Sillabub stretched out, the cool night air bringing a wealth of scents and sounds to her sensitive nose and ears. The night was still. The moon shone down on the solitary kitten, full-length on the old rainwater tank, a perfect crescent.
Sillabub yawned and rolled onto her back, playfully kicking up her legs and swiping at the air with her forepaws. There was no wind, nothing to disturb her antics as she played, apparently unaware of the sheer drop to both sides of her precarious perch.
Only a year and a half since she had been born. She thought back over her life for the last six months. The Jellicle Ball. Macavity's downfall. Mistoffolees' acknowledgment by Sillabub's own great-grandsire, Old Deuteronomy.
The ascendance of Grizabella, the once-Glamour Cat.
Sillabub closed her eyes tightly, lost in that scene. The light that had flowed like silver, just as beautiful, just as cold. And while the other kittens, Victoria and Etcetera among them, had been warned, the quieter, more serious Sillabub had been left. They had assumed she knew to look away.
Caught up in that memory, Sillabub began to sing very softly.
A poem. Or at least a fragment of one.
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread.
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
She let the words trail off into a rumbling purr. It was so quiet up here, now. So alone.
The sky was empty, after her haunting voice rang out. The only noise was the occasional *spang!* of a claw tapping against the rainwater tank.
Old Deuteronomy had been born in this very tank, Sillabub knew. Way back, further than she could imagine, the father of the Jellicles had been born a blind, mewling kitten just as she had been.
Sillabub thought fondly of Deuteronomy, but her smile turned to a snarl. Deuteronomy's eldest living son, Munkustrap. He had always been the leader, as far back as Sillabub could remember. And after the Keeper of the Songs, Nimowye, had died, he had been frantic. There was no-one to sing the memories, to tell the stories and keep the legends alive.
Then he had found Jemima.
A beautiful little kitten trying out her voice for the first time, finding it higher and sweeter than that of any of her playmates. And as soon as he heard it, he had known. He had taken the kitten to the oldest living Jellicles, Jellylorum, Aspar Agus, even Old Deuteronomy, her great-grandsire, himself. And they had taught her the ancient songs, to sing at the Jellicle Ball.
Sillabub lowered her chin to the metal and wept. She had lost her childhood. No kitten should have known those songs, but they had forced her to learn them. After her first year's life, when she could sing the memories to Munkustrap's demanding satisfaction, she returned to her playmates, expecting to be welcomed back into the fold.
The other kittens had been terrified of her. Somehow they could sense that lively, laughing Jemima had been replaced by something older. Something whose memories stretched back, further than Deuteronomy, further than the Junkyard they all called home.
She had left her erstwhile companions and taken the name of Sillabub, a very old name with its roots in myth and legend. And she had become the Keeper of the Songs. She was always alone, of course; all the other cats were scared of her.
But while she knew so much about some things, the unhappy genius cat was still just a kitten.
And she had never known not to look up into the Heaviside Layer.
They had all assumed she would know.
Sillabub raised her head. One more. She could feel generations of Jellicles watching her from every one of the stars.
She rose to her feet. The night held its breath as she sang, her voice throbbing and soaring effortlessly up into the higher registers. She didn't understand the words she sang, but knew in her soul exactly what they meant.
Life, death... and rebirth.
Felis Vivat.
Her song died away, and Sillabub was left looking at the pale, cold moonlight.
She bowed to Nimowye, Grizabella, and any of her ancestors that might be watching. In return, the moonlight glinted off the twisted metal on both sides of the sheer drop.
No Jellicle could survive a fall from this height. If she should jump.
Sillabub wept for the life she had lost.
A surge of powerful leg muscles.
A silent leap into the night.
Sillabub yawned and rolled onto her back, playfully kicking up her legs and swiping at the air with her forepaws. There was no wind, nothing to disturb her antics as she played, apparently unaware of the sheer drop to both sides of her precarious perch.
Only a year and a half since she had been born. She thought back over her life for the last six months. The Jellicle Ball. Macavity's downfall. Mistoffolees' acknowledgment by Sillabub's own great-grandsire, Old Deuteronomy.
The ascendance of Grizabella, the once-Glamour Cat.
Sillabub closed her eyes tightly, lost in that scene. The light that had flowed like silver, just as beautiful, just as cold. And while the other kittens, Victoria and Etcetera among them, had been warned, the quieter, more serious Sillabub had been left. They had assumed she knew to look away.
Caught up in that memory, Sillabub began to sing very softly.
A poem. Or at least a fragment of one.
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread.
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
She let the words trail off into a rumbling purr. It was so quiet up here, now. So alone.
The sky was empty, after her haunting voice rang out. The only noise was the occasional *spang!* of a claw tapping against the rainwater tank.
Old Deuteronomy had been born in this very tank, Sillabub knew. Way back, further than she could imagine, the father of the Jellicles had been born a blind, mewling kitten just as she had been.
Sillabub thought fondly of Deuteronomy, but her smile turned to a snarl. Deuteronomy's eldest living son, Munkustrap. He had always been the leader, as far back as Sillabub could remember. And after the Keeper of the Songs, Nimowye, had died, he had been frantic. There was no-one to sing the memories, to tell the stories and keep the legends alive.
Then he had found Jemima.
A beautiful little kitten trying out her voice for the first time, finding it higher and sweeter than that of any of her playmates. And as soon as he heard it, he had known. He had taken the kitten to the oldest living Jellicles, Jellylorum, Aspar Agus, even Old Deuteronomy, her great-grandsire, himself. And they had taught her the ancient songs, to sing at the Jellicle Ball.
Sillabub lowered her chin to the metal and wept. She had lost her childhood. No kitten should have known those songs, but they had forced her to learn them. After her first year's life, when she could sing the memories to Munkustrap's demanding satisfaction, she returned to her playmates, expecting to be welcomed back into the fold.
The other kittens had been terrified of her. Somehow they could sense that lively, laughing Jemima had been replaced by something older. Something whose memories stretched back, further than Deuteronomy, further than the Junkyard they all called home.
She had left her erstwhile companions and taken the name of Sillabub, a very old name with its roots in myth and legend. And she had become the Keeper of the Songs. She was always alone, of course; all the other cats were scared of her.
But while she knew so much about some things, the unhappy genius cat was still just a kitten.
And she had never known not to look up into the Heaviside Layer.
They had all assumed she would know.
Sillabub raised her head. One more. She could feel generations of Jellicles watching her from every one of the stars.
She rose to her feet. The night held its breath as she sang, her voice throbbing and soaring effortlessly up into the higher registers. She didn't understand the words she sang, but knew in her soul exactly what they meant.
Life, death... and rebirth.
Felis Vivat.
Her song died away, and Sillabub was left looking at the pale, cold moonlight.
She bowed to Nimowye, Grizabella, and any of her ancestors that might be watching. In return, the moonlight glinted off the twisted metal on both sides of the sheer drop.
No Jellicle could survive a fall from this height. If she should jump.
Sillabub wept for the life she had lost.
A surge of powerful leg muscles.
A silent leap into the night.