Chapter 4. Transformations
It has been four years since Munkustrap went mad. The weather patterns changed, the world has grown brighter for now. I took over leadership of the tribe, moving us back into the city as soon as I could. We began holding the Jellicle Ball again, though now, most of the old songs are done as a theatre production. Myself, Grizabella, and Macavity are the only ones left alive out of the old way. Tugger is represented by someone in costume, at least until his son, the spitting image of him in attitude and looks, is old enough to take on his father's reputation, which I know he will.
I watch the kits who survived those two terrible years. Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer are born again in their own twins. Etcetera regained her mind a year ago, with the birth of her son. Pouncival still hates me. Victoria and Plato still rarely speak, but their kits are friendly enough. When the kits choose their names, I know that all of the ones we lost will be remembered. The tales we've told and the personalities of the children make sure of that. Tugger's daughter, who he had with Bombalurina three years before everything, is the image of her mother. I hope, deeper than anything, that things will return to normal. I know they will not.
Cats began calling me 'Master Mistoffelees' when I took over the tribe. I had two forms then. I would go about everyday as Quaxo; there was a lot of white on this coat, and one of my eyes was yellow. Then, when I used my magic extensively, I was Mistoffelees, nearly all black, with the light of the Heaviside Layer sparkling beneath the coat. Over the two years, I stayed as Quaxo, it was simply easier to only use my magic when I needed to. I didn't notice, in the dim light and dimmer spirit of those days, that the white began to disappear from my coat. It was slow, but when I did finally realize, it was too late. Excepting the light from the Heaviside Layer, the coats were the same. Even both my eyes were blue. I have noticed, according to the cats I have confided in, that the transformation became more obvious after I started having the seizures. I still have them, every time a cat dies. During these I loose control of my magic, and forget who I am, and after each one, it is harder and harder to come back to myself. My children harbor a secret fear for me. My mate thinks I do not notice when she cries herself to sleep. She knows the truth.
I have noticed of late that even the white patch on my chest is growing smaller, and I fear what happens when the black reaches my face. But I know the cause, now, and am trying to fight it.
Once I realized that I no longer could be Quaxo, I hid myself away for a time. Grizabella found me. She had survived those days with me, and we had somehow become friends. She knew where to look. We began speaking, and somehow, the conversation turned to Father, and the days Grizabella had with him.
Apparently, Old Deuteronomy was near death when he chose Grizabella, and she convinced the cats of the tribe to send their leader to the Heaviside Layer. She told me that he had been the first cat to return old, merely gaining the lifetime, and not the youth that the Layer usually granted.
'"Haven't you ever wondered, about the alumnus of heaven and hell part?"' she asked me. "The everlasting cat presides over both."
Old Deuteronomy told her what he had seen, what the Everlasting Cat predicted for the tribe's future if Macavity were to take over. This was before the war, when Macavity was still amongst our number. Old Deuteronomy had pleaded, begging his case to the everlasting cat, who thought it was Deuteronomy's time. One more life time, to lead the tribe in prosperity and produce a more suitable heir, and the everlasting cat could have what ever he wanted from Deuteronomy himself. The everlasting cat had agreed, without naming his price, and Deuteronomy had returned to the mortal life. He saw one son go mad, but never guessing, died happily, knowing he had sired not one, but three more suitable sons.
I felt the fear well up in my chest as I realized what the price for old Deuteronomy's last life of leadership had been. Grizabella nodded, and hugged me gently. War and famine, plague and now death, all were driving the four heirs of Deuteronomy to madness. We were the only four different, the only four with magic. And we were all the price. I cannot blame father, though. Who knows what the everlasting cat showed him? Who knows but him, what horrors could have befallen the tribe had Macavity taken over? Grizabella told me of a human legend, where four heralds of The End come in the same forms as our madnesses.
I hear Macavity's laughter, Tugger's keening, and Munkustrap's howls in my sleep. I wonder, how long can I hold off my own fall? How long until I can no longer come back to myself, and the blackness of death takes over my form? How long until my screams join them? The seizures come at random, some from the death of a cat nearby, others, from the memory of those two years, overdue symptoms catching up to me. Already, I have noticed that even my eyes are no longer the light cat-blue they used to be. I have told my mate to leave me before they become too much darker. I know she will not, but I must try. I can only wonder at how much time I have left.