and the lives of my friends as well? They all asked me those questions, and I had not an ounce of strength or courage to answer them. I had answers, yes, but those answers were unfit for their ears and unable to escape from my mouth.

Slain by unknown murderer, they said. And then his body was found in a pool of blood a short distance from where he lived. The fatal gash was right above his heart. How could they have possibly gotten the courage to know these things?

Perhaps because he was dead, and they could come near him without fear of being attacked themselves. For when he was alive, a single swipe of his paw was enough to send you to the Heaviside. His claws dug into your skin so badly that the wounds took almost forever to heal. And don't forget the glint in his eyes-that gleam was enough to send me to submission to his will, no matter how wrong it was. That look in his eyes was frightening, yes it was, and it often drove cats away. But it's just so strange, for that single night I was alone with him those same eyes attracted me to him, made me go near him, pushed me to do what I did…

And now he's dead. A murderer himself, he has met his maker through another of his own kind. Who killed him, maybe I would never know. Or maybe I would have the chance to know, but I'd just avoid learning the truth. It is too macabre for my spirit. Or too overwhelming for me to handle.

Why, they ask, am I weeping in his departure from life? Why am I attacked by grief when it is relief I am supposed to be feeling? When I saw his body being carried away by my fellow Jellicles and his own gang, I deed feel grief, sadness, shock and denial. Denial of the truth-I refused to believe what happened. I never expected it, never wanted him to end that way. Sure, justice had to take its course and when it came to him it passed as brutal and unfeeling as he was in his lifetime. But it seems so wrong. Does it have to end in accordance with ' an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth'? Meaning killers get assassinated and robbers of life get robbed of their right to live too?

I remember what it was like too clearly, when I saw his dead body dragged from the spot. Munkustrap was there, eerily carrying his fallen brother, and beside him was his brother's closest confidante. It seems as if two Tribes had reunited over the death of one of the group's leaders. But that scene is not what has been torturing my mind since the moment I saw it until now. It is the sudden, final realization and revelation that happened inside me those moments. Realization and revelation of the cruel, bitter truth. The answer to all that had been haunting me since that one night I spent, willingly or unwillingly, forcedly or not, sincerely or out of fright, with him.

When it struck me that he was gone forever, never to come near my presence again, for me never to feel the fright and alarm…and all the rest of those emotions…again…something seized my consciousness and gripped me.

Macavity's dead. Macavity's dead. He will never breathe again. Macavity's dead! He's dead! Dead! Not joy-grief. Not relief-pain. None of the feelings you think I would have felt did I feel. And the answer to your question…

Only then, when he was gone, did I finally let myself believe, and realized, that I loved him.