Catching Hun-Hun's scent, they found themselves heading towards the alley. Aside from two snow-white cats and a Siamese passing by, there were no encounters along the way. Dongwa slipped through the bars and could immediately detect a different atmosphere. All the cats, even the unpleasant ones, were standing in a huddle by a cardboard box.
She was here. Her scent was so strong, he knew. The crowd began to disperse and turning around, and between the cats staring at him, he saw her. Or rather, he glimpsed the top of her tan head poking out from inside a wicker basket. Though he was very tired and sore, he forced himself to move towards a rather captive audience.
"Hey, Dongwa. My condolences," Lik-Lik said.
Dongwa frowned, wondering how he could make even that sound arrogant. "How many did we lose?"
"Oh, you didn't lose any," he chuckled.
Dongwa spared Sagwa a quick glance and bounded over to the makeshift shelter. Hun-Hun slept soundly, surrounded by...Dongwa did a fast head count...eight kittens.
He turned and walked back to the group. "How long has she been here?"
"Two, three hours," Wing-Wing answered.
"Someone from Siao-Po's pack dropped her off," Sheegwa told him.
Dongwa was looking at his sleeping family and Mama was quietly worrying about what having fourteen grandchildren meant about her, when an unexpected voice broke through the night. "Mama! Are you home?"
Sheegwa hurried to the gate, looking in confusion at Song; whose markings on her snow-white coat were a jet-black. She stood regally at the gate, almost her mother's size; wearing her purple collar and peering into the dark with eyes like sapphires.
"What are you doing back? What's wrong?" was how Sheegwa greeted her daughter. "Have they banished you from the palace?"
Song smiled apologetically. "No. I have some exciting news."
"So does your uncle Dongwa," Sheegwa said, and moved aside as her brother approached the gate.
Song motioned patiently. She didn't mind waiting a few moments, if it meant she could save the best for last.
Dongwa seemed to be in poor condition, but in high spirits. "My kittens were born. I am now a father of eleven."
Song's eyes widened in delight. "Oh, that's nice! It's almost as good as my news."
Sheegwa and Dongwa absorbed what appeared to be a statement of vanity as the rest of the clan joined them. Song barely acknowledged them with a nod before rushing on with her announcement. "The Magistrate and Tai-Tai have decided to host a banquet for Luk-Do's wedding. But he's depressed, because Beijing is going to make a statement about his reign and Tai-Tai, to cheer him up, decided to invite the acrobat performers."
"So?"
"So, Fan is going to be at the celebration; you'll get to see him again!"
"Wow. Wow, I... Wait," her voice interrupted her family's joy, "Are you sure about this? How do you know it's for real?"
"One of the humans from the act, is a relative to the groom. When he came to the palace, he told them about Fan. It'll take place in the village tomorrow," Song said, and moved away from the gate as her name was called in the distance. Sheegwa looked through the bars, watching her daughter approach a small tribe of felines sitting outside.
Sheegwa backed away from the gate, turning hopeful eyes to her family. Or at least, the family she had. "Did she say tomorrow?"
"Yes," Baba confirmed.
"We'd all better get some rest," Mama added.
Sheegwa hung back as her family meandered behind the privacy the wall provided. The happiness she had tasted was transient, and Wing-Wing observed her slumping shoulders and drooping tail. He approached her. "Hey, whatsa problem here?"
She sighed and shook her head. "I just feel bad for Siao-Po. Wherever he is..."
"Ah, forget about him. He's a loser."
"The father of my children is a loser?"
"You know it. Angry, territorial, bossy, condescending..."
Her quiet scoff was loud enough in the quiet night to garner his attention. She began to walk past him, but stopped beside him and spoke with deceptive kindness. "I don't think you realize the irony of what you're saying."
Sheegwa was coaxed awake by the muffled sounds of laughter and labor. But as she came awake, she heard something even better than laughter; and she raised her head. "Music," she whispered, and heaved herself to all fours. Trotting to the gate, she eagerly looked out through the bars. Looking for a flash of orange among the humans' feet.
Nothing. Not over there, by the pagoda. Not drawing attention to himself, to which he had dedicated his life. They hadn't declined―but what if he had? What if Fan had checked out just to avoid them? Deciding she needed answers, she clambered through the gate and began sniffing around the village. Her search yielded nothing, not even his scent. In defeat, Sheegwa retreated to a table laden with food and sat down beneath it, staying well out of the way as she attempted to enjoy a celebration that had lost all its appeal. All around her, humans worked to set the scene of a royal wedding. The commotion of a bowl being set down above her jarred the senses; maybe she couldn't become re-accustomed to being around people.
"Hello, mate."
Sheegwa lunged to her paws, whirling defensively around to stare into Siao-Po's yellow eyes. And in their depths, she saw everything Wing-Wing had said. Anger, authority, and condescension.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded. He was far from the cat she wanted to see.
"Well, I certainly wouldn't miss the performance. It's the talk of the town; I wanted to see Fan in action."
"He didn't come."
Siao-Po smiled then. "Sure he did. We rode together."
A door opened up, bathing them in interior lights. Sheegwa turned around and hesitated, her eyes drinking in the sight of her son. All grown up, he was the size of her father. He came down the ramp, looking at her with startling green eyes.
Sheegwa had always wondered what she would do if she ever saw him again; and she had come up with many scenarios of what she wanted. Instead, as her mind flooded with questions and accusations, she did something she was apparently notorious for. She froze, watching him saunter casually past without giving her a second glance.
