Heads and tails whipped around and the cats of Macavity's lair gaped at the two striped males before them, following Mungojerrie's pronouncement.
"What did you say?" a disbelieving Mac demanded, stepping off of his pillow to stand in front of the younger cat.
Against the wall to their right, Teazer, Bomba and Demeter bunched together like a crazy quilt of fur, cheering on their champion.
Macavity concentrated his fathomless black eyes on his previously secret son, each depth of darkness echoing his query.
Mungojerrie appeared to balance on his toes to lift himself just slightly higher than his sire...and he actually smirked. "What part do you need repeated, Dad?" he asked, as if speaking to an infirm old tom, "the fact that your guests are hungry or that you're not doing your job in providing for them?"
Meows began to hum around the room in agreement and the tam trio bounced in their excitement. Macavity looked past Mungo to those he thought of not so much as guests, but subjects, wary of the tide that seemed to be rising against him. It was all about reputation and appearance though, so he squared his shoulders and turned his attention back to Mungo.
"Why do you call me Dad?" he asked, quirking his head to the side, as was cats' wont.
If Mungo was stung by his father's continued public denial of him, he didn't show it. He turned toward the assemblage—now struck by the obvious resemblance between the striped toms and how could they have missed it before—and grinned at them all. "What interests you more, having to live in fear of Mac's moods and his dogs, or when will you eat?"
"Food, food!" some of the cats began chanting, while other chimed in "Dogs!" and a third group took up the lovely threesome's demand, "Admit he's your son!"
The chorus caused the patrons in the rooms above, unaware that they shared space with the most notorious criminal in London's animal world, to look up from their reveries and wonder what was that low, howling noise?
From his corner on the other side of the room, Griddlebones calmly flicked his tongue over one paw then another, content to "let the fur fly" and settle how it may. His intervention in a previous power struggle had resulted in the loss of two adopted sons and nagging regret. He wouldn't make that mistake again.
"It's working," Demeter whispered to her companions. "Munkustrap said Mac couldn't stand a challenge."
Teazer giggled. "He'll throw us out to stop this. I don't know who Munkustrap is, Demeter, but he's a genius."
Bomba flinched a little at the mention of the only male that she couldn't lure, then turned her gaze back to Macavity. Something about the tension in his stance...I don't think he's going to let us go without a fight, she said to herself.
Macavity's anxious scan of the raucous room settled on her wide, umber eyes. They were all in on it. He should've known. His face twisted in a snarl as he lifted a claw and brought it down like a mace on the black and orange back in front of him.
Mungo's agonized howl tore through Rumpleteazer, who screeched in dismay. Bombalurina jumped in front of her to prevent her from pouncing on her mate's assailant.
She could not have predicted that it would be docile Demeter who would hiss in outrage and leap onto Macavity's back, a patched bundle of righteous fury. He spun madly to dislodge her and she fell back against the wall, her fur providing scant cushion for the crushing impact.
"Deme!" wailed Bomba as she hurried to her friend and cursed herself for putting them in this terrible position.
Demeter whimpered as Bomba sat next to her, stroking her with a caring paw. "I'm so sorry, Demeter," she cried, her tears dampening the smaller catta's coat, "so sorry."
Now unburdened, Mac turned to give attention to his rebellious son when, from the back of the room, came a not-to-be-forgotten roar, "Macavity!"
Heads and tails whipped again in that direction, where stood a big grey and black-banded cat, flanked by a limber-looking one with leonine mane and leopard crest and a small black and white, from whom a special energy seemed to emanate.
Demeter raised her head at the sound of the longed-for voice, while peers gasped and younger cats wondered who was that striking animal who had infiltrated the lair.
"Munk!" hailed Griddlebones with more animation than anyone had heard from him since the last days with his trio. Macavity squinted his eyes and began a sustained, low growl that followed his former comrade storming through the room to reach Demeter.
"It's Munkustrap," went the whisper around the room as he looked down on the visiting catta.
"Are you all right?" he asked the black and gold curled on her side.
"I...I'm fine," she whispered, her heart playing a happy beat that he was really there.
He dropped his head to nuzzle her and promise, "We'll have you home soon."
Rumpleteazer scurried over to Mungojerrie and urged him to lie down so that she could begin her ministration on his slashes. She tongued determinedly until he gave a grateful purr.
Macavity reached under his pillow for the one shiny object that he always kept hidden—the high-pitched whistle he used to summon and control his canine enforcers.
"That won't work, Mac," said Munk, now striding to stand in front of his old friend and adversary. "Scat got the Pekes and Pols in the park to help distract your goons. You're on your own."
From his corner Griddlebones grinned. Munk always did think of everything. He recognized Mac's answering laugh as hollow, with bravado masquerading as confidence.
"You think you can come in here and scare me? I'm the most powerful cat in London and I still have an army, right, toms?" Mac said, turning to the cats who watched the reunion in fascination.
His lieutenants stalked forward with menacing meows, licking their maws in preparation for battle. "Presto," whispered Misto, jumping into the air and releasing sparks from his paws that stopped their advance.
Tugger moved to the side of the room to protect Bomba and Demeter, picking up a trail of mollies, who squealed after him like human tams for an operetta star.
With no other possible inhibitors, Macavity realized the he must again face the cat who had beaten him every time that they had scuffled. He adopted a fighter's stance, as did Munk, dropping low and spreading their bodies to cover as much space as they could.
They were silent, circling and evaluating, remembering the other's strengths and weaknesses, and then they were on each other—scratching, yowling and spitting, writhing in a battle for valor, pride and much more. Munk bit...and tore. Mac slapped a nasty claw across his face and their last fight continued, their audience howling and hissing with excitement, casting bets for their favorite.
Macavity feinted, appearing to back away and clutch his side, then rammed his head into Munk's solar plexus, knocking his opponent off of his feet, just as a deluge of water came down from the upstairs rooms.
Macavity's role model and his employees poured buckets through the cracks in the floor to disperse the feline pestilence that had annoyed his clientele.
The howling and meowing grew louder as the cats ran for the exit, pulling down the curtain separating the lair from the outside world. They converged in a hostile mass at the broken drainage pipe, fighting for escape from the dowse that signaled a definitive "Scat!"
In the now dark and quiet room, a soaked Demeter crawled to where Munkustrap was slowly rising to his feet and shaking the wetness from his coat.
"You came for me," she said in a breathy tone of which Bomba would have approved, placing a hand on the side of his face, then lifting her head to coquettishly bump his chin.
"Yes," he winced as he fell back on a grunt of pain.
She leaned over him, purring with empathy. "Do you love me, Munkustrap?"
His chest rose with his deep inhalation and he sighed, "Yes."
Demeter's black whiskers twitched with her shy smile. "I feel the same."
"Did you really have to come all the way here to sort that out?" Munk asked with a half-hearted snicker.
She lay next to him, her own light laughter seeming to ease some of the tenderness in his gut. "I came looking for something. I wish I'd know I had it all along. Maybe I had to come here for you to admit that you loved me."
She felt his purr rippling through his long body as he pressed her close to him. "Always," he whispered, placing an arm over her and licking the back of her neck.
Their moment was interrupted by a blast of light. The Tomb's owner strode in to check the damage to his establishment and caught sight of the two cats cuddled together.
"What have we here?" he asked, taking in the ratty old pillow, shredded curtain and other debris around the room. "You two didn't make this mess all by yourselves." He walked over and saw the bruise forming on Munkustrap's white crest. "You look like you're hurt," he said picking them both up and heading back outside. "I'll take you upstairs for some cream. I think you could be a good mouser when you're feeling better. As for you, little pretty, my neighbor's daughter would love you."
Munkustrap hissed and wriggled from the grasp, scratching the arm that held Demeter, and pulling her along with him when the man dropped her.
Watching them sprint away, the man scratched his head. Maybe he needed to cut back on the beer. He could have sworn he heard something in the cat's sounds like Run, Demeter; let's go home.