Munkustrap

Fire clung onto his fur like a python's grip; smoke seething from the open burns that tore through his skin. He could not cry in pain; for it was too much to even try and writhe free from the flames that engulfed him. All he could see was smoke; dark, black plumes taking the shape of faces he knew, of what he lost. Finally, in desperation, he tried to cry out. His brother and mate did not answer him, nor did any other name he shrieked for. His best hope was for rain, but the Everlasting Cat was unmerciful to the poor tom.

He begged and pleaded. He knew he would die someday, but not like this! A slow, painful death was the worst way to go. Finally, someone took him by the shoulders and shook him like mad. The flames dissipated and the smoke cleared. Demeter had come to him, only now he could see there was no fire anywhere to be found. It was a beautiful autumn night. Cool air and chirping crickets. The first things to greet him were his wife's worried eyes, she was holding his face.

At last, he was free to breathe. His heart banged like a drum in his chest and gave no signs of slowing.

"Shhh." Demeter caressed him, "It's okay. You were dreaming." She whispered. Munkustrap was still finding himself going through a reality checklist. He was home with his wife on their blanket. It was early November. His tribe was safe, and they were alone. Demeter lowered back down beside him and took him in her arms.

"Did I scream?"

"No, but you were trying." Immediately could she recall the stunted cries trapped behind his lips. They were terrible. When the nightmares came back, they were without respite. But they always went away, and so Demeter knew this would not be forever.

The very notion of sleep seemed to disturb him. The dream had been so cruelly slow; too much time to feel every scrap of skin flake off of his bones. Munkustrap held her close, faces gently pressed against each other's. Demeter stroked his cheek and quietly tried to put together what might've caused the dreams to return. It could easily be the fact alone that it was just the grief still running it's course, but the timing felt oddly specific. The night before, Munkustrap had gone to bed with the meeting on his mind; in these meetings, he knew that the subject of his ascension would come up. Not even Demeter spoke about it with him.

This was a painfully normal occurrence for them throughout the months. She said to him, "Do you want to hear about my dream?" He looked at her sadly; had her sleep been troubled as well? Instead, her eyes glowed warmly. "I dreamt about our kittens. There were five of them... and they were so beautiful. One of them had bright blue eyes like yours." Munkustrap's gaze softened. Instead of envy, he took comfort in her gentle sleep. He felt her belly; somewhere were their little ones waiting to come out and see them. Sweet little creatures that would know love the moment they felt their mother's touch. Their father's as well. He would make sure they knew how loved they were, how wanted and cherished they would be to them.

Part of him hoped he could have a sweet dream like hers had been, but he felt that now because he wanted it, it wouldn't happen. All he could ask for was just a decent night's rest. The arms of sleep took him again, and though he dreamed, it was much more tolerable. His father was there, and they were in a small field. It was nothing like the world Munkustrap had spent his life so far in; trees, hedges, bright blue sky stretching over them. He was helping Old Deuteronomy up a steep hill; a large oak tree was beckoning them. "Now son," he began, "pay attention. Keep your eye on what you're doing. Listen. Watch." Munkustrap recognized these instructions. They were the exact things his father told him when he started his lessons at just eleven cat years old.

When Old Deuteronomy reached for the oak tree, the branches and leaves took him. His body vanished in the wind, but Munkustrap had not been ready. What did he need to listen and watch for? Why did he leave him when he still needed him? As if he were still the clueless, helpless kitten he'd been on his first day in training to be tribe leader, he cried out for his father and pleaded him to come back. He was scared without him. The leaves on the branches were swept away, and the tom was left completely alone in the meadow. When the tabby opened his eyes, instead of a tear-stained mess, Munkustrap was calm. An odd feeling of relief and serenity washed over him to find that he had his mate in his arms; their kittens safe in her womb. Strangely enough, knowing that his father was up in the heaviside layer, away from the pressures of waking life, brought him ease as well.

Demeter was still sleeping, the dawn was just now breaking. The sky was a placid blue, birds singing their morning chorus. Munkustrap understood—he would listen and watch. He would pay careful attention to everything that went on in this tribe. It was what he must do from this point on.

Mungojerrie

The morning shift workers were just about to arrive to open up the shop. By the time they did, the Bengal twins had already made their escape with their treasures. Cats could do nothing with human money, but they could revel in the small trinkets they'd collected. They knew well that their hijinks were no secret. In fact, they had made their own song just to let everyone know who they were.

Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer
We're a notorious couple of cats!
As knockabout clowns, quick-change comedians
Tight-rope walkers and acrobats!

We have an extensive reputation
We make our home in Victoria Grove
This is merely our centre of operation
For we are incurably given to rove!

We are very well known in Cornwall Gardens
In Launceston Place and in Kensington Square
We have really a little more reputation
Than a couple of cats can very well bear

If the area window is found ajar
And the basement looks like a field of war
If a tile or two comes loose on the roof
Which presently fails to be waterproof

If the drawers are pulled out from the bedroom chest
And you can't find one of your winter vests
If after supper one of the girls
Suddenly misses her Woolworth pearls...

The family will say, "It's that horrible cat!
It was Mungojerrie or Rumpleteazer!"
And most of the time they leave it at that!

Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer
Have a very unusual gift of the gab

We are highly efficient cat burglars as well
And remarkably smart at a smash and grab!

We make our home in Victoria Grove
We have no regular occupation
We are plausible fellows who like to engage
A friendly policeman in conversation

When the family assembles for Sunday dinner
With their minds made up that they won't get thinner
On Argentine joint, potatoes and greens
And the cook will appear from behind the scenes

And say in a voice that is broken with sorrow,
"I'm afraid you must wait and have dinner tomorrow!
For the joint has gone from the oven like that!"
The family will say, "It's that horrible cat!
It was Mungojerrie or Rumpleteazer!"

And most of the time they leave it at that!

Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer
have a wonderful way of working together!

And some of the time you would say it was luck
And some of the time you would say it was weather!

We go through the house like a hurricane
And no sober person could take his oath

Was it Mungojerrie or Rumpleteazer?
Or could you have sworn that it mightn't be both?

And when you hear a dining room smash
Or up from the pantry there comes a loud crash
Or down from the library there comes a loud ping
From a vase that was commonly said to be Miiiiiiiiiiinnnnng...

The family will say: "Now which was which cat?

It was Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer!"

And there's nothing at all to be done about that!

Now, there might be some exaggerations to their jig, but what good song didn't? No, they didn't live in Victoria Grove, nor had they been to Kensington as many times as they claimed, but they were well-versed in the art of crime and burglary. All that mattered was that they knew their craft. If anyone needed supplies quick and easy, Mungojerrie was there to deliver... just don't ask him where and how he got them. Rumpleteazer worked her magic a different way. While she was five minutes older, Mungojerrie still claimed himself to be the smarter one, and she wouldn't argue with that.

The heists were usually all his to plan, and he took great pride in his well-thought out schemes and routines he had when sweeping or pickpocketing. Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer had to be swift and cunning in their endeavors, so much that they in fact preferred their reputation as annoying-but-harmless oafs. Now how could such silly, simple-minded Jellicles be capable of these crimes? They obviously had someone helping them out... but no, it was only the twins using each other's sets of skills to their advantage.

Sometimes, though, Rumpleteazer would get so excited about their success or high in the moment of their evil little plots that she would not stop giggling!

"Do you want us to get caught?" Mungojerrie hissed.

"Sorry, sorry!" She bit her lip and tried to suppress her smile.

They already had their bags of loot over their shoulders, now all that mattered was getting back home so they could go marvel over their prizes. Jewelry from the local boutique – they'd just had a new shipment come in, but it looked like the shop would now be on backorder. The only reason Mungojerrie didn't like anyone seeing them running home with large bags of something in their grasp was because he knew that there were other cats as greedy as themselves. The Jellicles didn't care about their 'hobbies,' and Munkustrap tolerated it at most, only because Old Deuteronomy had already graciously let them into the tribe by the time he realized they were more than just your average kleptomaniac.

"We're like Ocean's Eleven! Except we're only two cats." Rumpleteazer exclaimed giddily.

Mungojerrie scoffed. "Oh yes." He mimicked the voice of one of their old owners. "It was perhaps Lewis Milestone's greatest piece." He said through his teeth, remembering how the man used to always have some sort of cigar in his mouth. "The Rat Pack, of course, helped bring this movie to light because of the group's popularity at the time. A common tactic producers use to win over audiences today!" Now Rumpleteazer's laughter was appropriate. He nailed his hateful impression of the old man – he'd had plenty of time to practice.

Rumpleteazer, of course, perfected the wife's voice. "Gerold, do you suppose we could go to Vegas?"

"Dear, I've never had enough luck for Vegas. After all, I'm married to you!"

The twins snickered and threw their duffle bags over the junkyard fence. Mungojerrie gave Rumpleteazer a boost so she could hop over first. "Do you think they traveled to the States after we ran off?" The queen wondered. "They'd been to at least one overseas festival while we were there."

"Whoever is dumb enough to invite those lowlifes definitely deserves their pretentious opinions." Retorted the Bengal tom. "I wonder if he finally had that stroke he always claimed we were going to give him."

"If he did, it's a shame we never saw it." Rumpleteazer sniped. They believed that a borough called Hackney suited their humans well. Dalston was the name of the place they'd once called home. They were born in a storm drain, and were the only two of six kittens to survive, and that remained the case twenty-four cat years later. It was late March when they came into the world, but the twins had been together since before they left their mother's womb. They didn't remember her face or smell, but they recalled each other being there since the very beginning, and they would be with one another until the very end. That was what they'd decided – nothing in this cruel world would tear them apart, no matter how many times they tempted it to.

"Brother," she suddenly said, "do you suppose that Munkustrap will throw us out once he's leader?"

"I doubt it. Munkustrap's a good lad. At most, he'll probably just ask us to keep our outside business elsewhere. I don't blame him; he's got kittens coming."

"He tries to be like his father was." Thought she, "And his father was a good tom. I still feel sorry for him when I think about it." She lamented with a sorrowful look. "Imagine it. Having to watch your own father die." She shivered all over. Her fur ruffled up. "I feel ill just thinking about it!" Rumpleteazer quickly distracted herself by rummaging through the glittering earrings and necklaces they'd taken. To this day she wore the old woman's pearl necklace as her collar of choice. A thoughtful memento to remind herself that she could steal whatever she pleased. The woman's most precious item, in fact... more precious than Rumpleteazer had been to her.

Her words had sparked an out-of-nowhere revelation in Mungojerrie. "Teazer, I'm beginning to think that we ought to give him an easier time." She immediately turned away from her prize to give him a baffled look. "As in that we should stop trying to press his nerves so much. It's fun and all, but I think even we should have our limits. Lad's going to be a father soon."

"Ohh, I know what you mean." She agreed. "All right. Sounds fair, but that's not gonna stop our fun."

"Of course it won't!" He replied. "Just one little change to keep things tame. Won't hurt to have him off our backs anyhow." He then dumped out his share of the lot. The sound of the jewels jingling to the floor sang through his ears. Another pile to add to the collection. Becoming such master thieves was like perfecting some sort of dark art. It was no easy task when they first started, and it had not been something either twin imagined being top game at. Mungojerrie had never thought of any future for himself besides to keep doing what he does best, and Rumpleteazer was always by his side, knowing her future would forever involve him in someway. She was better with things like that—she had a mind for the long-term. What might go wrong, what someone might say or do in response to their behavior, how they should act in order to keep themselves beneath suspicion. And lucky for her, she was quite the consummate actress. No one would believe her skills in lying and robbing someone blind right below their noses until it was too late.

Yes, Mungojerrie enjoyed hearing her call him the smart one, but Rumpleteazer still lovingly reminded him that she was 'the better twin,' and he couldn't argue about that! Only Mungojerrie knew that his big sister was far from daft and ditzy, and only Rumpleteazer knew that he could be serious when he needed to, but so far, the only cats that had ever needed their talents was each other! Only they appreciated them; everyone else just saw them as wasteful thieves. So they threw in little tricks here or there as a means to drive them bonkers.

Did Munkustrap really think they'd forget their cues to bark during The Pekes and Pollicles that easily? She'd even once said to her brother that she found the tom more entertaining when he was annoyed. She teased out emotions in others, good and bad. That was her dark art. The social expert to her brother's logical scheming. Rumpleteazer was much better in dealing with cats and humans than he was, and had the patience for it. Mungojerrie, meanwhile, took care of targeting their next strike, mapping out all the details, and getting things done quickly and efficiently. They had what the other did not, and they used it wisely.

It'd be nice if someone were to notice what greatness they had when it came to doing what they did, but that was for another day. Perhaps another life, where such a profession would be appreciated.