A/N: Okay, you, readers, need to know that this is my absolute first
attempt at a CATS fan fiction, so the canon characters, to you, may seem a
little OOC. That's just how I interpret them. Either that, or a certain
mood in a character came out sounding totally different *coughtuggercough*.
Oh yes, and I do have the second chapter in my notebook, I only have to
type it up and upload it, so if I et enough good reviews, I'll have it up
in no time. ^-^ Anyway, enjoy! By-the-way, I tried to make the new
characters as un-Mary-Sue-ish as possible. *Pause* What!? Chrysta DID pass
the Mary-Sue Litmus Test. *Sniff*
~**~**~**~**~**~**~
"Jaimi, I have yet to find out what we are doing here in the first place," said Chrystabell through the laundry basket that was upturned over her. She shifted uncomfortably, curling upon top of a red blouse. "So far, the trip seems completely pointless."
"Er, I'm thinking." The cat called Jaimi paced uneasily outside the wicker prison, having escaped from the trash bin which now lay in another corner of the room. "I have to get that other basket of clothes off of you."
"Well, start thinking faster! The family'll be back any minute, and they'll have people from the cat-catchers with them!"
Jaimi sighed and looked up. "Maybe." He jumped up and grabbed the sleeve of a shirt hanging out of the basket on top of Chrystabell's 'cell'. With a few good pulls, and after putting most of his weight on it, Jaimi was able to send the basket toppling to the tiled floor of the laundry room. Chrysta took advantage of the moment and leaned on the side of the light container, toppling it easily.
"Wow, thanks," she said, walking around. She paused. No response. "Jaimi? Jaimilogan, where are you?"
"Down here," came a muffled voice from under a gigantic pile of clothes as a furry head poked out from under a hat, glaring at no one in particular and spitting out a fabric softener sheet. "Maybe that wasn't such a good idea."
Chrysta was rolling on the floor, howling with laughter. However, soon she stood up abruptly and looked around. "What was that?"
Jaimi picked himself up and pricked his ears. "I didn't hear anything. Aaugh!!" Chrystabell had tackled him. A fierce play-fight ensued.
Pretty soon, however, Jaimi had Chrysta pinned to the wall. Then they broke down laughing.
"C'mon Jaims, let's get out of here." Chrysta started for the back door, where there was an open dog door.
"Hold on a sec; I want to check out the house." Jaimi seized a protesting Chrystabell by the tail and dragged her in the other direction, out of the laundry room door and into the kitchen.
"This is all you ever think of. 'Is there anything interesting here?' 'I want to check out the house.' 'Come on Chrysta, it's a perfect day to get killed!'" The black cat sighed and banged her paw on the linoleum. "Why do I put up with this?"
"Because you're my only friend. Now shut up and let's look at the dining room. That family took off so quickly after I broke that stupid vase, they must've left dinner on the table."
Chrystabell regained control of her limbs and started walking alongside her companion, contemplating her life. She'd met Jaimilogan a year ago, when she was barely a kitten. They'd become fast friends, although being the exact opposites of one another. Jaimi liked to cause trouble; Chrysta was the one who got blamed for trouble. Jaimi constantly had his head in the clouds; Chrysta had lost her imagination at the approximate age of two minutes. They even looked different. Chrysta had shiny black fur, a white face and one white paw. Her deep amber eyes were often wide with fascination at the littlest things she'd see on the street. Jaimi, on the other hand, was a bright orange-gold, with gray stripes partially covering his green-gold eyes. He was the street-wise cat, the cat that Chrysta usually came to when she was confused as to the existence of bubble gum. No one would have guessed that these two were inseparable, but it was true. Together the two strays ran around the wealthy part of town, posing as hungry cats looking for a home. Once inside (Of course, they counted on the owners of the house being relatively good-natured), they basically ransacked the place and ran off with a few trinkets (mostly paper clips, sometimes a bracelet or two...).
However, today was different. The family had let them in and taken the two cats to the laundry room, poured out a little water in a saucer and put a few table scraps on some newspaper, and gone back to their own dinner. Knowing this was the time to act, the cats had snuck out of the room, past the dining room, and into the upstairs landing. They'd explored the master bedroom first, discovering an imitation gold bracelet that they had thrown out of the window and into the garden (to collect later). The cats had split up and explored the entire second and third levels of the house, finding among other items of small value a thimble, three paper clips, an emerald brooch, a silver pocketwatch, a few keys on a keyring, a tennis- ball, two odd socks, and a tube of lipstick, all of which were now in a small pile outside in the garden, unbeknownst to any humans.
But then, one of the girls came upstairs to get a school paper to show the family. She caught Chrystabell and Jaimilogan in the act of tossing a pearl necklace out of the window and shrieked, diving for the window and scaring the two cats out of their collective wits. The rest of the family came up, alerted by the daughter's screams, and a massive chase ensued throughout the whole house, eventually ending with Jaimi skidding on the floor in the hall outside of the kitchen and crashing into a pedestal upon which an expensive (and unsteady) porcelain vase was perched. Everything seemed, to Chrysta, to stand still for a second or two. Then the vase fell. Shards of pottery flew, the family screamed, and both cats were frozen momentarily with shock. This allowed just enough time for the lady to scoop both of them up in a canvas bag that had been hanging on the kitchen door and deposit them in the laundry room, leaving Jaimi under a small trash bin and Chrysta trapped beneath a laundry basket weighted down with yet another basket. The family had then all piled into the car and driven off to the nearest animal control center, an hour away.
Chrysta snapped back to reality and looked around the spacious dining room. A china cabinet stood on the far wall, filled with porcelain dishware that appeared to have never seen a tabletop in years. The long oval table was standing on a beautiful woven rug. The chairs were pushed out-- one had even fallen over-and cloth napkins were lying on the floor where they had been dropped in a hurry. Through the glass-paned door, the cats could still see porcelain rubble where the vase had met its demise.
Jaimi was in complete awe, and turned to Chrysta, grinning. "So, what do we destroy first?"
Chrysta looked at him, thinking the same thing. "Oh, I was thinking we check out the tabletop before anything else."
"Good idea. Maybe the folks have some sort of fancy, breakable centerpiece that could use modification." He leapt onto the seat of the nearest oak chair and onto the massive table, followed closely by Chrysta.
"Nice." The table was still cluttered with dishes. The five places were set perfectly-salad fork, dinner fork, soup spoon, dessert spoon, you name it. Serving dishes sat uncovered at the center of the table, and the two cats thought in unison of one thing.
"Let's eat." And they did, making a huge mess of the table.
Chrysta eventually knocked over a wine glass, staining several feet of the linen tablecloth reddish-purple, and sniffed at the liquid curiously. She started lapping some up. Pretty soon most of it was gone, and Chrysta's world was spinning. "Hey, Jaimi, you have to check out this grape juice."
Jaimi looked up from the mashed potatoes he was currently demolishing. "What?" He crossed over to where Chrystabell was standing-or rather, swaying-next to the stain of red. He sniffed the stuff uneasily and looked up at his friend. "Chrysta, this is wine. This must be a pretty fancy family, if they have wine for dinner every day." he added.
"Well, I don't think I'm whining; I just found this glass o' stuff, knocked it over, and drank some." Her normally clear, crisp accent was slurred.
"Everlasting Cat, she's drunk," he muttered. "Chrysta, stop drinking it, you've already had twice the safe amount for a cat," he said, louder. "You're stone drunk."
"Nonsense, I'm not drunk." Chrysta came close to falling off of the edge of the table as she spoke. "Besides, I prefer the term intocixated."
"Of course you do," said Jaimi, hardly paying attention as he shoved Chrystabell off of the table and onto the rug.
"Hey!" She let out a sharp yowl of objection, but didn't try to jump back onto the tabletop. Jaimi leapt down after her and looked around, dragging her bodily into the kitchen.
"Coffee, coffee, what is that junk and where is it?" He'd heard somewhere that coffee could be used to cure someone who was drunk, but had no idea what it was, only that most houses had some in a can. "Maybe. up here!" He jumped onto the countertop. and into a sink filled with water. "Or not."
Chrystabell just sat on the floor and giggled. "Jaimi got wet."
"Yes. Now, back to the coffee." He climbed out of the sink, dripping soapy water everywhere, and tried to dry himself off a little. "Right. Coffee, coffee." He resumed the search for coffee, opening any cabinet that he could until he'd circled the entire room.
Chrysta was stretched out on her back on a chair, ogling a light bulb on the ceiling. "Did Jaimi find his coffee?"
Jaimilogan chose to ignore this as he sprung onto another part of countertop and looked around. There, next to a few dishtowels, was a large metal container with the word 'coffee' stenciled across the side in big, black letters.
He tried reading the wide letters. "C-O-F-F-E-E. Coffee!" Jaimi wasted no time in throwing a pink frilly towel onto the floor and tipping over the can of coffee, rolling it over to the edge of the counter. He pried off the plastic lid with a lot of effort, twice having the can nearly roll over the edge. A rough brown powder spilled out onto the kitchen floor, only half of it landing on the towel.
Chrystabell instantly whirled around, successfully falling off of the chair. "Oooooooh. Wuzzat?"
"Coffee." Jaimi jumped down from the counter and into a patch of the stuff. A cloud of brown smelly dust rose. "You need to eat some."
Chrysta, full of curiosity, padded over to the brown lake of powder and sniffed questioningly. She ate a little and sat for a moment with an expression halfway between confusion and disgust. Jaimi tried not to laugh.
She swallowed hard and stared blankly at the space between the end of one tile and the beginning of another until she lurched forward with a cry. "Ugh! What in Heaviside was that!? Bleh, I think I'm going to choke! Or throw up, whichever comes first.Yecchh." She shuddered and began meticulously cleaning her fur in a sort of 'If-I-concentrate-on-this- instead-I won't-think-about-coffee.' manner.
Jaimi snickered. She was definitely sober, anyway. Maybe not as much as could be wished, but at least she wasn't seeing elephants anymore. This coffee stuff, he thought, must be incredibly strong. Another thing to remember.
"And what are you laughing about?" She looked up at Jaimi for a second. "You didn't have to eat that stuff. It's scratchy, and awfully bitter and strong." She shuddered again.
"I never laughed. There's a distinct difference between laughing and snickering quietly to oneself, you see." He crossed over to a cabinet, where he'd seen a package of paper bags they could use. "Now c'mon, the family'll be back any minute." He pulled out two bags from the pack. "We'll use these to carry the stuff we threw out the window." "Awesome. Let's go." Chrysta took a bag and strolled to the laundry room door, which stood ajar. She only swayed a little, and, to her own surprise, was able to 'balance' on the line between tiles for a whopping total of five steps.
"Hold on a sec. I smell. cat food?" Jaimilogan followed his nose into the laundry room, trotting over the piles of clothes and into a cabinet next to the washing machine.
"How can there be cat food in a house that has no cat?" Chrysta followed, her interest at its peak.
"How do we know they don't have a cat? They might've had one, but gave it away or something." Jaimi was busy dragging out a large half-filled bag of generic dry cat food. Chrysta was mesmerized.
"What doesh it shay?" She asked through the paper bag in her mouth.
"Why are you asking me? I can't read."
"You read th' coffee can."
"I sounded that out, plus I knew the word beforehand."
"Then shound out the wordsh here!"
"Oh, fine." Jaimi knocked the bag over on it's side and tilted his head so he could read it better. "It says. 'Mah-llo-yuh Cate Food.'"
"The middle word ish 'cat,' genius." Chrysta spat out her paper bag and walked forward to have a closer look. "Anyway, it's cat food. Let's just grab some and go!"
"Okay." Jaimi opened one of the paper bags and the bag of cat food and scooped some of the pellets inside into the bag. "That should be enough."
"Yep. Now let's trash the room before we leave."
"That's funny; two seconds ago you were the one who wanted to go as soon as possible."
"Well, now I'm not." As she spoke Chrysta was on top of the washing machine, knocking an open box of soap flakes into the machine. "I think we should help the people out and do some laundry." She giggled and pushed a knob on the back, starting the appliance. Cold water gushed into the tub of the washer, and Chrysta, startled out of her wits, flew off of the washer and into a pile of clothing on the floor.
"It's just a washing machine, Chrys," Jaimi said as he leapt onto the giant white water-filled monstrosity. "Nothing to worry about. Now, what should we wash in it?"
Chrysta grinned as much as a cat could. "I saw some nice-looking silk scarves in the master bedroom. T'would be a shame if they got dirty."
"Perfect. I'll go look for some more breakable-I mean, things that need to be washed."
And so the two split up, leaving the detergent still pouring into the washer. They came back about five minutes later, Chrysta carrying at least ten delicate silk and lace scarves on her head, draped messily over her fur, and in her mouth so that she looked something like a strange midget grandmother who got caught in a very colorful snowstorm. Jaimi walked in only three seconds later, dragging behind him a large handkerchief upon which was piled an array of hats, gloves, and pocketwatches, as well as a china sugar bowl lid. The actual sugar bowl was balanced over his head, creating a strange-looking hat and a rather bizarre spectacle.
What they saw made them freeze in their tracks.
The laundry room was filled one and a half feet deep in. fluff. And it smelled like laundry soap. The fluff, in fact, was the laundry soap. It covered the piles of clothes strewn on the floor. Little patches of bubbles clung to the walls. It was a winter wonderland that smelled summery fresh.
"Whoa. what happened?" Jaimi almost lost his hat and dropped the handkerchief.
"We left the soap on." Chrysta spat out the scarves she had been carrying in her mouth.
"That's soap?"
"Apparently."
The two cats stared at each other for a moment before grinning in unison. "Awesome!"
They sprung into action, leaping into the fluff and momentarily forgetting about the scarves and handkerchief. They discovered that it was like swimming, wading through all this white crackly stuff. In fact, the fluff was disappearing right before their eyes, as they soon found out, but it was going away very slowly.
Jaimi looked up from where he was watching a single clump of bubbles crackle and vanish to se Chrysta sitting about two feet away, staring cross- eyed at a clear round thing on the end of her pink nose.
"Jai-Jaimi? Jaimilogan! There's something on my nose."
"It's a bubble, smart one." He pounced on a clump of foam. Best leave her to figure it out.
"What do I do?" But before Jaimi could roll his eyes and answer, the bubble popped. Chrysta screamed bloody murder and leapt two feet in the air. She landed in another pile of foam, disappeared for a while, and shakily walked out, fur plastered with soap. Her friend was doubled over in laughter. "That was not funny; the 'bubble' thing might've killed me!"
"Bubbles are not lethal. They're. clear. And. they have something like air inside. But they don't kill."
Chrysta, her fear long passed, yawned widely. "We better get out of here. The family's due back any second."
"Right." Without another word, Jaimi started for the outside door, picking up the paper bag of cat food. He turned around. Chrysta wasn't there. "Chrys?"
Chrystabell jumped out of the realm of poofiness (formerly known as the laundry room), one of the scarves she'd collected-a red one, with roses printed on it-wrapped around her neck. "Ready." She pulled the sugar bowl out from behind her. "Oh, and I brought your hat."
"Excellent." Jaimi slipped the 'hat' onto his head and straightened up grandly as Chrysta picked up the empty paper bag. "Let us go, First Mate Chrys."
"Aye aye, Cap," Chrys giggled around the bag in her mouth and followed her friend out into the garden.
*** *** ***
"This was not in the plan."
"Not at all."
The two cats known as Chrystabell and Jaimilogan stood in front of what was once their home, a large cardboard box filled with old clothes in the back of an alleyway. What they were looking at was certainly not a cardboard box. At least, it wasn't anymore. It was a large pile of ashes and smoldering twigs, apparently put together with pieces of wood and set aflame by who knows what. For whatever reason it was, it was certainly not livable, and once again the two cats found themselves homeless.
"What do we do now?" Chrysta asked, curling up next to her bag of loot.
"What we've done four times before." Jaimi sat next to his hat-formerly known as a sugar bowl-and sighed. "Look for something that won't burn down."
"Well, what'll that be, a rock this time?"
"The rock idea was a joke, Chrys."
"Yeah, well we had to live behind your 'joke' for two weeks, buster."
"Look, we can't start quarreling now; there're more urgent matters to attend to."
"I know that, but." Chrysta's voice trailed off hopelessly. "How do we attend to them?" She ruffled up the scarf around her head so that it hid her face. "This is the fifth time we've been out of a home, Jaims. I can't take it anymore!"
"I know, I know, I know. But what can we do if every box in the world is flammable!?" He paced around the box, stomping on a half-burnt piece of cardboard. He was frustrated. Very frustrated, in fact. Why on earth did this keep happening? It was like a cycle: The cats found a new home. The cats liked the new home. The cats were happy. The cats left the new home and then - boom. Another fire, and then the whole thing repeated itself, as it had done so five times in the same year.
Suddenly, a voice came from the far side of the alley. "I think I can help you."
Both Chrysta and Jaimi leapt to defense positions, Jaimi at the side nearest the predator and Chrysta huddled just behind him, in more of a 'oh- crud-I'm-going-to-die' position than a defense one-just a clump of quivering black fur. They both looked in the direction of the voice, but only saw a pair of green eyes looking back at them.
"Who are you?" Jaimi hissed. He and Chrysta had never met another cat, and were all too unsure what one would do when they did see one.
"I'm. er. just a second." The voice untangled itself from something in the shadows and stumbled forward into the light. "I'm. well, you can call me Mistoffelees." The cat held out his paw, waiting for a handshake from Jaimi.
Jaimi and Chrysta stared. This was, after all, something they hadn't expected. Mistoffelees was a great deal shorter than Jaimilogan, coming to about the same height as Chrystabell. He was completely black, and instead of a collar sported a bowtie tied around his neck.
"Er. pleasure to meet you." Jaimi shook Mistoffelees's paw. "I'm Jaimilogan, and this is my friend, Chrystabell."
Chrysta walked up to stand next to Jaimi. "Nice to meet you, Mistoffelees."
"You can call me Misto. Anyway, I think I know where you can stay."
Another voice came from behind Misto as another cat, a Maine Coon, stepped in front of him. "If you're talking about the junkyard, no way. Munkustrap won't allow it." The Maine Coon was also black, but with patches of spotted fur and a large mane.
"Whoever said he had to know?" Misto rolled his eyes.
"Even if no one told him, he'd find out eventually."
Misto sighed and looked at the two alley cats, who once again could do nothing but stare. "This is the Rum Tum Tugger. He's someone I know." Misto carefully avoided use of the word 'friend'. "Tugger, this is Chrystabell and Jaimilogan."
"I know, I heard you guys talking. Like I was saying, Munku won't let those two stay in the junkyard unless they're Jellicle. He'd find out if they did-"
"No, he won't."
"Yes, he will."
"No, he won't."
And so the two Jellicles continued their argument, until Chrysta spoke up. "Er. why don't you show us this junkyard place, and maybe we can find a place that no one can see.?" She shrugged in a hopeful sort of way.
Tugger dropped the argument completely. "And you must be Chrystabell, that tom's girlfriend." He smirked. "Nice scarf."
Chrysta blushed. on the inside, anyway. "Th-thanks. I think." She retreated to the warm pile of ashes and burrowed deeper into the silk, suddenly wishing to disappear.
Jaimi looked back at his friend, rolled his eyes again, and kept talking. "Like she was saying," he continued with a meaningful glance at Tugger, "you could show us around this junkyard place sometime when the. Jellycones aren't there?"
"It's 'Jellicle.'"
"What?"
"The word is 'Jellicle'. haven't you ever heard of us?"
Jaimi shook his head. "No. In fact, we've never seen another cat on the streets."
Tugger raised an eyebrow. "Never?"
"Never," came the muffled reply from underneath a sugar bowl next to the soot.
"Well," said Misto, "we'll explain everything to you on the way. Come on." He picked the sugar bowl off of Chrystabell's head. "Hello, again."
"Go 'way." Chrysta burrowed deeper into the soot under her scarf.
"Why?"
Jaimi walked over. "'Cause she's embarrassed. It happens all the time. Chrystabell," he yelled at the mix of cloth, ash, and fur, "come out, it's okay. They know we're just friends, alright?"
Chrysta peeked out through the sheer fabric of the scarf. Then she stood up, took the cloth off of her head, and shook most of the dust out of her fur. "Where're we going now?"
"Just a few blocks that-a-way," said Misto, picking up the bag of cat food and pointing to the right. "Hey, this bag smells like. turkey. What's in these bags, anyway?" He put the parcel down and sniffed it curiously.
Jaimi quickly picked up the bag, while Chrysta, taking a hint from Jaimi, beat Tugger to the other one.
"Oh, nothing. but we'd rather carry them," Jaimi mumbled around the paper. "Don't want to burden you two or anything." Don't want to be found out, either, he thought.
"Well, okay, if you're sure.c'mon then." Misto started walking toward the end of the alley, where it met with the street. "It's almost dark, and that's when Munku doesn't let up on security."
"Like he's not going to find out tomorrow." Tugger muttered from next to Chrysta.
"I heard that."
And so the four cats walked out of the alley, Mistoffelees and Chrystabell in front, and Jaimilogan and the Rum Tum Tugger just behind. Jaimi paused and chanced a look back at his and Chrysta's old home. He just had to wonder if the cycle would repeat itself.
~**~**~**~**~**~**~
"Jaimi, I have yet to find out what we are doing here in the first place," said Chrystabell through the laundry basket that was upturned over her. She shifted uncomfortably, curling upon top of a red blouse. "So far, the trip seems completely pointless."
"Er, I'm thinking." The cat called Jaimi paced uneasily outside the wicker prison, having escaped from the trash bin which now lay in another corner of the room. "I have to get that other basket of clothes off of you."
"Well, start thinking faster! The family'll be back any minute, and they'll have people from the cat-catchers with them!"
Jaimi sighed and looked up. "Maybe." He jumped up and grabbed the sleeve of a shirt hanging out of the basket on top of Chrystabell's 'cell'. With a few good pulls, and after putting most of his weight on it, Jaimi was able to send the basket toppling to the tiled floor of the laundry room. Chrysta took advantage of the moment and leaned on the side of the light container, toppling it easily.
"Wow, thanks," she said, walking around. She paused. No response. "Jaimi? Jaimilogan, where are you?"
"Down here," came a muffled voice from under a gigantic pile of clothes as a furry head poked out from under a hat, glaring at no one in particular and spitting out a fabric softener sheet. "Maybe that wasn't such a good idea."
Chrysta was rolling on the floor, howling with laughter. However, soon she stood up abruptly and looked around. "What was that?"
Jaimi picked himself up and pricked his ears. "I didn't hear anything. Aaugh!!" Chrystabell had tackled him. A fierce play-fight ensued.
Pretty soon, however, Jaimi had Chrysta pinned to the wall. Then they broke down laughing.
"C'mon Jaims, let's get out of here." Chrysta started for the back door, where there was an open dog door.
"Hold on a sec; I want to check out the house." Jaimi seized a protesting Chrystabell by the tail and dragged her in the other direction, out of the laundry room door and into the kitchen.
"This is all you ever think of. 'Is there anything interesting here?' 'I want to check out the house.' 'Come on Chrysta, it's a perfect day to get killed!'" The black cat sighed and banged her paw on the linoleum. "Why do I put up with this?"
"Because you're my only friend. Now shut up and let's look at the dining room. That family took off so quickly after I broke that stupid vase, they must've left dinner on the table."
Chrystabell regained control of her limbs and started walking alongside her companion, contemplating her life. She'd met Jaimilogan a year ago, when she was barely a kitten. They'd become fast friends, although being the exact opposites of one another. Jaimi liked to cause trouble; Chrysta was the one who got blamed for trouble. Jaimi constantly had his head in the clouds; Chrysta had lost her imagination at the approximate age of two minutes. They even looked different. Chrysta had shiny black fur, a white face and one white paw. Her deep amber eyes were often wide with fascination at the littlest things she'd see on the street. Jaimi, on the other hand, was a bright orange-gold, with gray stripes partially covering his green-gold eyes. He was the street-wise cat, the cat that Chrysta usually came to when she was confused as to the existence of bubble gum. No one would have guessed that these two were inseparable, but it was true. Together the two strays ran around the wealthy part of town, posing as hungry cats looking for a home. Once inside (Of course, they counted on the owners of the house being relatively good-natured), they basically ransacked the place and ran off with a few trinkets (mostly paper clips, sometimes a bracelet or two...).
However, today was different. The family had let them in and taken the two cats to the laundry room, poured out a little water in a saucer and put a few table scraps on some newspaper, and gone back to their own dinner. Knowing this was the time to act, the cats had snuck out of the room, past the dining room, and into the upstairs landing. They'd explored the master bedroom first, discovering an imitation gold bracelet that they had thrown out of the window and into the garden (to collect later). The cats had split up and explored the entire second and third levels of the house, finding among other items of small value a thimble, three paper clips, an emerald brooch, a silver pocketwatch, a few keys on a keyring, a tennis- ball, two odd socks, and a tube of lipstick, all of which were now in a small pile outside in the garden, unbeknownst to any humans.
But then, one of the girls came upstairs to get a school paper to show the family. She caught Chrystabell and Jaimilogan in the act of tossing a pearl necklace out of the window and shrieked, diving for the window and scaring the two cats out of their collective wits. The rest of the family came up, alerted by the daughter's screams, and a massive chase ensued throughout the whole house, eventually ending with Jaimi skidding on the floor in the hall outside of the kitchen and crashing into a pedestal upon which an expensive (and unsteady) porcelain vase was perched. Everything seemed, to Chrysta, to stand still for a second or two. Then the vase fell. Shards of pottery flew, the family screamed, and both cats were frozen momentarily with shock. This allowed just enough time for the lady to scoop both of them up in a canvas bag that had been hanging on the kitchen door and deposit them in the laundry room, leaving Jaimi under a small trash bin and Chrysta trapped beneath a laundry basket weighted down with yet another basket. The family had then all piled into the car and driven off to the nearest animal control center, an hour away.
Chrysta snapped back to reality and looked around the spacious dining room. A china cabinet stood on the far wall, filled with porcelain dishware that appeared to have never seen a tabletop in years. The long oval table was standing on a beautiful woven rug. The chairs were pushed out-- one had even fallen over-and cloth napkins were lying on the floor where they had been dropped in a hurry. Through the glass-paned door, the cats could still see porcelain rubble where the vase had met its demise.
Jaimi was in complete awe, and turned to Chrysta, grinning. "So, what do we destroy first?"
Chrysta looked at him, thinking the same thing. "Oh, I was thinking we check out the tabletop before anything else."
"Good idea. Maybe the folks have some sort of fancy, breakable centerpiece that could use modification." He leapt onto the seat of the nearest oak chair and onto the massive table, followed closely by Chrysta.
"Nice." The table was still cluttered with dishes. The five places were set perfectly-salad fork, dinner fork, soup spoon, dessert spoon, you name it. Serving dishes sat uncovered at the center of the table, and the two cats thought in unison of one thing.
"Let's eat." And they did, making a huge mess of the table.
Chrysta eventually knocked over a wine glass, staining several feet of the linen tablecloth reddish-purple, and sniffed at the liquid curiously. She started lapping some up. Pretty soon most of it was gone, and Chrysta's world was spinning. "Hey, Jaimi, you have to check out this grape juice."
Jaimi looked up from the mashed potatoes he was currently demolishing. "What?" He crossed over to where Chrystabell was standing-or rather, swaying-next to the stain of red. He sniffed the stuff uneasily and looked up at his friend. "Chrysta, this is wine. This must be a pretty fancy family, if they have wine for dinner every day." he added.
"Well, I don't think I'm whining; I just found this glass o' stuff, knocked it over, and drank some." Her normally clear, crisp accent was slurred.
"Everlasting Cat, she's drunk," he muttered. "Chrysta, stop drinking it, you've already had twice the safe amount for a cat," he said, louder. "You're stone drunk."
"Nonsense, I'm not drunk." Chrysta came close to falling off of the edge of the table as she spoke. "Besides, I prefer the term intocixated."
"Of course you do," said Jaimi, hardly paying attention as he shoved Chrystabell off of the table and onto the rug.
"Hey!" She let out a sharp yowl of objection, but didn't try to jump back onto the tabletop. Jaimi leapt down after her and looked around, dragging her bodily into the kitchen.
"Coffee, coffee, what is that junk and where is it?" He'd heard somewhere that coffee could be used to cure someone who was drunk, but had no idea what it was, only that most houses had some in a can. "Maybe. up here!" He jumped onto the countertop. and into a sink filled with water. "Or not."
Chrystabell just sat on the floor and giggled. "Jaimi got wet."
"Yes. Now, back to the coffee." He climbed out of the sink, dripping soapy water everywhere, and tried to dry himself off a little. "Right. Coffee, coffee." He resumed the search for coffee, opening any cabinet that he could until he'd circled the entire room.
Chrysta was stretched out on her back on a chair, ogling a light bulb on the ceiling. "Did Jaimi find his coffee?"
Jaimilogan chose to ignore this as he sprung onto another part of countertop and looked around. There, next to a few dishtowels, was a large metal container with the word 'coffee' stenciled across the side in big, black letters.
He tried reading the wide letters. "C-O-F-F-E-E. Coffee!" Jaimi wasted no time in throwing a pink frilly towel onto the floor and tipping over the can of coffee, rolling it over to the edge of the counter. He pried off the plastic lid with a lot of effort, twice having the can nearly roll over the edge. A rough brown powder spilled out onto the kitchen floor, only half of it landing on the towel.
Chrystabell instantly whirled around, successfully falling off of the chair. "Oooooooh. Wuzzat?"
"Coffee." Jaimi jumped down from the counter and into a patch of the stuff. A cloud of brown smelly dust rose. "You need to eat some."
Chrysta, full of curiosity, padded over to the brown lake of powder and sniffed questioningly. She ate a little and sat for a moment with an expression halfway between confusion and disgust. Jaimi tried not to laugh.
She swallowed hard and stared blankly at the space between the end of one tile and the beginning of another until she lurched forward with a cry. "Ugh! What in Heaviside was that!? Bleh, I think I'm going to choke! Or throw up, whichever comes first.Yecchh." She shuddered and began meticulously cleaning her fur in a sort of 'If-I-concentrate-on-this- instead-I won't-think-about-coffee.' manner.
Jaimi snickered. She was definitely sober, anyway. Maybe not as much as could be wished, but at least she wasn't seeing elephants anymore. This coffee stuff, he thought, must be incredibly strong. Another thing to remember.
"And what are you laughing about?" She looked up at Jaimi for a second. "You didn't have to eat that stuff. It's scratchy, and awfully bitter and strong." She shuddered again.
"I never laughed. There's a distinct difference between laughing and snickering quietly to oneself, you see." He crossed over to a cabinet, where he'd seen a package of paper bags they could use. "Now c'mon, the family'll be back any minute." He pulled out two bags from the pack. "We'll use these to carry the stuff we threw out the window." "Awesome. Let's go." Chrysta took a bag and strolled to the laundry room door, which stood ajar. She only swayed a little, and, to her own surprise, was able to 'balance' on the line between tiles for a whopping total of five steps.
"Hold on a sec. I smell. cat food?" Jaimilogan followed his nose into the laundry room, trotting over the piles of clothes and into a cabinet next to the washing machine.
"How can there be cat food in a house that has no cat?" Chrysta followed, her interest at its peak.
"How do we know they don't have a cat? They might've had one, but gave it away or something." Jaimi was busy dragging out a large half-filled bag of generic dry cat food. Chrysta was mesmerized.
"What doesh it shay?" She asked through the paper bag in her mouth.
"Why are you asking me? I can't read."
"You read th' coffee can."
"I sounded that out, plus I knew the word beforehand."
"Then shound out the wordsh here!"
"Oh, fine." Jaimi knocked the bag over on it's side and tilted his head so he could read it better. "It says. 'Mah-llo-yuh Cate Food.'"
"The middle word ish 'cat,' genius." Chrysta spat out her paper bag and walked forward to have a closer look. "Anyway, it's cat food. Let's just grab some and go!"
"Okay." Jaimi opened one of the paper bags and the bag of cat food and scooped some of the pellets inside into the bag. "That should be enough."
"Yep. Now let's trash the room before we leave."
"That's funny; two seconds ago you were the one who wanted to go as soon as possible."
"Well, now I'm not." As she spoke Chrysta was on top of the washing machine, knocking an open box of soap flakes into the machine. "I think we should help the people out and do some laundry." She giggled and pushed a knob on the back, starting the appliance. Cold water gushed into the tub of the washer, and Chrysta, startled out of her wits, flew off of the washer and into a pile of clothing on the floor.
"It's just a washing machine, Chrys," Jaimi said as he leapt onto the giant white water-filled monstrosity. "Nothing to worry about. Now, what should we wash in it?"
Chrysta grinned as much as a cat could. "I saw some nice-looking silk scarves in the master bedroom. T'would be a shame if they got dirty."
"Perfect. I'll go look for some more breakable-I mean, things that need to be washed."
And so the two split up, leaving the detergent still pouring into the washer. They came back about five minutes later, Chrysta carrying at least ten delicate silk and lace scarves on her head, draped messily over her fur, and in her mouth so that she looked something like a strange midget grandmother who got caught in a very colorful snowstorm. Jaimi walked in only three seconds later, dragging behind him a large handkerchief upon which was piled an array of hats, gloves, and pocketwatches, as well as a china sugar bowl lid. The actual sugar bowl was balanced over his head, creating a strange-looking hat and a rather bizarre spectacle.
What they saw made them freeze in their tracks.
The laundry room was filled one and a half feet deep in. fluff. And it smelled like laundry soap. The fluff, in fact, was the laundry soap. It covered the piles of clothes strewn on the floor. Little patches of bubbles clung to the walls. It was a winter wonderland that smelled summery fresh.
"Whoa. what happened?" Jaimi almost lost his hat and dropped the handkerchief.
"We left the soap on." Chrysta spat out the scarves she had been carrying in her mouth.
"That's soap?"
"Apparently."
The two cats stared at each other for a moment before grinning in unison. "Awesome!"
They sprung into action, leaping into the fluff and momentarily forgetting about the scarves and handkerchief. They discovered that it was like swimming, wading through all this white crackly stuff. In fact, the fluff was disappearing right before their eyes, as they soon found out, but it was going away very slowly.
Jaimi looked up from where he was watching a single clump of bubbles crackle and vanish to se Chrysta sitting about two feet away, staring cross- eyed at a clear round thing on the end of her pink nose.
"Jai-Jaimi? Jaimilogan! There's something on my nose."
"It's a bubble, smart one." He pounced on a clump of foam. Best leave her to figure it out.
"What do I do?" But before Jaimi could roll his eyes and answer, the bubble popped. Chrysta screamed bloody murder and leapt two feet in the air. She landed in another pile of foam, disappeared for a while, and shakily walked out, fur plastered with soap. Her friend was doubled over in laughter. "That was not funny; the 'bubble' thing might've killed me!"
"Bubbles are not lethal. They're. clear. And. they have something like air inside. But they don't kill."
Chrysta, her fear long passed, yawned widely. "We better get out of here. The family's due back any second."
"Right." Without another word, Jaimi started for the outside door, picking up the paper bag of cat food. He turned around. Chrysta wasn't there. "Chrys?"
Chrystabell jumped out of the realm of poofiness (formerly known as the laundry room), one of the scarves she'd collected-a red one, with roses printed on it-wrapped around her neck. "Ready." She pulled the sugar bowl out from behind her. "Oh, and I brought your hat."
"Excellent." Jaimi slipped the 'hat' onto his head and straightened up grandly as Chrysta picked up the empty paper bag. "Let us go, First Mate Chrys."
"Aye aye, Cap," Chrys giggled around the bag in her mouth and followed her friend out into the garden.
*** *** ***
"This was not in the plan."
"Not at all."
The two cats known as Chrystabell and Jaimilogan stood in front of what was once their home, a large cardboard box filled with old clothes in the back of an alleyway. What they were looking at was certainly not a cardboard box. At least, it wasn't anymore. It was a large pile of ashes and smoldering twigs, apparently put together with pieces of wood and set aflame by who knows what. For whatever reason it was, it was certainly not livable, and once again the two cats found themselves homeless.
"What do we do now?" Chrysta asked, curling up next to her bag of loot.
"What we've done four times before." Jaimi sat next to his hat-formerly known as a sugar bowl-and sighed. "Look for something that won't burn down."
"Well, what'll that be, a rock this time?"
"The rock idea was a joke, Chrys."
"Yeah, well we had to live behind your 'joke' for two weeks, buster."
"Look, we can't start quarreling now; there're more urgent matters to attend to."
"I know that, but." Chrysta's voice trailed off hopelessly. "How do we attend to them?" She ruffled up the scarf around her head so that it hid her face. "This is the fifth time we've been out of a home, Jaims. I can't take it anymore!"
"I know, I know, I know. But what can we do if every box in the world is flammable!?" He paced around the box, stomping on a half-burnt piece of cardboard. He was frustrated. Very frustrated, in fact. Why on earth did this keep happening? It was like a cycle: The cats found a new home. The cats liked the new home. The cats were happy. The cats left the new home and then - boom. Another fire, and then the whole thing repeated itself, as it had done so five times in the same year.
Suddenly, a voice came from the far side of the alley. "I think I can help you."
Both Chrysta and Jaimi leapt to defense positions, Jaimi at the side nearest the predator and Chrysta huddled just behind him, in more of a 'oh- crud-I'm-going-to-die' position than a defense one-just a clump of quivering black fur. They both looked in the direction of the voice, but only saw a pair of green eyes looking back at them.
"Who are you?" Jaimi hissed. He and Chrysta had never met another cat, and were all too unsure what one would do when they did see one.
"I'm. er. just a second." The voice untangled itself from something in the shadows and stumbled forward into the light. "I'm. well, you can call me Mistoffelees." The cat held out his paw, waiting for a handshake from Jaimi.
Jaimi and Chrysta stared. This was, after all, something they hadn't expected. Mistoffelees was a great deal shorter than Jaimilogan, coming to about the same height as Chrystabell. He was completely black, and instead of a collar sported a bowtie tied around his neck.
"Er. pleasure to meet you." Jaimi shook Mistoffelees's paw. "I'm Jaimilogan, and this is my friend, Chrystabell."
Chrysta walked up to stand next to Jaimi. "Nice to meet you, Mistoffelees."
"You can call me Misto. Anyway, I think I know where you can stay."
Another voice came from behind Misto as another cat, a Maine Coon, stepped in front of him. "If you're talking about the junkyard, no way. Munkustrap won't allow it." The Maine Coon was also black, but with patches of spotted fur and a large mane.
"Whoever said he had to know?" Misto rolled his eyes.
"Even if no one told him, he'd find out eventually."
Misto sighed and looked at the two alley cats, who once again could do nothing but stare. "This is the Rum Tum Tugger. He's someone I know." Misto carefully avoided use of the word 'friend'. "Tugger, this is Chrystabell and Jaimilogan."
"I know, I heard you guys talking. Like I was saying, Munku won't let those two stay in the junkyard unless they're Jellicle. He'd find out if they did-"
"No, he won't."
"Yes, he will."
"No, he won't."
And so the two Jellicles continued their argument, until Chrysta spoke up. "Er. why don't you show us this junkyard place, and maybe we can find a place that no one can see.?" She shrugged in a hopeful sort of way.
Tugger dropped the argument completely. "And you must be Chrystabell, that tom's girlfriend." He smirked. "Nice scarf."
Chrysta blushed. on the inside, anyway. "Th-thanks. I think." She retreated to the warm pile of ashes and burrowed deeper into the silk, suddenly wishing to disappear.
Jaimi looked back at his friend, rolled his eyes again, and kept talking. "Like she was saying," he continued with a meaningful glance at Tugger, "you could show us around this junkyard place sometime when the. Jellycones aren't there?"
"It's 'Jellicle.'"
"What?"
"The word is 'Jellicle'. haven't you ever heard of us?"
Jaimi shook his head. "No. In fact, we've never seen another cat on the streets."
Tugger raised an eyebrow. "Never?"
"Never," came the muffled reply from underneath a sugar bowl next to the soot.
"Well," said Misto, "we'll explain everything to you on the way. Come on." He picked the sugar bowl off of Chrystabell's head. "Hello, again."
"Go 'way." Chrysta burrowed deeper into the soot under her scarf.
"Why?"
Jaimi walked over. "'Cause she's embarrassed. It happens all the time. Chrystabell," he yelled at the mix of cloth, ash, and fur, "come out, it's okay. They know we're just friends, alright?"
Chrysta peeked out through the sheer fabric of the scarf. Then she stood up, took the cloth off of her head, and shook most of the dust out of her fur. "Where're we going now?"
"Just a few blocks that-a-way," said Misto, picking up the bag of cat food and pointing to the right. "Hey, this bag smells like. turkey. What's in these bags, anyway?" He put the parcel down and sniffed it curiously.
Jaimi quickly picked up the bag, while Chrysta, taking a hint from Jaimi, beat Tugger to the other one.
"Oh, nothing. but we'd rather carry them," Jaimi mumbled around the paper. "Don't want to burden you two or anything." Don't want to be found out, either, he thought.
"Well, okay, if you're sure.c'mon then." Misto started walking toward the end of the alley, where it met with the street. "It's almost dark, and that's when Munku doesn't let up on security."
"Like he's not going to find out tomorrow." Tugger muttered from next to Chrysta.
"I heard that."
And so the four cats walked out of the alley, Mistoffelees and Chrystabell in front, and Jaimilogan and the Rum Tum Tugger just behind. Jaimi paused and chanced a look back at his and Chrysta's old home. He just had to wonder if the cycle would repeat itself.