Midsummer's Night

MacVitie was not afraid until darkness began to fall. In the failing sunlight, the familiar rubbish heaps surrounding the ginger-red tom began to take on strange and frightening shapes. There was movement in the shadows—only mice, he knew, but even small rodents can seem menacing to a tiny kit alone in the dark. He growled low in his throat, trying to trick himself (and anyone who might be near, though to all appearances there was no one) into believing he was fierce and brave, fear did not exist. Repeating such thoughts to himself, he settled down to wait for his brother's return.

That Munkustrap would return, he knew for certain. Munk was the one looking out for his siblings as long as their parents were away settling what they kept referring to as "the Dispute." MacVitie wasn't certain why they used that term, for he thought a "dispute" was an argument, and he knew (though they had tried to keep it from him) that there was more at paw than mere talking. Cats were angry enough that they were hurting each other—fighting the way he and his brothers often did, only in earnest, enough to perhaps kill one another. MacVitie shivered and forced himself to think of something else.

Munkustrap had left only briefly, he said, to find some food. They could all catch mice, but truthfully there was not much meat on the rodents and they grew bland and tiresome after a while. Munk had gone looking for tastier morsels to keep up his brothers' spirits.

MacVitie let out an exhausted sigh, wishing again that his other brother had been considerate enough to keep watch with him, instead of retiring to their den early as if it were any ordinary night. At this thought, MacVitie's fear leaned more towards anger. The eldest of the three brothers, Tugger was the tom who should have been looking out for the others and fetching food, not Munkustrap. Tugger boasted plenty about being the firstborn, "and therefore the leader, and therefore Munk and Mack had to do whatever he said…" And so forth. But when it came to doing any actual work, Tugger was always strangely absent. Seemed to MacVitie that Tugger cared only for preening about, flirting with queens, admiring his own precious form in the mirror he kept in the den…not much else. MacVitie wondered briefly if Tugger knew any more about where their parents had gone than Munkustrap and himself did. Tugger was just barely young enough to stay home and out of the "dispute"… If he, MacVitie, were old enough, he would be fighting beside his father, no questions asked—that much he knew beyond doubt. Indeed, if he'd thought he could get away with it, he'd have followed them…But everyone thought a kit like him was good for nothing but to stay at home and out of the way. And, he supposed they were right: a weakling like him would be no use to anyone in a fight. But that would not be the way of things for long, he vowed. He would grow quickly, eat well, build up his strength—the next time there was a need, he would be ready to do battle…

Next he knew, MacVitie was being shaken awake. Slowly, he forced his eyes open, berating himself for falling asleep. "Is't you, Munk?" he mumbled, vision fuzzy. "I don't think I'm hungry, let's just watch for Dad…"

"It's only me, son," sounded the low, rumbling voice of his father. Mack felt himself being lifted easily into the strong arms of Deuteronomy. "And high time you were in your den. Your brother let you keep watch far later than your mum and I would have, so you may thank him in the morning."

As the darkness closed back in around him, MacVitie tried to remember what it was he had been keeping watch for. "Did you…win?" A large yawn almost cracked his head in two and the last word was barely discernible.

"Win...? Yes." Was his father weeping? It must be his imagination… "No more questions tonight, MacVitie. Sleep."

Late Winter

"Psst! Biscuit! Wake up!" Far earlier than he wanted, someone was nudging—well, no, shaking and slapping—him awake. MacVitie growled feebly.

"Don't call me 'biscuit,'" he mumbled, still half-asleep.

"Should've told Mum not to give you a biscuit name, then," the other tom snorted. "MacVitie. Scottish Lord, my footpaw. Who ever heard of such a ridiculous…"

"I've said. You can call me 'Mackey' or 'Mack.'"

"As if those were any better. Like the blackberry preserves?" That was MacKay's, but no way this side of Heaviside would MacVitie admit to knowing as much. Tugger had too many human words and names in his vocabulary as it was.

"I'll tell everyone to call you Sparkles."

"Never mind, never mind," Tugger waved a paw dismissively. To Mack's satisfaction, he did look as though the prospect of other Jellicles finding out his human-pet name had him at least slightly bothered. "Listen, Mack, where's my mane?"

"Your what?" Now more or less wide awake, MacVitie sat up, looking at his brother as if he'd grown a third ear in the middle of his head. Which might be an improvement, come to that… "You haven't got a mane."

"Shut up." Tugger clapped a paw over MacVitie's mouth. "Don't ever say that again. Do you want me to lose my fan-queens?"

"Your what?" Mack repeated, dazed. "Is that another human phrase you've picked up?" Ever since he had got himself "adopted" into a human family (by which Tugger meant he still lived mainly in the Junkyard and only visited the humans enough to keep them from worrying as to his whereabouts), Tugger had become stranger than ever before. He could often be seen wearing a thing he called a "belt"—really an overlarge Pollicle collar that could fit around his middle—a shiny, golden one that stood out glaringly against his black pelt; he worked daily on dances for the next Jellicle Ball, bizarre dances he said had appeared on the "television set;" he had created what he called a "stage name" for himself, adding "Rum Tum" to the beginning; he apparently called the queens who adored him his "fan-queens"; and now this fuss about "his mane." Where is Munkustrap to rescue me from this madness? "Do you mean to say," MacVitie gaped, slowly comprehending, "you've got yourself a pretend mane to wear? Like a…Maine Coon?" He had heard of those cats: huge, they were supposed to be, with neckfur that fluffed out so widely it looked almost like a lion's mane. Tugger was tall already and still growing, and relatively well-muscled, but Mack doubted he'd grow to the size of a Coon. Somecats said their father was Maine Coon, at least half; he was certainly the size for it; but Deuteronomy had no mane except a bit of fluff round the face, and could not remember his parents well enough to be certain what sort they were.

"Precisely," Tugger grinned. "Have you seen those blokes? They're ginormous! And that shoulder fluff! You should see it, Mackey, I made it all by myself, out of yak hair, and when I put it on no one would even know it wasn't my real shoulder fur." He frowned. "Which is why I've got to find it!"

"What's a yak? And why d'you think I'd know where it is?" Mack was growing more irritated by the minute. Even having lived with Tugger his entire life thus far, he simply could not believe anycat could be conceited enough to wake another at this ridiculous hour just to locate an accessory, another human term Tugger'd learned. Catnip, now I'm starting to naturally use human words in my head. Someone help!

"Well…Munk wasn't here, and I had to start somewhere. And a yak is a cow with long hair." Besides, MacVitie reflected, Tugger couldn't exactly let it be known outside the family that his mane was false. Tugger's scowl grew deeper. "Besides, we both know you've been jealous of my good looks since we were newkits. No doubt you thought it would be terribly clever to hide my mane somewhere…"

He could not believe what he was hearing. "I've not seen your blasted mane," MacVitie spat, the last of his patience evaporating. "I didn't know about it until this moment. And if I had happened across it, and known it was yours, I wouldn't have touched it with a twenty-foot fishing line! Those human animals have probably had their filthy paws all over it: I don't know which is worse, theirs or yours."

Tugger narrowed his eyes and glared at the younger tom for a few moments. Finally, he turned to leave, landing MacVitie a punch on the shoulder for good measure. "Fine, then. But if I find you've had it all this time…"

"Are you two fighting?" Mack and Tugger looked up to see a silver tabby tom entering the den just as Tugger was exiting. "Well, are you?" Munkustrap repeated, looking suspiciously from one brother to the other.

"No," MacVitie volunteered. "Sweet Roll here has just lost something, as usual." Tugger shot him a wrathful look, but did nothing more, as then he'd have had Munkustrap to contend with.

"Yeah," the oldest brother practically shouted, "and it's not here, so goodbye!" Tugger fled the scene before he could change his mind and claw the satisfied smirk off his kit brother's face.

Munkustrap shook his head wearily, before turning back to MacVitie. "You're up early. Have you eaten?" He had long since given up lecturing either of his brothers on treating each other better. Their quarreling annoyed those around them but did little else blatantly harmful. To Munk's thinking, it was best to let them have it out until they learned either to get on well together or to simply leave one another alone. Surely this is just a phase they will outgrow… he thought without much conviction.

"No. Got anything tasty?" Mack asked hopefully.

"As a matter of fact," Munk grinned, "I've just found this in a bin outside a diner." He tossed his brother a generously-sized slab of meat.

"Those humans are such wasters, throwing out perfectly fine meat," MacVitie remarked, scraping off a bit of odd-coloured stuff before proceeding to tuck in. "Mmmm! So, what were you doing in town this time of morning?"

To his surprise, Munk looked decidedly uncomfortable all of a sudden—indeed, almost nervous. "Well…" Just then, Mack espied something around the older tom's neck.

"You too?" he groaned. "I thought we agreed, humans are sweet, but best left alone to mind their own lives, and we ours." That, at any rate, was the polite version of Mack's opinion on the matter. Why should we have anything to do with them? We owe them nothing. How much we sacrificed for them, and do we get any credit? He finished off his slab of meat and began licking the remnants from between his claws, awaiting the explanation he knew must be forthcoming. Unlike most adults, Munkustrap did not expect MacVitie to simply accept his actions without question.

"MacVitie…" Munk placed a paw on the younger tom's shoulder. Mack looked up and steadily returned his gaze.

"Yes, I'm listening." Mack tried not to sound sulky. He could not help wondering if now he would be expected to find a human family.

"Mum and Dad say," Munkustrap continued, "that it can only help—those of us who'd like to, adopting humans. They feel rather more responsible for the humans' welfare than before, in view of…well, of what happened." It had been several months, and still Munkustrap had difficulty speaking of what everyone called "that night," or "the incident," or "the dispute." Mack, still for the most part unaware of what had actually happened, let out a frustrated sigh.

"And I suppose," he griped, "you'll now say they want you to help me find some humans." Before Munk could respond, Mack quickly went on, "Y'know, I'd appreciate the need for all this fuss a lot more if…if I just knew why." He was going out on a limb, saying this much. He knew that, whatever else it had been, "that night" had been a nightmare for the older members of his family. Thinking and speaking of it seemed to drive them to distraction: he hated seeing the distress he caused them by mentioning it. At the same time, he was infuriated by how little he was allowed to know of the situation.

"You're right," Munkustrap responded, to his surprise.

"You don't have to say," MacVitie interrupted quickly, immediately regretting his former words. "If Mum and Dad say you shouldn't, and you think…whatever you think is best, that's enough for me." It wasn't true—he was determined as ever to get answers one way or another—but not like this. Nothing was worth his brother's pained expression, nor his mother's strange coldness lately, nor his father's voice that night: "Yes, we won," Deuteronomy had answered, but from his tone of voice one would think he had said, "The world has ended." Suddenly MacVitie was not so sure he wanted to know something that could have such an effect on those he thought of as his strong protectors. If they were so vulnerable, what could that mean for him?

"No, I should—" Munkustrap seemed about to argue the matter, then changed his mind. "Soon, Mackey, I promise. You're right; you are old enough to know; Dad has said it's all right. I just…"

"I know." He didn't; but what else could one say? "But about the humans thing…"

"You're not required to do anything you aren't ready for," Munk said firmly. "If you don't want to now, we'll say no more about it."

Mack heaved a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Munk. I'll…well, think about it." He said this with little real conviction—more for Munk's benefit than anything else. "I'm going out," he added, feeling awkward all of a sudden. Most kits his age would have said "I'm going out to play," but the word "play" never really rolled off his tongue naturally. Perhaps having two older brothers, he had learnt to think of it as a babyish word.

"Do think about it," Munkustrap called after him. "Humans, Mackey…they really aren't so bad."

"Right," Mack called back noncommittally. "I'll…see you later."

Leaving the den, he really had no idea where he was heading. He just needed to escape that conversation before it got too sentimental. Munkustrap wouldn't be offended by his abrupt exit: the two understood each other well enough without words. Which was more than could be said for Mackey and Tugger, who would never speak the same language no matter how many words they threw at one another.

"Vitie?"

Mack spun around, concealing his annoyance at the nickname. "Deme," he sighed, "can't you say Mackey?"

Demeter, a gold-and-black tortoiseshell queenkit a bit younger than himself, wrinkled up her nose in concentration and was silent for several minutes. "No, sorry," she said finally. "Vitie's just easier to say." MacVitie raised an eyebrow skeptically, wondering how that could possibly be the case. Generally it took kits longer to learn the "v" sound than the "m." Deme's ears drooped. "I'm sorry if it hurts your feelings. But it's closer to your real name anyhow, isn't it?"

"Yes," Mackey acknowledged, "but somecats think it's a silly name and make fun of it. I don't like that."

Demeter frowned. "Well, that's just mean. I think your name is lovely," she announced decidedly. "You should just scratch—no," she abruptly corrected herself, "Mummy says scratching is not nice… You should… Just walk away! That's it!" She beamed at him as if she had just solved the Ultimate Question of Life, and Mackey couldn't help but smile back.

"By catnip, you're right, Deme! I should have spoken to you sooner, and then I wouldn't have had so much trouble."

"That's right, silly," Demeter laughed. "It took you a long time to think of! From now on, you just come talk to me if someone is mean." She sobered, re-thinking this. "Hmm…no, actually you should go talk to your mum. That's what I do whenever I don't know what to do about something, or if I'm feeling bad, or anything like that. Mummies are the best to talk to because they know everything. I don't know everything, not yet," she added modestly. "But when I'm older like Mum, then I'll know. Don't you ask your mum about everything?"

"Well…" MacVitie hesitated, at a loss how to answer. Demeter couldn't possibly relate to his situation, he reflected. Her mother, Jennyanydots, was…he didn't like to think "fussy," but he couldn't think of a better word. She constantly had to know "what her kits were at"—every moment of the day. Even if Deme didn't choose to be so frank, Jenny would probably find out everything about her regardless. It was not necessarily a bad thing, only it seemed a bit overwhelming. But he supposed Deme and her older sister, Bombalurina, were used to it. It was certainly better than Jenny's not caring at all—which brought him back to his own mum. Bella was not neglectful or uncaring, far from it. But something was…strange, in her. MacVitie couldn't put his paw on it and was afraid to ask Munkus or Deuteronomy—no doubt they would be shocked and hurt that he could have such thoughts about his own mother. But he knew there was something—it wasn't his imagination. Bella made sure her kits were well fed, and even sang MacVitie to sleep most nights—Tugger was "too old for lullabies," and Munkustrap often stayed out late into the night with their father, walking the length of the Junkyard, learning to look for signs of danger and protect the territory. Yet, when MacVitie spoke with her about anything more than everyday matters, there was something strange—a distance in her eyes. She did not seem to be really there, even though she was right in front of him. Lately she had spent more time at her humans' house—Deuteronomy said it was because of "the dispute." When MacVitie asked her what her humans were like, she let out a dreamy sigh and looked off into the distance, as if she would rather be elsewhere. MacVitie did not know what all this meant, but it made him feel strange near his mother and did not encourage him to open his mind to her—not that he had, really, ever been inclined to open his mind to anyone but his father and brother.

"Silly me!" Demeter exclaimed suddenly, startling him out of his thoughts. "Toms don't talk to their mummies about everything, they talk to their daddies! Right? I forgot. So you must tell Uncle D everything." MacVitie winced slightly at the abbreviation, but Deuteronomy was difficult for kits to say. Deme's face took on an awed look. "Your daddy is the leader of all the Jellicles," she almost whispered. "And the oldest cat in the world. He really knows everything. So he could help you with any problems. Couldn't he? You should ask him how to make everyone stop being so mean about your name."

"Maybe. Maybe so. You sure know a lot, Deme," he replied with what he hoped was an encouraging smile. Then, abruptly, to change the subject, he added, "Wanna chase a mouse?"

"Yes, oh yes!" Demeter exclaimed, clapping her paws gleefully. "Only—wait." She stopped to think a moment. "I came here to tell you something before, and then we started talking… ohh, I know! My dad says the early train is in the station right now, and if we hurry up he'll take us to see it, any of us kits who are awake and want to, I mean! Want to go?"

"Okay," MacVitie nodded agreeably. He'd seen Skimbleshanks's trains dozens of times—who hadn't?—but there could always be something new and interesting at the station. Besides, it'd served his purpose: it had got Demeter's mind on something besides defending his name—that had begun to turn embarrassing. He glanced around. "Is there anyone else we should ask along?"

"Hmm…Cassie's at her humans' house, Cori and Tanto probably already know 'cause they're magicky and can read minds, Bomba's already waiting with Daddy, Alonzo's somewhere… What about your big brothers?"

"Tugger's in the middle of something really important." MacVitie smirked to himself at the reminder of his brother's frantic search. "But Munkus might want to go."

"Munkus might want to go where?" asked a voice behind them, making both kits jump and turn around.

"Don't do that, Cori," MacVitie complained, glaring at the black-and-white twins whom Demeter had just referred to as "magicky." Coricopat and Tantomile had an eerie way of "just knowing things." They were either magical, as most of the kittens believed, or extraordinarily perceptive, as the adults thought more likely.

"Besides," Demeter added, addressing Tantomile, "you already know, right?" She watched the other queen eagerly, as if expecting her to "read their minds" right then and there. Tantomile shook her head.

"Please tell me," she responded pleasantly. Demeter's ears drooped in disappointment, but she relayed her father's invitation. The twins glanced at each other before answering together,

"We'd better come along." Without further ado, they began to lead the way out of the Junkyard.

"But shouldn't we wait for—" MacVitie began to protest.

"Munkustrap can't come," Coricopat threw over his shoulder. "He's keeping an eye on things for the Leader." Mack didn't doubt Cori's word on that: young as he still was, Munkus always felt the need to protect or take care of something or other, never mind whether it was actually necessary or that the silver tabby scarcely got a moment to breathe or do anything youngkits should do.

"We'll be all right, though," Tantomile added. "We'll have Skimble to care for us, and Alonzo. It's perfectly safe."

"Let's go, then," he mumbled to Demeter. The queenkit made no move to go, still staring after the twins in frustration.

"They just pick and choose when to tell us stuff and when to just talk in riddles," she complained.

"That's just their way. Let's go," MacVitie urged, taking her by the paw and following after Coricopat and Tantomile. "Magicky cats never act like anyone expects, right? They're not just being mean to us. They can't help it." He wasn't sure that was true; in fact, he got the distinct feeling that the twins often enjoyed holding their knowledge over the heads of ordinary cats. But there was no need to say so to Demeter.

"You're right," said Demeter, her expression clearing up just as quickly as it had clouded. "At least they can tell us if there's anything scary nearby. Maybe that's why they said 'we'd better come along,' like that. It was kind of funny, wasn't it? But you're right, it's because of their magickyness…"

MacVitie grinned and simply let the younger kitten chatter on, feeling in a much happier mood than when he'd first awakened this morning.