Chapter Two
An Inoppurtune Occurrence
Six o'clock found Mungojerrie out on the street, with a thin package tucked up under his vest for safe-keeping. His instructions were simple; Macavity had explained them to one of his agents, who in turn explained them to Mungojerrie. That was the way Macavity usually carried out his business, in a roundabout way, and Mungojerrie was more comfortable with that routine.
Mungojerrie went over the rules again in his head, partially to remember them, mainly because he was bored. He was to stand stand at the side of the street, under this streetlamp, and wait for a Cat with a tortoiseshell coat. He was not to say anything, just hand him the envelope. And by all means, be inconspicuous!
Well that was what Mungojerrie planned on doing, and he was very good at it. He lazed about on the curb, and sprawled out on the walk, and lolled around at the trash cans lined up against the nearby brick wall, just like any ordinary Cat, but secretly waiting expectantly for the one to whom he would deliver Macavity's Important envelope.
However, as the evening drew on, and it became not six o'clock but seven o'clock, and smells of steaks seemed to drift through the alleys and passageways, Mungojerrie became hungry – and anxious. This neighborhood, incidentally, was one he rarely visited. Of course that might have been because it was rather poor, and it is foolish for a thief to try and rob a poor Cat. They more than likely won't have anything on them.
Mungojerrie contemplated this as he stood there, shivering as the wind picked up and stirred his fur, and he re-positioned the sharp corners of the envelope against his chest again. He looked around, carelessly, and spied a Cat down on the corner of the street. A mere shadow in the light beneath the streetlamp. Now you or I, being rational humans, know not to judge by appearances, and of course we never do. But Mungojerrie was just a Cat, and on seeing she was just a tattered grey queen, Mungojerrie turned away because she, he knew, was of no use whatsoever.
Mungojerrie wondered what could be so important inside the envelope. He held it up to the light glaring down from his own streetlamp, in the hopes he could discern its contents. There was the shadow of papers inside. Prob'ly just a letter with instructions or something, he speculated. He shrugged, and slipped it back beneath his favorite winter vest, then crouched down to wait and be bored some more.
Mungojerrie was in grave danger of falling asleep when he suddenly heard the sound of paws padding on the walk behind him. Now this would be his fellow. He readied the envelope and tried to remember what he was or wasn't supposed to say when he turned around to greet the agent, and realized in horror that it was no Cat sauntering up the street.
It was the police dog.
Mungojerrie drew a quick breath, hid the package, and turned away, immediately the picture of relaxation. As I'm sure you've heard before, he was a quick-change artist when it came to appearances.
But not all dogs are the loafs they are made out to be, and Mungojerrie's hurried actions did not escape this Labrador's keen eye.
"What might a lad like you be doing out on the street at this hour?" asked the dog, dragging his chain, courtesy of the humans, and eyeing Mungojerrie suspiciously.
Mungojerrie knew better – he didn't say anything, and in an unusually religious act prayed the Pol would go away.
"Did you hear me, or are you just daft?"
Mungojerrie turned around this time. "Oh, I'm sorry constable," he said, voice choking with emotion. "I was so busy looking for my sister that I simply didn't notice you…. I'm sorry." Would the old Pollicle buy it? Mungojerrie hoped he was as good an actor as he thought he was.
"Well you may be looking for your sister," said the dog officially, "but this is loitering. We all can't just stand about on the street, you know. It'd get awfully crowded!"
Mungojerrie was not impressed by the obvious hilarity of that remark.
The police dog noticed this too, and it mightily offended him. "And what have you got under your vest?" he demanded.
Mungojerrie thought a moment. "Just a letter, sir. My sister was going to take it to our mother. She's pretty bad off, our mother is." Mungojerrie drew in a shuddering breath, looking at the Dog from the corner of his eye. "We don't even know if she'll make it through the New Year."
"Why don't you let me see that letter," the police dog pressed, growling.
Mungojerrie debated if he should call the bluff, and perhaps his thoughtful face was the very impression needed to send the police dog on his way. He took a long look at it. "You know, lad, I hope you have good luck with your mother. Hope your sister turns up soon," he said kindly, and with a precise about-face, he turned down the corner.
Mungojerrie stared after him for a moment, wondering why that little bit of deception had been so easy, and decided that that Pollicle must have been a pretty dumb one. He took one last look in that direction and opted to head down the street a bit, just in case.
Now where was that tortoiseshell?
That was the most vital question on his mind, and what Mungojerrie focused on, when he heard the sound of a chain around the corner. His ears swivelled in that direction, and he realized they were the dog chains.
He paused, looking over his shoulder, and saw his friend the Cop and another covey, both in their smart blue collars, bouldering down the street and looking quite determined. "You are under arrest, sir! I knew you were Mungojerrie all along – the notorious Cat who sends his picture to the newspapers! Ah ha! Thought you could fool us, you scamp!"
Mungojerrie regarded them and the Labrador's little speech. Well, if he was going to have to make a run for it, he might as well get it over with.
"You there! You! Stop! Stop him!" The police dogs took off after the scrambling Cat-burglar, barking as if their instincts were simply overpowering them.
Mungojerrie was a fast runner. He could beat Rumpelteazer in a foot race any time. The notorious calico thief ran at the rate only a fleeing Cat can, and he seemed to move in an orange stream, like a ghost. He leapt over trashcans, and ducked beneath stairwells, and squeezed through rails as if there were no bones in his body, always with the dogs barking and howling at his tail, but always managing to just elude their sharp, apprehending teeth.
The chase went on for two blocks, all three ending up a great distance from the original starting point, and Mungojerrie found himself in yet another neighborhood he did not know, which was an advantage to the Pollicles. He paused, just slightly, to determine which way to turn and, hearing their chains dragging behind him, decided to turn left. He slid on the street as he tried to turn the corner, skidded to the left, and went tumbling into a set of nicely pruned shrubs.
He clambered out of them, only to find the police dogs two yards away. The only thing Mungojerrie disliked more than losing was getting caught. Wheezing, he looked around for an escape. The only way out of it was by climbing up the drainpipe of the big, tall brick house and getting to the roof. Mungojerrie took one last glance behind him before darting up the drainpipe and quickly finding himself three stories above ground.
He perched on the edge of the roof, looking down hesitantly. Nothing between him and the ground for a sheer drop of thirty feet! Except a clothesline strung up between two windows. The thief heaved a few breaths, and checked to make sure his envelope was still safe inside his vest. He patted it carefully, and felt even more important.
"I don't like bein' chased by dogs," he announced grandly from his safety zone on top of the roof, recognizing he now had the upper hand.
"You wouldn't run if you didn't have something to hide!" bellowed the deputy, who was a Mastiff. "Now if you don't come down we shall come up after you!"
"I should like to see you try," answered Mungojerrie, complacently, examining his claws.
This garnered more snarls from the brutes, who foamed at the mouth and scratched their own blunt claws against the bricks.
Mungojerrie had a wonderful time, goading the big police dogs on and knowing they would never be able to get at him; he took out the envelope and dangled it over the edge, and then stretched out to have a nap. He had just shut his eyes when he suddenly and inexplicably slid four inches down the roof.
A tile clattered against the walkway below.
He looked over the edge and saw it hit the ground. Mungojerrie climbed up the roof, moving about a foot farther up, when three more tiles dropped off and disappeared into the shrubbery. Mungojerrie, with a frightened hiss, slid to the edge of the roof.
The police dogs also noticed the tiles, and looked up to see Mungojerrie grasping the roof with his claws dug in.
"It won't be long now!" they cried, jubilant.
If I fall they'll catch me right off! Mungojerrie thought desperately, and slid down two more inches. The sound of another tile breaking lose was music to the Pollicle's ears. I'm gonna have to find a way to get off this roof, the Cat decided. But where could he go? Down was out of the question, of course; down meant right into the Pollicle's grasp. And up would only mean knocking more tiles off and sliding down faster. Where could he possibly go?
Across.
He peered out into the darkness and saw the faint white mark of the clothesline, with a pair of socks hanging off of it. Socks, being wonderful playthings, make a good omen to a Cat. Slowly he made his way along the edge of the roof to the side of the house, stuck out a tentative paw, and gripped onto the clothesline.
Mungojerrie had once been to a circus, and he remembered it clearly. He thought of it now, and stuck up his tail for balance. He walked, unsteadily, out to the middle of the clothesline, and was thrilled to find himself halfway to the other roof, the tiles of which were hopefully more secure.
The Pollicles stared up in disbelief. "Is that Cat…" began one.
"Climbing across a clothesline…" sighed the other. They stared up at the ludicrous sight for a while longer.
"Let's just go back to headquarters and catch him another day when he comes down," proposed the Mastiff. His companion nodded. "It's not like we'll never see him again."
"Have fun on the clothesline," sneered the Labrador. Mungojerrie looked down to see them pounding off down the street.
But when Mungojerrie looked down he looked way down. Really, really far. As in, really far. To a foot-tall Cat it seemed as if he were staring into a deep abyss. Mungojerrie froze, and could go neither forward nor back, but was stranded between the two houses, holding tight to the fragile thread that kept him from falling into the dark world below.
A frightened feline is not a happy sight. His fur stood straight on end, sticking out of his vest, and his eyes grew wide and, worse of all, his claws lashed out. His claws lashed out and cut the string – the clothesline snapped, and frantically striking out for something – anything – to break his fall, Mungojerrie plunged through the air, colliding with the pavement below which, needless to say, promptly knocked him out.
The night drew on, and poor Mungojerrie lay there for several hours in a state of complete senselessness. As the hours passed several Cats could be seen appearing on the street, because every Jellicle Cat who knows his tail from his whiskers does all his most important work in the hours of the night, when the family is asleep. There was probably a Stray tortoiseshell among them, a Cat who did not get the message he was looking for, and likely went back to report this failure. But none of them – Jellicle or Stray – noticed the unconscious calico lying in the shadows between the two well-kept houses.
Perhaps it was providence, perhaps it was simply the moon casting a dim white glow, made dimmer by the smoke, over Mungojerrie's prostrate figure; either way, at ten o'clock a miracle happened. One red queen, who decided it was too much trouble to take the long route home, discovered the thief while taking a shortcut through the darkish alley.
First of all she hissed and prepared to strike him. Then finding the thing did not hiss or bark in return, she examined him.
"Oh boy," she said, inspecting the knocked-out Cat in the alley. "He didn't land on his feet." She nudged him to make him wake up, but that did not work, so she kicked him.
When Mungojerrie awoke he swore firstly, and then he rubbed his bleary eyes. Then he decided never to kick Rumpelteazer again, if it hurt this bad. Every part of his body seemed to hurt. He groaned, still half-insensible, and then the magnitude of the situation shouldered its way into his exhausted brain. He had no idea how long he had been out, but he knew that the agent had probably come and gone without getting the message. He quickly checked his vest for his envelope, and breathed a sigh of relief at finding it safe. That was good, but it could have been better. It could have been on his way with the tortoiseshell Cat. He glanced up at the brick walls towering above him on both sides, and found himself in that same entirely unfamiliar place.
All this time the queen had steadily been staring at him, waiting for him to say something and watching to make sure he didn't faint again.
Mungojerrie blinked when he saw his Good Samaritan, thought for sure he must be dead because Cats like this didn't exist on the street, and then he said, dapperly, "'Ello, sweet-'art."
"Yeah, yeah, that's what I get for saving a tom," she groaned. "Real smart. At least you're all right."
"Wait!" he protested as she turned to leave, and tried to follow her but shrieked at the horrible pain shooting through his hind leg. The queen turned.
"Are you okay?"
She really was concerned now, and came back to check on him.
"Go on Red, I'm fine, I'll make it myself," Mungojerrie gasped, writhing around from the pain.
Bombalurina was thoroughly confused. "Who are you?" she demanded.
He couldn't tell her. "Who are you?" Mungojerrie countered as the pain let up.
"Ha, but I asked you first."
"Ladies first."
"Well that's fine and dandy but I'm no lady so you'd better tell me, otherwise we'll be here all night."
Mungojerrie closed his eyes and hoped this was the last of his nine lives. He would rather die than face Macavity.
"You can go, I'll make it on my own," Mungojerrie announced, but he wasn't very sure if he really could.
Fortunately neither was she. "Listen, you can't put any weight on that leg," she said. "Do you think if someone supported you – "
Mungojerrie nodded rapidly.
"All right," she sighed. Mungojerrie struggled to stand up and nearly collapsed, but Bombalurina quickly put her arm around him. "If you can walk, I'll take you to get help. No funny business, all right?"
Mungojerrie looked at her in incredulity. "I – I guess."
"Well then, you can follow me. I'll take you to Munkustrap, and we'll try and get you some help."
"Who's Munk…that guy?" Mungojerrie asked, suspiciously.
"He's the Jellicle Leader. Wait, no, that's not right!" she said, hurriedly correcting herself. She ticked everything off on her paw as she recited, "He's the Jellicle Guardian and Alonzo is the Jellicle Protector. Alonzo is Munkustrap's brother. Old Deuteronomy is the real Jellicle Leader…" The queen rolled her eyes at having to remember it all. "I'll tell you later. You'll probably get to meet all of them." She gave him an encouraging smile, as if meeting them were an exceptional treat.
Despite being in the immediate presence of Bombalurina, who had actually taken the time to smile at him, Mungojerrie was an odd tom and anything but encouraged. Jellicle Leader. Jellicle Cat. Mungojerrie, despite being one himself, made an especial point never to associate with them. They all seemed to know each other, and if a single one of them heard of the notorious duo, all of them did, and that would be the end of him.
At least his envelope was safe. Maybe there was still some way he could get it to that tortoiseshell Cat…but it was doubtful. There went glory. There, probably, went any hopes of safety too. If he bungled such an important job, there was no telling what the punishment would be. Though Mungojerrie would never see the ginger Cat himself, Macavity might send all his agents after him. He would probably end up worse than Jonathan.
Bombalurina had to pull him to get him to go. Mungojerrie stumbled along, now hardly even noticing the queen that was helping him.
Oh no, he thought miserably, as she led him away. Now I've gone an' done it.
