Gus smiled in his sleep, resting his head on his work table, as the scents of leather and lather twitched his nose. He was remembering other smells—sawdust from the sets, the grease makeup, even that special whiff of the velvet curtains that he stood behind, waiting for his cue.
Aaagh! the actress screamed, and he leapt from the wings, gnashing his fangs and slashing the air with his cruelly curving claws. He roared and gave chase through the scene of the misty bog, the embodiment of Firefrorefiddle, the Fiend of the Fell.
A single tear ran into his open mouth as he awoke with a start to insistent scratches and wails at his door.
In his haste to rise, he knocked over his saucer of gin then stepped on it as he staggered to the door. "Who is it?" he slurred, sitting to nurse the paw he'd just hurt and lick the gin from it.
"Gus, it's me," shouted Rumpuscat. "I have an old friend here to see you."
"At this hour?" the old theatre cat snarled.
"Open the door. This is more important than you sleeping off a bender," came the command from the other side of the door.
Asparagus jerked his head. He'd know that voice anywhere. "Munk, is that you?"
"Yes, now let us in...please," Munkustrap answered, his tone dropping from a growl to a mew as he scratched the door.
Gus jumped up to lift the latch and watched as two old acquaintances and two strangers entered. "Munk, it's been ages. What are you doing here, old boy?" Gus asked, tottering over to stand next to the imposing younger cat that he'd last seen after the contest, when Munkustrap had sworn he was leaving London and would never return.
Munkustrap looked around the abandoned office in which Gus did his work. Naturally it was dusty (a cat wouldn't use his tongue on actual dirt) with limited light (not a problem for animals who could see in the dark). There was a second desk with a big black typewriter where Gus's assistants, George and Bill Bailey, kept the scraps of leather, metal and material that they found to help fulfill the designer's vision for trendy or timeless cat accessories. Most important to the aged feline, who had been directed and kicked at the theatre door for most of his life, it allowed him to live free of humans.
Not bad for an old sot, Munk nodded in silent approval.
The Rum Tum Tugger's eyes lit up at the sight of the collars and he scurried over to try out the wares. Fitting over that scruff would be a custom job, Gus said to himself as Tugger purred in admiration.
Mistofeles, however, was less impressed. He nosed around and, seeing no place that he could rest comfortably because of the thick grime, he chose the most desirable spot he could find, then spun three times. "Presto," he said in a soft voice, and his whisper became a light breeze that chased away the dirt from his preferred perch.
The others missed his display, however, as Munkustrap gravely answered the old tabby. "I need to find Macavity."
Gus's droopy eyes opened wide with surprise. "But when you left you said—
"—I know what I said," Munk yowled. "I'm not here because I want to be. But I have to find him."
Gus shook his head, eyeing his bowl of gin longingly. "I don't know, Munk, he's become a better fighter than he was when you left and swore if you came back..." His voice trailed off with a hint of menace.
"Yeah, I know, Gus," Munkustrap conceded, placing a paw on the old, stooped shoulders, "but I have no choice. The molly I love might be with him."
Gus glanced up at the taller tom. The Munk in love? Who'd have thought it? He had always been so carefree when he lived here as one of the vagabond trio. And the number of tams they'd had between them...it still boggled the mind. Griddlebones had been so proud of his band of young thieves, until things had gone so wrong...
"Gus!" Rumpuscat waved a paw in front of the old snout, pulling Asparagus out of his musings. Gus snapped his old brown eyes toward the faces of the two fast friends. Macavity would howl with rage if he knew. He'd be taking a chance, something he hadn't done in years, to help a better tom...
Maybe this will get me into the Heaviside layer.
"He has a hideaway in the alley beneath the Tomb," he finally said, his voice regaining the richness of Firefrorefiddle. "He's more cunning than he used to be. You must be careful."
Munkustrap snorted then smiled for the first time in hours. "Thanks, Gus," he said, before sprinting away, the other cats on his tail.
Gus watched them leave then, with a sigh, turned back into his workshop. He settled himself on the clean spot vacated by the Magical Mr. Mistofeles, eschewing his usual bed and gin dish, and closed his eyes, dreaming of his theatrical revival.
watch?feature=player_embedded&v=uHDffGb8ZTE