Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Prompt – Cat. This one is for that long-haired, plume-tailed, one-eyed cat with the 'HI, I'M TOM' name-tag who prowls the neighbourhood yowling at night. Old Pirate

Cat

On hindsight, it would have been perfectly honourable if he had gone down with the Dauntless. The sea has claimed more than her fair share of the Norrington clan. What's one more? No, he had to survive and face the disgrace of having lost his ship in a hurricane while in reckless pursuit of one scrawny pirate. It was his bad judgement that sent his ship and his men to a watery end. Honour demanded he resign his post. Why the hell did he keep his uniform on, tattered as it was? Somehow, he had wound up on the doorstep of his Uncle Tom like a washed-up stray cat.

Young James, whose father was often at sea, was left in the care of his Uncle Tom, the family's black sheep. Uncle Tom's naval career ended on a spectacularly scandalous note when he wounded his commanding officer in a duel over a barmaid's affections. Dishonourably discharged, he took to privateering and retired from the sea proper when he lost a leg to a cannonball. Fortunately, Grandmother Lily had invested wisely in the sugar trade so Uncle Tom was able to provide a relatively comfortable home for his ward. James' father tolerated Uncle Tom's drunken brawls over wenches, duels to the death and other follies. The final straw came when Uncle Tom attended Sunday Mass drunk and tossed the vicar into the harbour. Within the week, Captain Norrington packed his son off to England to prepare for a naval career. No other Norrington was going the same way as Uncle Tom.

The last time James dropped in to visit the old man, he was greeted warmly by Uncle Tom and the merry-faced Negress he had taken as his wife. There was a little black girl with her hair tied in braids playing tug-of-war with a long-haired cat at Uncle Tom's feet. What was her name? James could not recall. Was it Anna or Maria? Uncle Tom was older, with more white hairs but his devil-may-care nature had not changed one whit. The girl stopped her games long enough to fix a withering glare upon their visitor, resenting his intrusion into her cosy home. The cat, sensing its mistress' displeasure, hissed at James.

Schooling and his naval career kept him away long enough for Uncle Tom to finally settle down and start a family of his own. There was no need for a nephew to act as an adoptive son. For the first time, James felt out-of-place in his Uncle Tom's house.

"Jamie lad, you're like a son to me. If you ever need to, you know where to look," Uncle Tom had wheezed as he puffed contently on his pipe. His daughter left the room at the sound of her mother calling from the kitchen. The cat walked up to the old man and rubbed its cheek against his peg-leg. The cat had an ugly scar across its face, blinding it in one eye.

"That's a nasty-looking scar," James remarked. Uncle Tom laughed and scratched the cat under the chin. "Buccaneer is a tough cat. He can take whatever life tosses at him. My ladies adore the critter, the old pirate." The cat's owner looked like a pirate himself, James thought. Both cat and girl watched him as he bid his uncle goodbye, their eyes telling him he was not welcome there.

That had been a good five years back and he hadn't visited since. James sucked in a deep breath, dusted off his grimy jacket the best he could and rapped on the door. Silence greeted him. He tried again to no avail.

"Looking for old One-Leg Tom, mister?" a boy poked his head out of the neighbouring house at the commotion.

"Yes, when will he be back?" James asked.

"Never, mister. The fever took both him and his missus, not long after his girl took off with a pirate. House been empty since."

Stunned by the dismal news, James wandered into a tavern and emerged with a much lighter purse and a bottle of rum. He sat down at the foot of a wall and continued his drinking binge. Uncle Tom, his last surviving family, was dead. He was literally alone, having lost his father at sea soon after arriving in England. He might have a cousin somewhere but she was a near stranger to him. James was a man set adrift with no oar or sail. The navy, his engagement to Elizabeth, even his Uncle Tom… all gone. For once, James Norrington was without any bearings. Where could he go?

Should he swallow his pride and beg some merchant captain for a place on his crew? Should he go back to the tavern and spend his last coins on more rum? He was getting hungry, having gone without food for nearly two days. Should he seek employment with the warehouses? A port-clerk was a respectable profession. Yet he would ache for the sea. The sea ran in his veins, so Uncle Tom always claimed when young James insisted on going to the docks to see the ships and dream of sailing to faraway lands. For a moment he smiled at the memory.

Something slimy plopped onto his head from above. It slid into his lap. James yelled out in shock and disgust when he saw what it was- a disembowelled rat. He leapt to his feet and brushed it off his lap. He caught sight of the culprit perched on the wall behind him. Buccaneer. James could recognize that ugly feline anywhere. The cat had gone feral after Uncle Tom's demise. His once glossy coat was matted with mud but the single yellow eye still glared disdainfully at James. A plumed tail lifted as if in a mock salute. Yawning lazily, the cat continued along the wall.

James wiped off the rat-gore the best he could. Come hell or high water, he was going to survive, catch that damned pirate, retrieve his honour and avenge the deaths of his ship and men. Casting the empty bottle from him, James headed for the docks.

Author's Notes:

And it is official, James Norrington has hit rock bottom. A small peek into the Norrington clan and that black sheep that lurks about in every family fold.

You know you have pissed off a cat when it stuffs a dying, disembowelled rat in your shoe and a dead, rotting bird in the other.