Bombalurina was beyond bored, she was batty. Is this all Macavity and his minions did—eat and sleep with each other? She was a cat of action. That's why she had wanted to come to the city, not to be the latest tam of The Hidden Paw.
She rolled her eyes at the name, having been thoroughly unimpressed with his paws. She had no interest in stealing herself, so she wanted to run, through the London streets and back to the vicarage. Whether Munkustrap was in the offing or no, she'd come to realize that she had more freedom in the open fields than she did here. Plus, what fun was it to be bad when that was the norm, rather than the scandalous exception?
All of the cats were beginning to rise again for more carousing (yawn) and she wanted to talk to Demeter. She saw her in a huddle with that striped pair from last night.
The little tigress arched smartly as Bomba approached, and breathed out her displeasure in the catta that had tried to take her pearls. Demeter smiled at her friend and moved close to hear what had drawn her from her favored place. The male snuggled up to the young stripe and she seemed to lose interest in a fight, her arched back softening to a compliant pillow for him.
"Let's go home," Bomba said, tugging on Demeter's new spiked collar.
Demeter, however, didn't follow, as she usually did, but shook her head, whispering to the red tabby, "We can't. Macavity would come after us. Jerrie and Teazer and I have been working on a plan."
Ostensibly absorbed in his morning bath, Macavity watched the country tams. Bomba was fun. He could make her a habit, as long as she didn't mew too much. As for the other one, she was just too tame, not at all like her mother. Where was that old twitch, anyway? She should be coming soon with that crown.
He raised his head at the sound of the baritone laughter in the room above. He recognized it as the man who ran the back rooms, his secret role model. What would he do with Demeter? Would he let her leave with the drunken mollie? If she showed, that is.
Of course not. He would take the booty, then kick the catta to the curb with nothing left. Then the tam he might give to Bucklelynx or Clawford. They were good toms; they deserved a reward, whichever one came out on top, that is. There hadn't been a good fight since Mungo had been gone.
His eyes skipped from the tams to his son. What was he thinking, bringing that high-class mollie in here? She is frisky though. I can't really blame him for wanting to impress her and what could be more impressive than my lair, especially after I have the crown to add a bit of posh?
With the continuing guffaws overhead, Macavity inched his paws forward, assuming a more humble posture. Would the man approve of his plan, or would he prefer what Munk would have done—let Gristly Bella and her kit go...with the crown? Would he have approved of the pact with the Rots and Dobes?
He shifted his eyes over the assemblage, ever vigilant to someone who would question his decisions. What is Mungo doing with those females? I know he fancies the little one, but he has a reputation to protect as an aggressive tom and in this business, reputation is everything.
"You can do it, Jerrie," said Teazer, her black eyes sparkling with admiration and confidence in her tiger. "It's your time."
He grinned and nuzzled her in a silent thank you, while Bomba glanced over the yawning, stretching cats that littered the room to their host on his pillow. "Mac will get suspicious if we stay together too long. You need to do something that he can understand and appreciate."
Ah, now he seems to be giving attention to Demeter, Macavity observed with a nod of approval. Maybe he would want her when he sends his Teazer back to where she came from or out to the street, like Griza. He snickered. Maybe he's more like me than I thought.
He growled softly as he saw his son next sidle up to Bomba. What does he think he's doing? He can't openly go after my tam; it makes me look weak.
He started to call him over, then Mungojerrie moved to a group of his night cohorts.
That's better, the top cat said to himself. Toms should be with toms, planning their heists, talking about their conquests...Why are they coming toward me now?
He raised himself to a king-like perch as Mungojerrie and the other young and powerful males approached. The orange and black stripes of his unwitting heir seemed to ripple with static from his close contact with so many cats in such a short time, and something else...tension?
"We're all hungry," Mungo sneered, backed up by what Macavity saw too late was a mutinous guard. "You're not doing your job in providing for us... Dad."