jelliclesoul635/ You're right. I should have taken that fact of nature into consideration. But I suppose it is now the question of how well I redress such mistakes in the story now. Anyway, it is interesting how the interpretation of Munkustrap is just so different depending on the writer. I guess he is just one of those characters whose personality can be so… dependent-on-interpretation. Of course, characters like Tugger would be on the opposite end of the spectrum! I really appreciate your criticism. I will try to reflect it and, as you said, make them "advantages" in my writing. Thank you! :)
Immajelliclegrl/ I'm glad I was at least able to convey the basic point. Again, like I said to jelliclesoul635, I will have to work on it so that the "contradictions" will make sense, for I do not want such "mistakes" "hanging round," open and loose, in my story… Well, please be critical of how I try to make such errors fit in naturally. Thank you for your comment! :)
Note: This is another one of those chapters where conversations take up a significant part. Those of you who like adventure, please inhale… and then exhale… and prepare yourself. :)
….
"Jem, wake up!" whispered Munkustrap into Jemima's right ear.
Jemima slowly rose and, stretching, yawned. She was a bit embarrassed that she got up so late in the morning; the sun was high up in the sky. However, the air was nowhere near warm.
"Munk… hey… How are you doing…?" Jemima said, tired.
"Jem… remember… the whole 'Daisy' thing…? You said we need to find him… or her…"
Jemima then remembered what was irritating her slumber… the squirrel. Although she felt somewhat satisfied in that she found the source of her irritation, she was also distressed in that she was reminded of the poor creature.
"Munk… you really want to find Daisy?"
"Jem, I thought we had to… for the squirrel… Remember?"
"I mean, I still do… It's just… Aren't you annoyed by that concept? You were so… angry at one point."
"Jem, just forget me having been angry. Look; I know that you – or we – will guilty if we don't at least try to find Daisy. So… let's go…"
"Munk… thanks…" she smiled.
"Any appetite for breakfast?" Munkustrap asked.
"Nope. Gotta find Daisy… somehow… I mean… He or she at least ought to know about the tragedy. Imagine… wondering why his or her loved one won't return and not knowing about what happened…"
Munkustrap nodded in agreement.
"So let's start with that tree over there," Jemima said, pointing to a nearby tree with almost no leaves left at all. The tree, dangerously close to the street, was a realistic reminder of the arrival of autumn... or rather, it was a foreshadowing of winter…
Jemima sprinted towards the tree and, standing by its thin roots, shouted. "Daisy! Daisy!" she cried.
Silence was the only response from the tree. The kitten sighed.
"Look, Jem. It's only our first tree. Don't give up hope," said Munkustrap, attempting to encourage Jemima. However, he knew that finding "Daisy" was probably only an impossible goal, a dream, a compulsive one…
"Munk, I know what you're thinking: That we won't be able to find Daisy. And I know that Daisy might not even be our dead friend's family… But I feel that this is what we should do to… to… I don't know… respect him… Don't you think so…?"
Munkustrap gasped, not only because Jemima commented on exactly what he was thinking but also due to the reasoning she provided… Why couldn't I think of that? At least… respecting the squirrel…? he thought. The only result was feeling guilty of being adulterated into the concept which he called "reality" – a concept that was, despite its name, only an abstract mist to kittens.
Jemima ran to the next tree and shouted out the name. Her voice was a desperate call within the howling winds.
No response. She sighed again.
She repeated the process at ten or eleven more trees. The response was always a lonely silence. Jemima felt as if the trees were cruelly ignoring her.
"Munk, we better rest," she said, exhausted. She slowly walked to Munkustrap's side. They both walked a few steps and rested beneath an old table in front of an abandoned store.
"Jem… I know that you know the hopeless thoughts I'm thinking… forgive me for that…"
"Munk… you may be right… that we won't find Daisy… But we can't stop here. I mean, think about the countless trees around here…"
Of course, the urban was in no way a forest. However, the trees every here and there seemingly tolled up to an uncountable number.
"You know, Jem, when I was young, we used to hunt on squirrels."
Jemima looked up with startled eyes. Her mouth was open with astonishment.
"I know you are surprised, but that's what we always did. Mice, fish, milk, and squirrels were always on our tables at feasts…"
The kitten seemed to be extremely confused.
"Well, it's just like how things change. Of course, our minds change much slowly. Especially for the victims… We are hated by them… The squirrels hate us…"
Jemima gave a look… a look that showed the sadness of learning something new… not a pleasant addition to the harmonies of the mind's song of knowledge but a dissonance, a foe to the beauty of all of the other notes…
"Things change like that, Jem. Once we ate squirrels as delicacies, but now we don't. Maybe the squirrel was as scared as you when you approached him… And when you gave him a kiss of compassion and love, maybe he was relieved and moved by how an enemy could be so caring… Maybe that was the last happy thing he experienced before he closed his eyes…"
Jemima stared down at the ground. She said nothing but was obviously somewhat depressed.
"Jem… may I say one thing that is rather unrelated to this?"
She nodded.
"It's about you kissing the squirrel… It just shows me how polluted I am and what a kitten – of course, in a good way – you are. You kissed it because you felt bad for it, because you were compassionate for it… It was that simple. But we, grown-ups, would go through the whole bloody process of thoughts… thinking… 'Do I really care for him?' or 'Is it appropriate to do this to someone I just met?' or et cetera. You really reminded me of…"
Jemima looked up.
"… the true meaning of a kiss. That it is simply because you feel compassion and love towards someone. That simple… Thank you for reminding me that… really. Jem, did I make you feel uncomfortable with the topic?"
She gave no response.
"Well, on the topic of how things change…" Munkustrap said, trying to lighten up the mood, "you heard about how we, the grown-ups, got beat up almost every day when we were growing up, right?"
Jemima nodded.
"Well, that's an example of how things change. When I was your age, kittens around me were beaten up for almost every mistake they made. It was, however, accepted as simply "everyday life" – something that is usual. You guys are really lucky."
"I guess we are. These days, we seldom get beat up… Although we may… sometimes…" Jemima finally spoke, "Did Old Deuteronomy beat you up?"
"Well… I was lucky to have him as my father. He almost never beat me… Other kittens were jealous of that and would sometimes beat me up as a group… Of course, it was only as a game, nothing serious… And then, they would get beat up by their parents for "bullying" me," Munkustrap said with a slight chuckle.
Jemima giggled. "You weren't beat up… not even once…?" she asked.
"I remember one time when I was supposed to deliver the week's milk to all of the families in the tribe. However, I was stupid enough to go flirt with Demeter. That night, I was beaten up like fuc… I mean, a criminal… by my father. What scared me more than the beating, however, was the look on his face… It was mixed with fury and disappointment… a horrifying contrast to his usual, kind smiles.
The kitten seemed quite interested. "And…?" she asked.
"Well, I heard from Demeter that she, too, was beaten up. She was beaten up harsher than me and was accused of "supplying the cause" – that she made me flirt with her. Anyway, we two were so embarrassed about ourselves towards each other for a few days. Then, we got over it. But what hurt me the most was the guilt that I felt… that I went for my own enjoyment instead of taking care of the tribe… the selfishness… Maybe that was why I was beaten so much that day…"
"Hmm. I usually don't associate you with selfishness…" Jemima commented.
"Anyway, Tugger was beat up much more often than me. It was always a source of entertainment to see him get beat up… Of course, we hided our laughter to show respect…" Munkustrap said with a smile… a smile of nostalgia… the nostalgia of when he, too, was a kitten…
"Munk… I think we better start again… finding Daisy…"
"You're right. Enough talking."
The two, now more encouraged, got up and started to walk. This time, both seemed hopeful… or so did they guise themselves to respect each other…
….
Does it seem like I am dragging in my story? Well, I earnestly ask of any of you who think I do to please be patient with this story. After all, much of the story may be like this… just conversations… conversations that, I hope, are interesting and meaningful… Anyway, I certainly appreciate you for reading this chapter and will also appreciate your comments. Please be critical of my writing! :)
