Coming of Age

by Cooking Spray

Disclaimer: Highlight the phrase "fan fiction". Read carefully. Consult dictionary if necessary.

'Lo, all. I'm trying to make one update a week, but finals and the Christmas rush have made this installment later than usual. Still, in compensation, I have tried to make it worthwhile, especially in the spirit of the holidays. I haven't run out of inspiration yet! Obligations just keep stifling my muse. . .

This chapter is dedicated to my good real-life friend Kitty, and she knows why. XD The portrayal of a certain character was entirely at her urging. So, if you're uncomfortable with slash, or any type of implied homosexuality, I advise you to tread with caution this time around. . . Although, if I may point out, they are cats, so the issue is largely negligible in my book. It's nothing that'll squick the most of you.

Now that you are fairly warned, do enjoy.

Chapter Four:

Hypocritical Cats

The principal difference between being a house cat and an alley cat is, as one might be able to guess, that one has a Human home and the other does not. Typically, house cats have a reputation for acting pampered and being afraid to get their paws wet, while alley cats are commonly regarded to have grit and street smarts. But, as is the case with all stereotypes, not every cat of these descriptions sticks to the rules of their heritage. This is especially true in the case of Jellicles - while the Yard is everyone's second home, those who retreat back to the abodes of their owners at sunrise cannot be classified by any certain description.

Take Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer, for example. They were the most wily, uncouth, and shamelessly thrill-seeking duo in the vicinity, and they lived in one of the richest Human developments. The abundance of shiny and useless (but monetarily irreplaceable) knick-knacks that the wealthy seem to horde was perfectly suiting to their thieving sensibilities, though. They rarely entered the Yard without their swags filled to the brim with a new accumulation of loot.

Victoria, the inimitable White Queen, fell into the same category, although she acted more of the part. Still, she had roamed the streets since she was a kitten, and made frequent visits to the Junkyard. Diamond collar or not, it was agreed upon that Vicky was one of the sweetest Queens around - a little shy, even, though it was not evidenced in her dancing.

But although the White Queen reaped the benefits of living with her well-to-do Humans, her twin brother had not always shared the same treatment - and herein lies the paradox. They had both begun their lives as the unfortunate sort of kittens who were abandoned in boxes on the side of the road, littered by a Human family's pet (probably in a chance meeting with a Tom down the street). Whatever the case, neither had gotten to know her, as they had been an unwelcome addition to the household from birth. Thus, they were put up for informal adoption as soon as they were weaned. Victoria had been one of the lucky ones, and was taken in by a highly-paid Human male's Mate who had an affection for small, furry animals. Misto, however, was left behind. . . But even as a kitten, he'd had his magic, and that eventually let him to the Jellicle tribe. It was the best thing the runt of the litter had ever done for himself.

And, as soon as Victoria was old enough to be trusted out of the house alone, she embarked on what seemed like a hopeless search for him. Although she was worried about her other brothers and sisters as well, she and Mistoffelees had always been closer. He was the smallest, so he was often left out by their siblings - but bashful Victoria, similarly ostracized, had always loved to listen to what the little tuxedo Tom had to say. The weeks she had spent in the expensive residence of her new Humans were nice, but she had naturally missed her long-lost brother's company.

Then, after one fateful day or routine scouting, she had set prim ivory paw in the Junkyard. Through some indescribable means, she had instantly known her brother was there - it was probably a combination of Misto's famous magic and the bond they shared as siblings. Ever since, the Conjuring Cat was warmly received in Victoria's home, and vice versa, according each of them two of the best families a feline could hope for.

The Story of Mistoffelees and Victoria, made into proper Jellicle myth by a set of then-juvenile kittens, is only further proof that cats are transcendent of category. So, it should not come as a shock that the former, though coaxed by his sister to come home with her, had chosen to spend the day in his pipe, frosty temperatures set aside. When you grow up on the street, you grow accustomed all varieties of weather, so the cold was really not trifling. Besides, Misto always had his powers to keep him warm, should he need them - but what was of more importance than his physical comfort at the moment was the fact that he had a hunch a certain someone would be seeking out his services very soon.

By "services", he meant the wisdoms he supposedly possessed. Because, of course, he was Mr. Mistoffelees - magical, mystical, and other such awe-inspiring adjectives that began with the letter "m". What most of his fellow tribe members forgot, however, was that he was barely out of kittenhood himself, and therefore not really qualified to give advice. Maybe his abilities and his reclusion had earned him an air of maturity, but the tuxedo cat felt that the truth was quite the contrary. He had always been good at making other cats believe in things ordinarily preposterous - it came with the occupation. That didn't mean he had any clue of what to do when young Toms came to him begging for elixirs of love (and this had actually happened a few moons ago). If Misto had known how to concoct such a thing, he would've already had a few uses for it himself, namely with one very. . . oh, never mind.

Ironically, an accustomed scent then reached the Conjuring Cat's nose, and he shuffled himself into a more presentable pose upon whiff of it. Fraud or not, every magician had the liberty of being selective in their practice. He just hoped that this client wasn't looking for some sort of ridiculous charm or potion himself, for he was charming enough as it stood. . .

"Oy, Misto! I know you're around here somewhere. . ." The infamous voice of the Curious Cat boomed across the Yard, surely causing anything fragile in the area to rattle fearfully. And, as if that ruckus wasn't nearly enough, he continued to strut around as noisily as possible, making it clear he wouldn't be subdued until his calls had been answered. "Quit hiding, you little coward! We need to talk."

Feeling that everyone's ears had suffered enough damage, Misto took that as his cue to obey. Slinking out of the mouth of the pipe, the drastic change in light forced him to squint. This gave him the advantage of appearing like he was scowling at the Tugger, instead of just trying to see him properly through the shock of the waning sun.

"Doesn't seem like it's talking you want to engage in, with that tone of voice." The tuxedo Tom's sarcasm only served to blanket just how happy he was to see his loud-mouthed visitor. He had found out long ago that it was best not to give the Tugger's ego any encouragement, unless you wanted to eclipse yourself from the conversation entirely.

"Sorry, forgot that you had such sensitive ears." The Maine Coon grinned to such an effect that it almost slipped Misto's mind to be insulted.

"I can see that you've been doing well these past moons." The delivery was dry, but some part of the retort was true. Whether you wanted to deny it or not, appearances were always something that the Tugger was good at making. Especially in the opinion of the speaker. . . but that would remain one of his so-titled "eccentric confusions".

"That makes two in this tribe who haven't gone blind, then," the Tugger replied, face shifting into the pout-that-was-not-a-pout he was getting so good at making.

From there, Misto was beginning to guess at why he had been sought out. . . And if he'd had any sense at all, he would've retreated back into his pipe and left someone else to deal with the mess he knew was about to unfold. But, since the truth was far from idealistic (at least where the Tugger was concerned), he stuck around to ask another stupid question that he knew he would dread the answer to. Intuition was a rather useless talent, apparently.

"The other being whom? I must know the name of my intellectual equal, and the reason why I haven't gotten to know them better by now." The sarcasm was even thicker this time. Misto estimated that Tugger's reasoning for treating him like a confidante was that he would, most importantly, actually listen to what he had to say in the first place, and judge him more objectively than any Queen would. This was why it was insulting for him to be mentioned alongside one, even though the comparison was technically accurate.

"Well, you see, that's where we have to get hypothetical. . ." As if to illustrate his point, the Tugger then reclined against a nearby moth-eaten cushion. He was the one with the problem, but he was making Misto work for the details, and obviously enjoying the process thoroughly.

"I wasn't aware you knew such a word. You impress me, Tugger." The true burden of unrequited love was saying all of the right things with the wrong inflection.

Two gold-limned eyes narrowed at him. "Okay, okay, so I'm being vague. . . But you're the one who holes up in that blasted pipe all the time and disappears for days on end. Tell me, what have you been doing recently that was so much more important than hanging around here with the rest of us?"

Heaviside above, the Tugger had noticed he was missing! Something was surely amiss if he'd decided to pay mind to something besides chasing after Queens, though. "If I may point out, I'm the one who's allowed to be vague and aloof, not you. Judging by the way you got my attention a minute ago, you haven't been inconspicuous a day in your life. Subtlety just doesn't suit you, Tugger."

"True enough," the Maine Coon relented with a quirk of the mouth. With the Tugger, what you saw was what you got - and what a marvelous sight it was to behold. He left all of the confusing layers of personality depth to Misto, as it was too much of a stretch to be a Queen magnet and a philosopher at the same time. He did have his moments, though.

"Yes, I'd forgotten about your natural curiosity. . . And since you're allowed to be vague, do let me indulge my own. What do you have to discuss with me that was so important you had to interrupt my napping?" If verbal flirtation was all he could get in, the tuxedo Tom would take advantage of every available opportunity.

"Oh, like Hotels you were napping. Don't think I don't know that you watch all of us from that little hidey-hole of yours." Accentuating this stab with an errant toss of his perfectly coiffed mane, the Tugger went on. "I sang the song, remember?"

"That's better answered with 'how could I forget?'." Yes, what had the Conjuring Cat been doing those past few days, depriving himself of conversations like this? "And now that we're even, let's get to this 'hypothetical' situation of yours."

The Tugger chuckled, and then began to circle, like an actor readying himself for what was presumed to be a very lengthy soliloquy. "Alright. So - hypothetically, I remind you - what if I say there's this Princess. This really attractive Princess, who seems like she might be into me. . . Except, of course, she's a Princess, and I can't return the favor, right? But - and here's where it gets really interesting -"

Without letting him finished, Misto held up a paw. He knew all-too well just what was going to come out of the Maine Coon's mouth next. "Tugger, I'm sorry to tell you, but you fail at being hypothetical. You haven't even begun to tell me the situation, and you've already narrowed down my suspicions to three. . . Why don't we just disperse with all of the secrecy and call this 'Princess' by her real name, which I'm suspecting is 'Jemima'?"

The Tugger's face, which had taken on an excited pallor as he had begun his illustrious storytelling, fell significantly. "Has anyone ever told you that you're no fun at all?"

"Probably more times than someone like yourself would ever know," the tuxedo Tom answered wearily. This was worse than he had expected. If the Tugger was seriously considering pursuing a kitten, times must be rough. While this was not an unappealing thought, from an un-moralistic (and admittedly tainted) viewpoint, it said a lot. Either the Junkyard stud had allowed himself to succumb to warm, fuzzy feelings (it even sounded ridiculous), or just about every Queen on the block had had their fill of him and then some. Misto knew better than anyone that a trick, no matter how alluring, was on no value after it had been pulled one time too many.

In spite of himself, some sympathy (and maybe even empathy) presided over his initial exasperation. All that the Rum Tum Tugger had going for him was, well, the fact that he was his amazingly debonair and charismatic self - and if that stopped working in his favor. . . Such a concept seemed inconceivable, but things were presenting like it had started to become fulfilled.

Mistoffelees took a good look at his troubled. . . friend. Indeed, there seemed to be a slightly sobered air about him. It didn't project itself as obviously on the surface, but the Maine Coon was about as transparent as glass when it came to emotion. Being gregarious was a two-way street - you never held anything back, but when you most wanted to, you never held anything in, either.

Of course, if questioned, Misto was sure the Tugger would firmly deny all charges. The advantage he got from being outwardly appealing had allowed him to construct a rather high opinion of himself, and one that liked to remain unquestioned and un-shattered. For most cats, the befitting term would be "arrogance" - but even those who disapproved of the Curious Cat's immitigable antics couldn't completely loathe him. In spite of all, some quality of his was perennially redeeming. As previously stated, he had his moments.

So, knowing fully well that it would be the death of him someday, the Conjuring Cat decided to help. Not as Mr. Mistoffelees, but as Misto - someone who hoped he could be at least considered a confidante. The dilemma was far beyond anything his powers could fix, but luckily, his mind was almost as keen as all of that supernatural sparkle. And, logical explanations aside. . . really, how could he refuse?

"Alright." Misto heaved the one-word submission out, his every mannerism reading "I give up". "Hypothetically, what makes your forbidden interest in this 'Princess' so remarkable that you felt the need to mention it to me? Convention's never stopped you before."

If the Tugger had been several years younger, he might've tackled the tuxedo Tom to the ground with the glee of his victory - but, as things stood, he settled for an exceptionally wide grin. Misto, for his part, quickly changed his views to something cooler.

"Do you see the moon, Misto? Up there. . . behind that junk pile-thinger?" the Tugger questioned with great eloquence, his manner almost cloying.

The Conjuring Cat dutifully took a look at the mentioned pale white disc, almost fully reigning over the eastern sky now. "Yes, Tugger, I see the moon." His eyebrow achieved an arc. "Your point being?"

"When the moon's full, in a few nights, that 'Princess' will come of age." He shook a paw at him. "As you'd know, if you'd spent even a minute around here in the past few days with those damned gossipy Queens."

. . . And now it all made sense. Misto could just imagine what they were saying. His sister had started a trend at the last Ball almost a year ago. . . He'd have to have a talk with Vicky about her influence on impressionable young minds. Next, they'd all want a handsome young Tom to go with their new title. "Hypothetically?" he tried.

"Nope, it's a fact." The grin expanded, withering all of the tuxedo Tom's futile hopes on the vine.

"Factually, then."

There was a lull in the conversation, which Misto again broke.

"The facts don't suit you either, Tugger."

"What does suit me then, eh?" The Maine Coon's question was rife with trademark curiosity.

Misto thought a moment before answering. "You. You suit yourself." It was true.

The Tugger donned a smirk. "I knew you wouldn't let me down."

Again, it was certain - the Rum Tum Tugger would be the death of him. But, if he had to die anyway, at least it would be a cruelly pleasant demise.

Mistoffelees sighed, and extorted the company of the Heaviside-forsaken moon. "So did I."

He knew it, as he knew lots of things, and there was no stopping any of them, because foreknowledge was only so much of an advantage.

As his companion might've phrased it himself, Fate will do as it do, do.

"Shhh, I think she's waking."

"About time. The moon's nearly risen!"

"She has been acting strangely lately. I believe I know why. . ."

"Oooo, is it juicy?"

"Hush, already! I told you!"

"But how come you get to-"

"Quiet, both of you," commanded a Matronly tone, speaking in the direction of the ring of boisterous Princesses that had formed around the last slumbering addition to their number. Jennyanydots cast the duo a stringent look, and gestured with a knitting needle. "Let Jemima get her rest. She'll join you when she's good and through, and not before."

"Yes, Mother Jenny," Etcetera and Electra mumbled glumly, fully intending to do just the opposite anyway.

Sure enough, once the Gumbie Cat had become absorbed in her needlepoint again, the two junior Princesses resumed their whispering at a lower volume.

"I didn't sleep this much. . . ever, I don't think," Etcy said, impressed. Her eyes were riveted to Jemima, who was still dreaming on obliviously. "Where did she run off to last night, anyway?"

Electra's expression took on a roguish turn. "Like I said, I have a few ideas." The toffee-colored Princess watched her friend another moment, and then threw caution to the winds. "Oh, forget Jenny! Jemi's had nice dreams aplenty by now, I'm sure. And that familiar scent on her fur is driving me crazy."

"Up and at 'em, Jemi!" Etcy kneaded her claws playfully through the fur on the rust-black Princess' flank, incessant. Her efforts produced a flick of the ears, a pair of scrunched eyes, and a sleepy yawn.

"You're wasting the moonlight!" Electra joined in, but took a more direct approach - with no warning, she gave her sleeping friend a good yank on the tail. A semi-indecent yowl heralded Jemima's return to consciousness, much to the disapproval of the striped-and-spotted Matron off to the sidelines.

"You two, for the love of Heaviside. . ." Jemima moaned groggily, massaging her rump. "Can't you find a nicer way to wake me up next time?" She struggled to sit, glowering at both of her broadly-grinning attackers.

Etcetera just shrugged innocently. "I tried being nice. It didn't work."

"Well, you should've tried harder, then. Ouch. . ." The rust-black Princess struggled with her head fur, trying to arrange it into the style it had occupied before she had taken her lengthy doze. She finally gave up, and came to the conclusion that a thorough bath was the only solution, unless she wanted to waltz around looking like she had the mange.

"I do believe you smell of a Tom we all know, Sleeping Beauty," Electra accused, taking no prisoners. When Jemima blanched and took an abrupt pause in her impromptu grooming, she knew she had her answer. What had happened to 'good morning' and 'did you sleep well?'.

Intrigued, Etcy leaned forward and sniffed her friend, and then drew back with a gasp. "You've been with Tugger!"

"Yes, she has," Electra agreed deviously, ready to interrogate. "And I'll bet that's where she was the night before last, too! I didn't think anything of it, though, because of course we were all with him when we came in. Jemi, I would've never suspected. . ."

Before Jemima could say anything in her defense, an excited white tabby Princess intercepted her, eyes shining with remembered obsessive zeal. "Is it true, Jemi? Eeeee! You're so lucky! You've gotta give us details!"

This was what Jemima had been afraid of all along. As she was learning, it was one thing to merely be in the company of the Tugger, and another thing entirely to be in the company of the Tugger alone. Perhaps there was some way to explain herself out of the situation? No good excuses (or at least, none that would sate Electra and Etcetera's appetite for detail) came to mind, however. Suddenly, her interests were being taken in a different context - now that her friends were preoccupied with the young Toms, it was somehow mandatory for her to set her sights on someone as well. Any male she was rumored to have associated with in any way would do.

The thing was, their suspicions were too close to the mark. But really, when they had paired themselves neatly off already, how could they fault her? It was such an unfair interrogation. After all, nothing had really happened last night. . . Well, probably not by Etcy's standards, but still. They had just talked!

"Oh, it was nothing, really," the rust-black Princess demurred, eyes flickering downwards. "You all seemed to be having fun, so I left for a walk. I ran into the Tugger, and we talked some. That's all."

Electra snorted and rolled her eyes. "It's always 'nothing' with you. That leads me to believe that your 'nothing' is actually a 'something' - especially since you can't seem to look at us when you say it."

Encouraged by this theory, Etcetera leaned forward with the toffee-colored Princess, still waiting for Jemima to spill. Something like the possibility of a romance with the Rum Tum Tugger was too thrilling to be kept secret.

How did she keep getting herself into these situations? The memory of the Tugger returning her conversation was quite rapturous enough without her having to share it with anyone. She'd been bolder than she usually ever was in seeking him out, but the fact that he didn't seem to mind was a pleasant surprise. Still, she did not think the incident was mentionable - it would be taken to imply that much more was going on between the two of them than was truthful. And that definitely wasn't the case. . . she was just a hopeless almost-Queen with a crush, and all crushes pass in time. At least, that was usually how things went. Despite her wishes for her feelings to be taken seriously, she had decided that labeling them as anything more would just make the rejection she would have to take later on all the more difficult to bear.

If she said just that, though, Etcy and Electra would still not understand. How do you explain the concept of star-crossed love to two very impulsive and uninhibited kittens? The only other remaining option was to tell the truth. . .

"Okay, so maybe that's not all, but. . ." She let her sentence trail. Both Princesses were hanging on her every word with an unsettling amount of interest. There was no way out, and it was vain to have tried to search for such a route in the first place.

Upon realization that no more options were available, Jemima sighed and prepared to lay it out, plainly and concisely. "I like the Tugger." And, for good measure, she added, "So there." It was an attempt to be definitive that failed.

After an appropriately dramatic silence had dawned, shrill squeals that could only be produced from the mouths of kittens were emitted. Even Jennyanydots slowed in her knitting and pricked an ear for whatever follow-up she might be able to give to that statement. It was the first time Jemima had ever said it aloud, and now the effects were irreversible. Things were so much easier to deal with when they stayed safely in her head. . .

As soon as Electra and Etcetera began springing questions upon her rapid-fire, there was no denying that the cat was out of the bag, and bounding as far away from her control as possible.

Oh, the moon ahead. . .

The White Queen was on her way to pay a visit to brother dearest, who had been keeping post all by his lonesome in the Junkyard. He hadn't specified why in any exact terms, but Victoria had a hunch that he was hanging around hoping (and dreading at the same time, as was his nature) for a rendezvous with a specific Tom, who had once ordained his beautiful vocal cords to sing about him. She was perfectly willing to pretend oblivion, however, if the visit was not mentioned. Her hunches were significantly less reliable than, say, Tantomile's, so she could've been completely wrong. Still, he had missed out on the leftover custard squares their mistress had left out in their honor - and try as he might to refute it, she knew Mistoffelees was fond of sweets.

The Junkyard seemed invitingly deserted on this particular night, however - the colder weather was probably the reason. Victoria intended to go someplace warm and companionable afterwards, herself. Not every Jellicle had the advantage of magic to keep their bones from freezing.

"Good morning, brother," Victoria greeted, slipping into the infamous pipe that Mistoffelees had decided to call home. She yawned daintily and made a series of impressively graceful stretches before giving the tuxedo Tom a sisterly rub.

"The same to you, Victoria." Misto tried to reciprocate the show of affection, but the effort seemed half-hearted and weak. And naturally, since no change in demeanor goes unnoticed by those who had known each other in the womb, the White Queen had to cloud up her perfect young face with concern.

"Are-"

"Please, do anything but ask me if I'm okay. I'm no longer in the mood to delight you with my verbosity, but just know that I had a conversation with the Tugger, and that it has left me feeling very weary." The Conjuring Cat, not able to conjure another syllable, then slumped against the wall of the pipe, thoughts storming about in his head.

Victoria clamped her jaws shut, and tried to summon the appropriate words to console her inconsolable sibling. Mistoffelees had always been moody and complex, which accounted for much of his evasive nature. It was because he was brilliant, she knew, even if he didn't - no matter how dazzling a feat he performed, or clever an idea he came up with, he was always ready to point out a flaw in its design. This constant dissatisfaction fueled his desire to work harder, and become better, both of which he did with a fervor. Being the harshest critic of his own personality, however, he sometimes forgot that it was necessary to slow down and just be, flawed or not. Her opinion counted for little, since she would love him unconditionally, but her mutual feelings gave her a smidge of persuasive power, at least.

The White Queen sidled up to him and sat, but not so close as to be considered invasive. "So, what exactly did the Tugger have to say?"

"He thinks that I'm what Humans call a 'therapist', I believe. The Pollicle came to my den - and not very quietly, I might add - and proceeded to pour out a story about how he has decided to pursue Jemima. Who, as I am sure you have heard by now, is -"

"Coming of age, yes." Vicky sighed. "And a bigger fuss was never made about it. When I became a Queen, there was some talk, and some fanfare, but for one reason or another, the entire tribe seems occupied with this ordeal. Jemi's always been well-liked, but I think even she might be bewildered by all of this." She twisted her face. "Perhaps I should talk to her."

Misto smirked bitterly. "Well, anything the Tugger involves himself in has the tendency to become public scandal overnight. He wanted my advice on the matter, though, which was somewhat hilarious in itself - honestly, has he forgotten how to woo a lady?"

At that prospect, Victoria had to laugh. "You know, he just might've. It sounds insane, but if you think about it. . ."

Misto turned accusatory. "Before Plato pulled some of the same tricks on you, you used to lap at his heels, too."

Victoria rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Every kitten does! That's the difference between the Tugger and Plato - I share a den with one, and not the other. My Mate is similarly brazen in romantic pursuits, but he does not quail at the thought of commitment. Are you trying to say that I have a 'type', is that it? Because if so, my tastes must run in the family."

She had him pinned. Misto's ears actually laid themselves partially flat, and he hung his head a bit. "Forgive me; I did not meant to imply such a thing. Perhaps I'm just. . . unqualified to be objective in this matter."

Softened by the pathetic display, Victoria gave her sibling a benign nudge. "Perhaps you are. Maybe I overreacted, as well. Still, everything aside. . . don't you think it's interesting that the Tugger is attempting to be virtuous?"

"That's if my advice represents any sort of virtue. Either way, I don't think I could do much more damage." In response to that, both the White Queen and the tuxedo Tom enjoyed a laugh. She leaned into him, and he leaned back, putting aside his insecurities for once and allowing himself to bask in the feeling. Though he said he needed no one, Misto often wondered what he would do without Victoria - whether he realized it most of the time of not, she saved him from the darkness he too often submitted to. She understood him for him, and was, proverbially and literally, the white to his black. As such, he was more protective of her than she would ever know - or that he would like her to know. He still felt that he owed her much.

For the first time, his purr started, and Victoria smiled. She was glad to have restored her brother's well-being, if only temporarily. He deserved to be happy a great deal more often than he actually was. "At least give him the benefit of the doubt," she advised finally, knowing where her brother's thoughts would inevitably fall back. "Even if he doesn't deserve it, at least he's trying. Trying something, that is. Do you know how Jemima feels about all of this?"

"The implication was that she was melting under his touch, which I am more than a little dubious of. Tugger has laid paw on you before, and you are not yet a puddle at my feet. Nor I at yours, for that matter. . . But rumor is that she actually scouted him out first. I suppose that if you can have your pick, why not?" He seemed thoughtful. "It could've been my wishful thinking, but he seemed just the slightest bit self-effacing about the whole thing. He aware of it, mind you - but as you know, it is difficult for him to hide anything."

"Especially anything you can't see," Victoria reminded impishly. It was thankful that Misto's fur covered the newfound heat in his cheeks. "I wish to talk to Jemima about this. . . we used to discuss things quite often, when we were littler. I guess I've been one of those loathsome Queens who gets a Mate and forgets to keep in touch until some new scandal reminds her. I hope it won't seem like to Jemi."

Misto smiled and gave the White Queen a rub. "Don't fret. If Jemima can handle the Tugger, she's got something we're lacking. I'm sure that 'something' includes a good head on her shoulders."

"You're right, as always." Victoria briefly but warmly repaid the nuzzle, and stood. "I must go and greet my Mate. He might be terribly put out that I didn't visit him first, but I had other priorities." She was joking - Plato was probably the most lax and trusting of all the Toms in the tribe. He'd certainly be glad to see her, but he wouldn't be sent into a frenzy if she was later than usual.

"Go on, then. Send him my regards, as well." They both smiled and touched paws, and then Vicky left the way she had come, leaving Misto to his accustomed solitude. On this night, he was less welcoming of it than usual, for reasons best banished from mind rather than ruminated upon.

It occurred to him that he was, for all of his esteemed wit, more of a hypocrite than the Tugger. Even if he was the one dispensing advice, he was also the one least qualified to give it - at least his senior's actions matched his words, despite all of his passing whimsies. Mistoffelees said one thing, and did just the opposite. He supposed it was a talent acquired from the theatrics he performed - an emotional sleight-of-hand, if you will. He intimated disinterest in every walk of life, but it was usually only a veil for his truthful passions. After all, who is a magician without his aura of mystery? He was unremarkable in every way except for his magic - he could not hope to be like the Tugger, and live happily just by being himself. To have a name with any sort of importance, he couldn't simply be Misto. It was the name of a common cat, a brother, a sometimes friend - no one of admirable occupation. And Misto, in his heart of hearts, thrived on the very prestige his title gave him. Without confirmation that he achieved any sort of greatness, how could he bear to be himself?

It was a silly way of validating himself, as he was, and always is, aware. But it was the one thing that made both he and the Tugger alike, in light of their insurmountable differences. This was the reason for its omnipresence in his mind. The Maine Coon had announced his interest, and he would, without a doubt, follow through with it. As for the Conjuring Cat. . . well, that was greatest irony in the situation.

Across the Yard, a notorious giggle echoed, and twin sets of footsteps pattered noisily. It was all the motivation the Tuxedo Tom needed to drift off to a deserved sleep.

I like to write Victoria and Mistoffelees as siblings. I know they're commonly portrayed as Mates, but I choose to interpret their behavior as non-romantic. Also, I think Vicky has more personality than the flimsy femme fatale I so often see her as.

This chapter, while it was relatively easy to write when I had the time, seems a bit labored to me. Maybe it doesn't read that way, but aside from the exchange between Tugger and Misto (which I had a lot of fun writing), I found it a little boring, or off somehow. At least in comparison to past chapters, anyhow. I feel like I'm restating things. Tell me your thoughts!

Still, I bet no one can guess my favorite line. . . The theme of this chapter would have to be "the many hopeless admirers of the Rum Tum Tugger". XD I'm sorry that Misto decided to get angsty at the end. By the way, how did everyone like his portrayal?

Additionally, I'm on winter break now, so I plan to update at least once during that ten days. Also, I'm going to see CATS in less than a week, so that should be excellent inspiration.

That aside. . . I have a gift for all of you who have been chronicling or have just read this story, in the spirit of the time frame we're in. Just remove the spaces, and enjoy!

h t tp / i m g 4 8 . i m a g e s h a c k . u s / i m g 4 8 / 6 08 7 / p r i n c e s s e s m e r r y x m a s f u 3 . j p g

The Princesses wish you happy holidays, and I, like the sentimental cornball I am, do as well. XD Until next time!