Jennyanydots sighed and shook her head as she looked at the mess in front of her. Everything would be fine with time, but Everlasting Cat, was it a mess right then! She called for her cockroaches to bring her supplies: salves, bandages, cool water, the works. She had to admit, the task was a little daunting - definitely not what she'd thought she'd be doing in the hours after the Ball. No, this certainly was not what she'd planned.

But as the tribe's Caretaker, this was her duty.

First to see to was Mistoffelees. He wasn't hurt, so much as she was worried he could be - and though he was visibly eager to get back to his own den, she insisted on giving him a quick once-over just to make sure nothing was visibly wrong. He yawned as she looked him over, clearly tired from the night's events; although, she knew it had nothing to do with all the dancing. The dancing, to her amazement, hadn't seemed to drain his energy in the least. Rather, it was his magic, which he'd used so bravely to bring back Old Deuteronomy after Macavity dragged him away. She couldn't remember the last time (if ever) that he'd used so much of his magic at one time - but Heaviside, was she glad he had!

She saw no sign of injury, no indication of aches and pains - just a cat in need of a nap. "You're so brave," she murmured, nuzzling the top of his head.

"Pshh, it was nothing," he replied, stifling a yawn, "please, don't mention it."

He returned her nuzzle, then turned and left her den, heading toward his own. She took solace in knowing he was going off to rest - ever since he'd come to the junkyard, it had seemed that he was always restless, always needing to move about or put his clever, brilliant little mind to work. Of course, the magic didn't help, either, in terms of the restlessness; if he didn't do something with it, it would build up inside of him and risk a sudden outburst which, more than once, proved dangerous. Besides, she worried about him, making his den so far away from the main clearing where he could get lonely. And she missed seeing him more frequently. He had come of age - and, thanks to Tugger, could now confidently put Mr. in front of his name - but he was still a kitten to her. She hoped for him that his mother was looking down from Heaviside at her little tom-kit who was now more tom than kit, and wished that his father (whoever his father was) were able to see how handsome he was, how much he had grown.

But nostalgia would have to wait. She had a duty, and it was far from over.

She went now to Alonzo; he wasn't too badly off, but his forearm had been whipped around, pulled and yanked with Macavity's powerful claws in ways forearms aren't supposed to go. He flinched, letting out a sharp hiss as she put cool cloths on the forming bruises, still jarred from the fight. The memory of his parents' death at the jaws of a Pollicle in his kittenhood was a picture that had never left him, an image that tended to hold him back when it came to defending himself. But not tonight; no, tonight he had jumped right into the thick of things, just when he was needed. It was, she believed, perhaps the first time he had acted without turning to Munkustrap for instruction. How proud she was of him, for coming so quickly into his own in the tribe's time of need!

She soothed him with a lick on his white ear, cleaning off a bit of blood that had spattered there. He began to purr, nuzzling her shoulder, already feeling better, and she helped him onto an old towel to sleep off the pain. She looked forward to reporting that he'd be back on his feet by sundown, albeit lame for a few days until the bruising settled. Munkustrap, she knew, would be especially pleased to know he was alright.

Munkustrap. He was the last one to take care of. Though he and Macavity had gotten into scuffles for as long as anyone could remember, this one was, by far, the worst one she'd ever seen. And she prayed to Everlasting that he wouldn't fuss too much when she tried to patch him up.

Then again, there were things he did that were much worse than fussing about not needing help.

She heard a stifled hiss from the opposite corner of her den and turned her head toward the origin of the sound. That. That was worse than the fussing. Her heart cracked in two; how she hated the sound he made when he was hurting! He would start to cry out, catch himself, and force it back into his gut, letting out nothing but a quiet hiss that he prayed no one could hear. She wished he hadn't trained himself to shove down all the cries and whimpers; somehow, it was worse that he was always so quiet. Instantly, she crossed the room to him, leaving Alonzo to sleep.

"I'm fine, Jenny," he rasped, feeling her presence as she approached him. "I'm just...uncomfortable." He tried to shift about on the blankets, his instinct to position himself in a way that he could keep watch over his surroundings. But Jenny stopped him.

"No, no, Munkustrap. Lie still," she corrected. "I've got to patch you up first; then we'll get you comfortable."

She got to work immediately, sensing how quickly he was growing restless. But the task still took some time; his normally sleek, silver fur was matted in places and stained with blood, cuts and scrapes flecking his body from ear to tail-tip. He had tried with all his might to object to coming to her den to be cared for, but she had insisted - and Old Deuteronomy, for the first time in a very long time indeed, had sided against his son in the discussion, practically scolding him for being so adamant that he needed no help. Of course, Jenny knew that scolding would do no good; he firmly believed that, when he needed help, he was being a burden to others. And no matter what anyone told him or what tone they used, he couldn't seem to be shaken from his belief.

This time, however, his objections had stopped. All that remained in their place, as she examined every inch of his body, was the stifled hissing and a perpetual grimace. It was all evidence to her that he was hurt more severely than he let on - only this time, what with his body covered in wounds, he couldn't hide it.

"Alright, let me clean you up, now." She gave her paws a quick lick to clean them off. "You've got quite a bit of blood all over you."

"Be careful," he warned, his voice quaking a little despite his obvious attempts to steady it. She shifted him to access a scrape on the back of his head. "Everlasting knows what Macavity's been into."

"Hush." She wasn't the least perturbed by the idea of getting germs on her tongue.

She and Demeter had managed to lick him clean earlier, but some of the cuts had reopened, continuing to bleed into the surrounding fur, and she knelt down to clean them again. She didn't mind the taste of blood - she had licked clean enough cats in her day to be practically impervious to it. But what did bother her was the fact that Munkustrap was in pain and, it seemed, there wasn't a whole lot she could do to help. He was a bit more open about it, since it was just the two of them - the hissing was growing less and less stifled as time went on. But she could feel his muscles contacting in desperate attempts not to flinch. His instinct, she was well aware, was to run, to find a secluded place and nurse his wounds himself.

"Please, Munkustrap, relax," she soothed. "Let me take care of it."

He hissed audibly as she passed over a particularly painful scrape on his shoulder blade. The salt from her tongue stung the open wounds, the barbs passing over countless bruises and sending a stabbing ache into the muscles below. She tried to comfort him by emitting a soft, steady purr - like she'd done when he was little. But his stifled hissing, his instincts to flinch and get away from her tongue, the pain he was in - those still remained. And that was the worst thing of all, not being able to comfort a cat in need.

Especially Munkustrap. He had saved everyone's lives, calmed their fears more than once that night - and the only thanks he got from Everlasting was pain.

"I'm almost done," she murmured. "Just try to relax."

"I know." His tail flicked in agitation as she tried to smooth the ruffled fur. "I'm doing my best."

"As you always do."

As soon as he was licked clean, she applied a salve to soothe the cuts, sealing it with bandages, her mice helping her pull them taught against Munkustrap's limbs. With her help, he rolled over into a more comfortable position, and she laid cool cloths on his bruises - an especially cold one on his head, where Macavity had knocked him to the ground. Satisfied with her handiwork, she knelt down and gently nuzzled his shoulder.

"There," she whispered, "that's better now, isn't it?"

"Yes, Jenny," he agreed, the cool towels already soothing the pain in his muscles and the pounding of his head. "Cat bless you."

"Cat bless you," she echoed. She touched her nose to his in a motherly kiss, and he huffed out a brief chuckle.

The moment was short-lived. From outside the den came a loud, defensive hiss - Munkustrap's ears perked up instantly, listening for the direction of the alert. Jenny smiled softly and shook her head; even injured and weary, he was still the Protector, ever obsessed with the welfare of the tribe. "Who's keeping watch?" He started to lift his head, but oh! it throbbed the instant he tried to sit up and the cold rag fell down over his eyes. "Over the yard?"

"Skimble's got it, dearie," she soothed him, laying a paw on his head to reposition the cold towel between his ears, "and I've got you and Alonzo here. Everyone is taken care of."

"Alonzo." Munkustrap startled at the mention of his friend; it was the first thing he remembered seeing upon coming to after the fight, Alonzo guarding his arm and wincing in pain. "Is he alright?"

"Yes, dearie, he's just fine."

Munkustrap looked over to the middle of the den, where Alonzo was sleeping on the towel, instantly registering the several cold towels covering his poor arm. "His arm - is it broken?"

"No, no, it's not broken. Just a deep bruise." Jenny, too, looked back at him, to make sure he was still sleeping well. He was.

"What about Misto? Didn't you tell him to come in here?" Munkustrap looked anxiously around her den. "Where is he?"

She chuckled, remembering days past when Tugger had, in the spirit of brotherly affection, referred to him as "Steel Trap" for his keen memory. Even in the state he was in, he forgot nothing. "He went back to his own den."

"Was he alright? He didn't have sparks coming out of his fur or anything?"

"Munkustrap, please, I raised him as I raised you. He was fine. A little tired, but fine," she bent down and nuzzled her charge. "Now, Skimble's watching over the yard, everyone's in their dens, and I've got you and Alonzo taken care of. You don't need to be worrying about anyone now. Let me handle it."

Too weary to object any longer, he put his head back down, a weak smile crossing his lips as the throbbing in his head settled. "They don't call you Caretaker for nothing."

"No, they don't," she smiled. "And they don't call you Protector for nothing, either."

"It's my duty, Jenny," he breathed sleepily. "I'll do this every night, if that's what it takes."

She chuckled. "Well, call me lazy if you will, but this is my duty, and I'd rather not have to spend every morning nursing you back to health." She bent down and gave him a lick on the bridge of his nose. "Get some sleep, alright? You need it."

He began to purr softly, asleep within moments. Skimble and the others would have to keep up watch for a while. By evening, she figured, Munkustrap would be able to go back to his own den to finish healing - she would have to ask Demeter to stay with Bombalurina for a few days, until he was well enough for company, but he would be alright with a few days of uninterrupted quiet and solitude. Sure, he'd object when he woke up, ever willing to give his last for the tribe. But for now, he was asleep.

And for Jennyanydots, moments like these were what made her duty so very rewarding.