© INFO: All characters and the original idea of Cats belong to T. S. Eliot, Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber, and the Really Useful Group, excepting the character Cassie, who is © Triskell 2000, and may not be used without express permission. Permission to use Cassie or Triskell's idea can be obtained at Triskell(a)utanet.at. Permission to use MY idea can be obtained at I also want to thank Triskell profoundly for letting me use Cassie and for letting me work off of her original idea. Thanks a bunch! This work is dedicated to you!

NOTE: This story is based partly on Triskell's idea, and a lot on the video version of the musical. As a result, the best reading experience can be obtained by keeping the video in mind as you read.

What Magic Can't Fix

© Kiro, 2004

(Misto)

My name is Quaxo, but I am also known to the Jellicles as Mr. Mistoffelees, the Original Conjuring Cat.

Over the course of my life, I've learned that there are a few things that even magic can't fix.

A broken heart is one of those things.

My life started out with heartbreak. Heartbreak, destruction, and death. I eventually learned the supposed details of my origin: So far as anyone knew, my mother had been assaulted by Macavity, the Mystery Cat, and some time later, she had given birth to me. I can't remember ever having had any siblings, so I may very well have been the only one of my litter to survive.

The first thing I remember clearly was being roughly extracted from the embrace of the cold, stiff corpse of my murdered mother by a set of heartless jaws wrapped cruelly around my neck. I could only barely breathe, and the lack of oxygen made it completely impossible to see or feel. I quickly passed out, and when I came to, I awakened to find myself in a box with two other kittens who were cleaning one another's matted fur and minor wounds.

The kittens, who looked strikingly similar, paused in their bathing ritual long enough to notice my consciousness. They looked at one another for a moment, then nodded and slowly made their way over to me, sniffing cautiously.

The male spoke up. He could speak surprisingly well for his age, and already had an astonishingly thick accent. "'Oo're you?"

I did a double take. "What?"

The female spoke, now, more clearly. "Who…are…you?"

I shrugged. "I dunno." It was honest enough. I genuinely had no idea who I was. I had no name that I could remember, and no real identity. The male raised an eyebrow at this. I tried to guess how old they might be. They didn't seem much older than I was, but they had a surprisingly thorough grasp of such abstract ideas as identity and caution, something I had yet to develop. I gave up.

The male suddenly sat down, seemingly satisfied, and nodded to his companion, who also sat down and smiled at me. "That's a'roight, we'll give ye a name. I'm Rumpleteazer."

The male smiled, too. "An' I'm Mungojerrie. We'll call ye…"

"Quaxo." Rumpleteazer grinned.

Mungojerrie nodded and grinned back. "Roigh'. Quaxo."

And that was it. I was named. My name was Quaxo, and the only family I had was a pair of kittens named Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer.

We were left alone in the box for a day or so, and even though we were getting hungry, thirsty, and thusly weak, we continued to keep our spirits up with silly and pointless games, like seeing who could stay silent the longest. Rumple always lost, breaking out into fits of giggles, and I would crack soon after, laughing at her antics. Then, having won, Mungojerrie would allow himself to collapse into laughter with us, and we'd all three just sit in the bottom of the box, laughing and snickering.

And yet, even though we kept ourselves smiling, it was clear that unless something radical happened, we were destined to die there in the confines of the damp and moldy box. We weren't yet big enough to climb out over the sides, and our claws were not sharp enough to cut through the tough material of the walls of our unorthodox prison. Whoever had put us in that box had intentionally sentenced us to death, and young as we were, we understood what that meant.

But someone had been watching over the three pitiful kittens trapped inside their dank prison of cardboard, and by some act of grace or coincidence, we were provided a rescuer, if in a rather harrowing way.

The way our savior came was harrowing enough, to say nothing for the way she saved us. One day, while we were squeaking and squealing as we played a game that I can't remember now, a roving group of Pollicles heard our cries and came to investigate. We were petrified to see the gang of rabid canines poking their noses into our corrugated penitentiary. Rumpleteazer disappeared behind her brother, and I backed up against the nearest wall, whimpering softly in terror.

Mungojerrie, however, the bravest of us by far, cleared his throat and actually tried to talk with the beasts. "Hi…did we bother ye? Sorry, we didn' mean ter. We'll be more-"

The Pollicles didn't wait for him to finish. With a roar of insane fury, the leader slashed the corners of the box open, and the walls of our prison fell away.

He left us no time to celebrate our newfound freedom, though. We were immediately surrounded by the dogs, all of which were growling and licking their foaming chops. It was curtains for us, no questions asked.

And yet, even faced with certain death, for some reason, we didn't surrender. We'd come this far together, and we would do whatever we could to keep going. With strength and courage born of desperation, we bunched together and faced the demons.

However, before the brutes could attack, a flash of gray and white suddenly appeared, slashing and biting with claws and teeth like lightning, and all the Pollicles immediately backed away, stunned by this new adversary.

When the whirlwind finally settled, it set up defenses above us in a very protective stance. It turned out to be an adult female cat: her hair stood up all along her spine, and her ears were laid back. Her mouth was opened in a vicious hissing snarl, and her tail was a bottlebrush. Her claws were out, and she clenched them into the ground with a furious rage.

In a matter of a few seconds, she had adopted the three pitiful and forsaken kittens lying exposed in an alleyway, facing certain death at the jowls of wild Pollicles, and was already prepared to lay down her life for them.

I noticed something then. I caught sight of one of her eyes – those incredible, holy eyes – and I saw a mixture of many different emotions. I have full confidence that that was when my magical powers were ignited. To me, I was looking at the Eternal Cat herself. There was something unexplainable in those swirling ethereal pools of emotion, something intangible and mysterious. Something I suspect that only I could have seen.

I saw the hatred she harbored against Pollicles, and the rage she was prepared to fight them with, a rage that she must have accumulated and pent up for her entire life up until that point, until it had reached such a level at which it was not to be controlled, and it frightened me to no end. She was mad – no, insane, insane with a rage that would not allow her to simply rescue us and then escape. She had a score to settle with them, and she had no intention of leaving until she did.

But then I saw something else in those eyes. I saw love. Irrational, incredible, invincible love. I saw in an instant that no matter what it cost her, she was going to protect these three tiny kittens. She was prepared to die for us, and she knew that was probably what it was going to take.

I also saw the desperation. Desperation she refused to show, but definitely felt. She knew she had no chance against even a pair of Pollicles, let alone a whole group of them. But even faced with such overwhelmingly unfair odds, she didn't waver. She stood, still and strong, prepared to lose everything in a maternal fervor. I was amazed.

The Pollicles quickly recovered from their initial shock and instantly set upon this intrusive feline with a vengeance. She fought valiantly, but it was more than obvious that unless something miraculous happened, she would quickly fall vanquished and we would be left alone at the mercy of the pitiless Pollicles. I held my breath.

Again, a savior appeared in the nick of time, only this time, it was a male, and not much bigger than any of the three of us. He was black and white striped, and even though his contributions to the female's efforts were all but futile, his courage was inspiring.

But the battle was still hopelessly slanted against the feline team, and I cowered as the female took one crushing and ripping blow after another, her blood painting the ground beneath her red. She could not possibly last much longer.

She too sensed her own imminent defeat, and cried out in desperation to the little male, "Get the kittens! I'll take care of those bastards, get the little ones out!" I knew she meant my companions and me, and the older kitten nodded and swiftly picked Mungo and Rumple up. He then turned to me, and his eyes flashed with sudden panic as he realized he couldn't get all three of us in one trip, and even I could tell that the female would not last long enough for another. I shivered in terror. Now what would happen?

Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, a gentle set of teeth clamped onto the fur of the nape of my neck and lifted me off the asphalt. Within seconds, I was suddenly flying, racing mere inches over the street. I tried to decide if I'd been killed, and this was some strange ritual of death, but I concluded against the possibility, since I could still feel the cool night air rushing through my fur, and the hot breath of whoever was carrying me on the back of my neck.

After a short time, we came to a big junkyard, and my redeemer set me on the ground. Without stopping to let me thank him, he suddenly called out in a shrill voice. "Cassie's fighting the Pollicles!" Within a few seconds, a small troupe of cats had collected, and my savior led them back in the direction we'd come from.

The other cat had dropped Mungo and Rumple, and was now teetering slightly on his feet, and I could see a few open wounds bleeding into his fur. Even so, he staggered around and started to follow the rest of the relief party, but suddenly, another female came up behind him and gently caught his shoulder. "Munkustrap, you're wounded. Stay here."

Munkustrap turned around with tears in his eyes and answered angrily. "I'm not leaving her out there!"

The female didn't let him go. "Munku, she's got all the help she needs. You've done all you can. Stay here. You can't do her any more good now. You've got to tell me what happened, and who these kittens are." She looked down at us with a smile.

Munkustrap sighed shallowly and nodded. He surrendered to her gentle licks as he recounted the story from his own point of view.

"Cassie, Tugger, and me were all out walking, and all of a sudden we heard barks coming from one of the alleys. We would've just sneaked away and forgotten about them, but we also heard a meowing sound, and Cassie told us to stay put and went to see what it was. Then I heard her hissing and the Pollicles barking, and I ran into the alley and tried to help, but she told me and Tugger to get the kittens and run…so we did." He sighed again, looking forlornly over at us. "I don't know who they are, where they're from, or anything. She just said to save them."

The female nodded. "That sounds just like Cassie. Hold still." She had almost finished cleaning the worst of his wounds. "Don't you worry, though. Your mum can take care of herself. If I know Cassie, by the time Tugger and the others get to her, she'll have beaten every one of those Pollicles senseless, and will laugh at them all for worrying." They were brave words, and even I could easily see that even she didn't believe them.

Munkustrap certainly didn't. He just sat, silent and solemn, no doubt contemplating the worst. My heart ached for him; I sensed rather than understood the pain he must have felt.

Suddenly, I was exhausted. The recent clash and the ensuing fear and panic had drained me, and I immediately found myself nearly incapable of keeping my eyes open. Mungo and Rumple had already fallen asleep cuddled up with one another, and I decided to join them for a quick nap. The fear and uncertainties faded away as I fell into unconsciousness, and the female's soothing voice and my companions' body heat soon lulled me into a deep, contented, dreamless sleep.
When I awoke, the cat who was apparently called Tugger had returned, and Munkustrap was nowhere to be found. Mungo and Rumple were already awake and tormenting Tugger with silly tricks and foolish little pranks, falling over themselves in laughter. Tugger laughed heartlessly at their little jokes, and seemed immensely relieved when I joined the group, and the two little troublemakers decided that I would be a better playmate. Tugger joined in now and again, very slightly, but his heart wasn't in it.

When Rumple and Mungo had finally worn themselves out again, they huddled together under the crimson blanket left in one corner of the tiny area we were in and were instantly asleep again.

Ordinarily, I would have gone and joined them, but I suddenly found that I didn't want to. I wanted much more to snuggle up to Tugger. I could only think of one good reason, and that was that he had saved me. He had rescued me from my demise, and for that, I immediately took to him. I felt a bond to him like no other cat, not even Mungo and Rumple, the only family I'd ever had. He'd cared enough to save my worthless life. He cared.

Tugger tried to squirm away from me, but I persisted until he gave in and let me curl up between his paws and sleep there. I felt more secure then at that moment than ever before. Somehow, I knew that I'd need Tugger again someday, and I was content to know that he'd be there.