Author's Note: I'm sorry to say that this is the final chapter of The Littlest Jellicle. This is my first full-length fanfiction, and the support from you guys has been amazing. I've got a few ideas for my next work, but I want to leave some of it up to you, so vote in the comments for which musical you want me to cover next:

- West Side Story

- Les Mis

- Book of Mormon

- Annie

- Matilda

"Sylvia? Sylvia, where are you?" Munkustrap was definitely in the running for the 'Junkyard's Worst Parent' award. He'd only had this kitten; no, his daughter, for less than a day, and he'd already lost her! What kind of a guardian was he? What kind of Jellicle would allow a small, traumautised and in-danger kitten to just up and leave? It was a mistake, a very bad mistake, one that would cost him everything.

A few minutes later, Jemima and Demeter returned, sadly shaking their heads.

"We've looked everywhere," they said. "We can't find her."

"Have you checked under the floorboards?"

"Yes."

"Behind the tyre?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"In Jenny's den?"

"Munk, she's not here." But that couldn't be! She had to be here somewhere, he couldn't have let her go missing, it wasn't possible. His mate's arm slid around his waist, its grip just too tight to be comforting. "I'll ask Jerrie and Teazer if they can map the streets to try and find her, they know outside of the Junkyard better than any of us. Go with them, if it'll make you feel better."

But nothing would make him feel better. No, nothing could until he found Sylvia again. And who was Demeter to talk about any of this? If she hadn't started running her mouth, the kitten wouldn't even have gone missing! He shrugged her arm off of him, scampering back to his den; she'd know what he meant.

And she did. Well, he thought she did. Tentatively creeping through the curtains, she assured,

"Jemima's with Victoria and Quaxo," before curling up next to him. "Mungo's already out, but your father said he'll try to find them both." Yes, but what if they don't find her? Will she die? Will she be so afraid that her heart will give? Will, Everlasting Cat forbid, Macavity find her? "Munk? You're very quiet."

And then he wasn't.

"Quiet? Quiet, huh? You want to know why I'm not saying anything? Because you're being so blind that there's no meaningful conversation with you that I can have! Everlasting Cat, I thought Jellicles were meant to be able to see in the dark, but clearly you can't! Sylvie only ran away because we were arguing, we were shouting about her right when she could hear us, right when her trust in us was like a frayed bit of string. One pull, and everything's gone. And who was the one who started that argument? Who was the one who yelled bloody murder that she 'didn't have the time for another kitten', and 'couldn't have something like that' in her den? You! You are the reason that Sylvie ran away, you are the reason that our family is falling to pieces, and you are the reason that a poor, innocent, abused little kitten is going to die!"

Much to his surprise, Demeter didn't fight back. She didn't curse, she didn't hiss, she didn't scratch. She didn't even say a word. She merely opened her arms.

And much to his surprise, Munkustrap went to them, laying his head on his mate's shoulder and crying for the little girl he had loved and lost.

The little girl they could have had.

They'd put up more of a fight than he'd expected. Neither had noticed him creeping up behind them, but when they did, they'd leashed Hell upon him. Unfortunately for them, Macavity was quite familiar with the ways of Hell. When they attacked, he swatted them away; when they retreated, he pursued; when that supposed employee of his was down, he kicked him down the ledge, leaving him lying in a crumpled heap below. Whether the traitor Mungojerrie was alive or not, he didn't know. He didn't really care. Either way, it wasn't like he was going to be giving chase anytime soon.

And Sylvia wasn't either. The minute she'd seen him, there had been something in those inky eyes of hers that had set alight, and she'd pounced like a tiger twenty times her size. Admittedly, the scratch marks she'd left around his neck were impressively deep, still bleeding slightly after about half an hour. Yet, she'd forgotten something extremely important. It was almost as if she'd forgotten the power he held over her, the authority he would always have. She hadn't remembered that when he wanted you to go somewhere, you went.

Now, though, she was being taught, and maybe she'd learn as quickly as she had the first time.

Paws crossed.

"Hey!" Her faint little jerk sent a wave of pleasure rushing from Macavity's head to the tip of his tail. Everlasting Cat, it felt good to feel power, the power that she'd taken from him for much too long. "Eyes on me when I'm talking to you, remember?" Raising her head as best she could, she levelled eye contact with her captor and asked,

"Did you hurt them? Because if you have..."

"Them? Who are 'they', Sylvie? You mean the other cat you were with? Hmm, he'll wake up in about half an hour, a little worse for wear but otherwise alright. Or do you mean the family that you made yourself while you were away?" He stepped forward, once, twice, then bent down just far enough that she could clearly see his face. "You silly little girl, Sylvie. Hasn't life taught you anything? Families don't stay. They leave you."

"Not if you're a good cat."

"My point exactly." A wicked smile crossed his face. "Bad cats don't belong in families. That's only for good cats, isn't it? And what are you?"

Nothing.

"What are you?" A little louder this time, more forceful; this was clearly not a rhetorical question.

Still nothing.

"Have you forgotten everything whilst you've been away, Sylvie? WHAT ARE YOU?!"

Something.

"A b-bad cat."

"Very good. And what happens to bad cats, Sylvia?"

"They get punished." Their gazes had flitted apart, but they reunited, steely and determined. Macavity had to admit, she was facing her fate very admirably for a kitten of her age.

"That's right. They get their toes stepped on."

Crunch.

"Their tails bent."

Snap.

"And slashes sliced across their stripes."

Nothing.

You wouldn't know it, but Tugger had been through a lot. His mother had died soon after he was born, and Old Deuteronomy hadn't taken it well, then there was losing his big brother to evil, Munkustrap's injuries after patrol, each Jellicle Ball where he'd said goodbye to someone who'd been in his life since forever...

But none of those times were quite the same as this. All of those times it had been someone he'd known, yet with Sylvie, that hadn't happened. He hadn't even known her for more than a day, and he felt the ups and downs of an emotional rollercoaster coursing through his stomach, knowing she was gone.

Perhaps it was that he pitied her. She was very young, after all, and so, so small. Tugger had seen his fair share of kittens, both magical and not, and he couldn't remember half a dozen quite as tiny as Sylvia had bern. The gleam of her inky eyes, the fluff of her fur that didn't show signs of thinning just yet, it painted her as the picture of innocence and something that should never, ever be harmed. And she had been. She had been damaged and broken into a thousand pieces, and Tugger had felt that it was his duty to help the Junkyard put her back together again.

That was when he realised. Then he knew, more firmly than he had known anything before, that Sylvia belonged with them. She was part of their haphazard Junkyard family, it was meant to be, written in the Heaviside Layer, and the fact that she wasn't there hurt even more. He had to get her back, he had to bring his niece home, and he would go through Hell and high water to do it.

Sliding out of the beaded strings framing the entrance to his brother's den, Tugger stretched his legs a little, prowling around with his body so that nothing would prowl around in his mind. It wouldn't do to think about pain, suffering, crying...

Crying?

Instinctively recognising the small sobs, he scaled the wall to reach the roof and went to his other niece, dwarfing her shoulder with his paw.

"What's up, kit?" he asked, even though it was blatantly obvious; sometimes you had to jump through the hoops.

"I m-miss Sylvie, Uncle Tugger." She looked up at him, and if his heart hadn't already shattered, it did then.

"I know, Tiger. I miss her too. But I'm sure she'll come back. Do you know where she went?"

"No, she just ran away and I couldn't catch her. Everyone's asking me where she is, and I don't know!" A howl rang through the air, and everything seemed to fill with noise and clutter and clanging.

"Alright, Jemima. Let's try and keep calm, okay? Then we can come up with a plan about what to do." She clambered into his lap, curling up with her tail resting on his knee.

"Sorry, Uncle Tugger."

"Don't be sorry, Tiger. This is a very stressful situation, and it's okay to have big feelings. We'll take it slow, that might help. Can you tell me what happened when Sylvie ran away?" Taking a deep breath, she began.

"We went into the kitchen to get breakfast, and Mummy looked at Sylvie funny. We sat down and started eating, but when Daddy came in Mummy said she had to talk to him. They went out of the kitchen, and they were talking in their mouse voices, but then they started talking in their lion voices. Sylvie started looking sad, but sad on the inside and not the outside like I am now, and when Mummy said that she 'couldn't have something like that in the den', she was sad on the outside and ran away." Tugger thought she had finished then, as she took another deep breath, but there was more. "I know that Mummy and Daddy sometimes talk in their lion voices because they're angry, but they have a grown-up talk afterwards and then they're not angry again, so if they start talking in their lion voices, it's okay. I don't think Sylvie knows that."

"I don't think so either, Tiger."

"Why doesn't she know that, Uncle Tugger?"

Why do kittens always have to ask the hardest questions?

He had no clue how to answer that. It was so obvious and so mind-boggling, all at the same time. Sure, he knew more about the issue than he liked to admit; that didn't mean, though, that Tugger knew what to say about it, or if he even wanted to say anything at all! But Jemima had asked, she'd gone out of her way to bring it up, and so he'd have to explain it to her in whatever way he could.

"Sometimes, Tiger," he started, "Some kittens don't get treated very nicely."

"But why? That's mean."

"It can be for lots of different reasons. Some toms and queens don't have much food or shelter, some aren't healthy in their minds or their bodies, and some don't know how to bring up a little cat."

"Why do they have kittens if they can't look after them?"

"Some cats think they can look after their kittens, but later on realise that they can't. And some think that how they're treating their kittens is right, when really it's very wrong."

"I still don't get why Sylvie was so scared when Mummy and Daddy used their lion voices."

"It's a very complicated thing to talk about, Tiger, and everyone's different. Plus, I didn't know Sylvie for very long, so I can't know for sure, but here's what I think. I don't think Sylvie's mummy or daddy were very nice to her, and when she heard lion voices, she might have thought something bad was going to happen to her."

"But Daddy's a nice tom, he wouldn't hurt her!"

"We know that, Jemima, but it takes kittens like Sylvie longer to figure that out. Or she might not have had any grown-up cats look after her at all, and the shouting made her feel confused and upset."

"Grandad will find her and bring her back, won't he, Uncle Tugger?"

I don't know.

"I know he will."

He knew. He knew exactly what had happened. Even though his fatigue seeped through to his bones, he knew exactly what had happened and exactly what he had to do about it. It didn't matter if he was tired, it didn't matter if it was dangerous, it didn't matter if it severed what little bond Old Deuteronomy and Macavity had left; a little kitten was in her hour of need, and he as a Jellicle would have to answer her call.

He approached the entrance to Macavity's den with a certain subdued swagger. As a semi-regular visitor, most of the guards recognised him on sight now, and he was allowed in without any questions. Most of the time, that is.

"Stop!" A yellow tabby growled, sticking out his claws. "Who are you?"

"Old Deutereonomy," he replied, presuming that the aggressiveness was all a part of security. "Your master's father. I need to speak with him immediately on private business."

"You will do no such thing, old cat. Prove to me that you are who you say you are."

"I can't do that, I'm afraid. I can't experience a vision on command."

"Then you can't - " The mangey guard was interrupted by a snowy queen, remarkably more clean but no more gentle.

"He can, Deimos. He can. Go through."

"Thank you, Griddlebone." He scurried through the entrance, careful to be quick in case someone or something attacked him; though he wasn't the cleverest cat Old Deuteronomy knew, one thing he did know was how to rig up an astounding security system.

Weaving in and out of the dark passages, he eventually reached a long corridor lined with doors of microwave and other discarded human bits and bobs. Screams bounced off the walls, screams of pain and despair, male and female, young and old - Macavity didn't seem to discriminate against his victims. Knocking on the metal with his paws, he heard no replies, until he reached what was supposed to be a cat flap, but fashioned entirely from corrugated steel.

"Yes?" A voice, a female voice, echoed from within.

"Do you happen to know where a silver kitten is being kept? Sylvie, she's very small, still has her fluff."

"At the end of the corridor." The queen paused, hesitant. "I'll be honest with you, there's no saving her now. Trying would only bring her more pain. Just let her go." Disturbed by the warning, Old Deuteronomy found the aforementioned door and clawed the lock until it swung open. She had been right.

There was no saving Sylvie now.

Her legs had been shattered, the bones sticking out in too many places to count. Every inch of her torso was black and blue with bruises, long red scratches ruining the beauty she had once had, her shining eyes glistening with her own blood. The sight of her almost made him sick, and the thought of the pain she must have been through brought him even closer. With so many injuries, not even Jenny could have stopped the inevitable.

But there was something that could be done. Something to prove to Macavity that he may try and torture the innocent, but their pain would never last as long as he would want. Something to prove that they could rise up, return once more, come back and defeat him and all that was evil in the name of the Everlasting Cat.

Up, up, up, past the Russell Hotel. Up, up, up, up, to the Heaviside Layer.