Chapter 1: Who Will It Be?

The Junkyard was silent. Munkustrap watched, from his perch on the old car in the main clearing, as the sun peeked over the horizon. As Jellicle Protector, he often sat here; Waiting, watching, listening.

The silhouette of a cat appeared in the Junkyard entrance, which was not unusual, as Munkustrap knew that Skimble returned from a long nights work around this time every morning. No, the strange thing was, Skimbleshanks was carrying something… or someone.

Munkustrap bunched his legs and sprang, almost gracefully, to the ground. He met the railway cat half way through the clearing and was most surprised to find that Skimble was carrying a small kitten. The kitten was a young tom with black fur; three white paws, white chest fur, a white face, and a white tail tip. And he was so small, Munkustrap though he couldn't be more than four or five weeks old.

Skimble gently laid the sleeping kitten down at his paws, "G'morning, Munkus." He yawned.

"Morning." Munkustrap returned the friendly greeting before inquiring, "Where'd he come from?"

"I found him down at the station." Skimble whispered, "He was stuck in the rails."

"But where's his mother?" Munk wondered.

"Says he doesn't have one." Skimble mewed, twitching his whiskers in disbelief, "Little tyke followed me through the park; he's all tuckered out now, though."

Munkustrap thought about that for a while before he decided, "He should see Old Deuteronomy."

Skimble nodded, "After he's slept and had something to eat."

Munkustrap flicked his ears in agreement, "I'll inform him."

The little tux quivered in his sleep; the sun finally rose into the sky, and all the cats began to stir in their dens.

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It was warm and soft where Quaxo lay; somewhere nearby he could smell a fresh mouse. He opened his eyes slowly, and-

"Mum, he's awake! He's awake!" a brown tabby tom kit yowled loudly, causing Quaxo to jump up, whirl around wildly and fall ungracefully onto his face. His legs had somehow managed to get twisted up in the bedding; huh.

"Ah you all white, Tux?" a pretty white tabby she-kit with brown and gold stripes asked him.

"What?" Quaxo mewed in confusion, disentangling himself from the blankets that had attacked him. Can't she see that I'm mostly black?

"I'm Cetty." The she-kit mewed, "What's your name?"

"Qua- uh… I don't have one." Quaxo mewed, hopping his 'kwah' sounded enough like a 'wha'.'

'Cetty' looked confused and opened her mouth to say something, but was rudely interrupted by the tabby tom kit.

"Can we eat now?" the tom kit whined.

"Yes, Pounce." An old graying orange and white tabby queen sighed, cuffing Pounce gently.

Pounce ducked away from her and ran circles around the old orange tabby tom from this morning; Quaxo thought his name was Skimble-something-or-another, but he couldn't remember exactly.

"Pouncival, you'll make your father dizzy doing that!" the old she-cat scolded.

"He's fine, Jenny dear." Skimble yawned sleepily.

Cetty, who was easily distracted, wriggled and pounced on top of Pouncival; the two kits, who were obviously littermates, tussled in a play fight on the floor next to their father. Skimble more or less ignored them and continued to look at a old grey paper with human print on it.

Quaxo padded around the kittens and sat next to Skimble, "Can you read that newspaper?" he asked.

Skimble grinned, not used to kittens taking an interest in reading, "Yes." He replied.

Quaxo happened to think human print was fascinating; he had often stared at old newspapers out on the streets and wondered what they said.

"I wish I could read human print." Quaxo mewed longingly.

Skimble peered at him strangely, but didn't reply as Jenny set a pile of mice in front of them.

"Freshly caught," she announced proudly.

"Thanks, Jenny." Skimble mewed, taking a mouse.

"Thanks, Mum!" Pounce and Cetty exclaimed at the same time, each trying to snatch the best mouse for themselves.

"Thank you." Quaxo mewed shyly, accepting the mouse Jenny passed him.

Jenny smiled and began to eat her own mouse; what a nice family, Quaxo thought.

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After breakfast Skimble took Quaxo to meet with Old Deuteronomy, the Patriarch of all Jellicle cats; whatever that means.

Quaxo stared up at the old grey tabby; there was no telling what color his fur was originally but Quaxo was sure he could see small patches of red here and there among the overpowering grey.

"Greetings, young one." Old D meowed.

Not knowing what to say, Quaxo nodded his head to the old cat.

"Wherever is your mother?" Old D asked.

Quaxo bristled slightly and then flattened his fur, "I don't have a mother, anymore." He meowed bitterly, "I live by myself."

The on looking cats; which included Skimble, Munk, Corico, Tantie, Cassie, Jenny, Alonzo, Bustopher, Demy and Bombi; all gave the kit looks of pity, or else encouragement. Old D smiled kindly and did not question the young tom further.

Quaxo did not like all of the attention; he flattened his ears and stared at the ground. He had the misfortune of looking like a six week old kit when he was closer to 12 weeks; Quaxo fluffed himself up indignantly.

"Well, let's see. I suppose we have to put you with someone…" Old D contemplated, surveying the on looking crowd. Old D knew that Jelly would take him in, but she defiantly had a houseful, even if most of her kits lived on their own now. Jenny recently had a litter; Bustopher's den was full. Munku had a kit and too much responsibility as it is; Demeter was busy with Jemima, and Cassandra with Exotica; Bombalurina wasn't exactly the kitten type. He didn't even consider asking the twins as they always seemed so busy with their psychic phenomenon. Where shall I put you? Old D thought, who will it be?

If they don't want me, than why'd they bring me here? Maybe I'll just leave and go back…go back to what? The streets? Quaxo contemplated; he was surprisingly mature for a kitten of so young. Living on the streets by himself for nearly two months had forced him to grow up.

On the other side of the clearing, Rum Tum Tugger was being swarmed by his fan club. Except for Jelly, who was watching the kittens, he was the only adult member of the Jellicle tribe that wasn't at the meeting. Tugger brushed the kittens aside and padded over to see what was going on; it looked serious. Tugger squeezed through the crowd, not knowing that what he was about to see would change his life forever.

At the center of the crowd was a small tuxedo kitten; Tugger had never seen this kit before. And then, as if by destiny, the kit turned and looked strait at Tugger. When their eyes met, Tugger felt a strange pull in his heartstrings.

Quaxo felt drawn to the black and leopard spotted tom; he stood and padded towards the tom. The tom cat's bushy mane reminded Quaxo of the cats from the old legends he'd been told on the street.

"Tiger." Quaxo meowed automatically; he couldn't exactly tell the three great cats apart or he would have known that the tiger was the only one of the legendary cats that Tugger didn't resemble.

"It's Tugger, actually." The mane coon meowed; there was true warmth in his eyes.

Quaxo instinctively pressed himself into the Tugger's mane; Tugger tensed, but then softened to the little tux's touch. The Tugger mewed something that Quaxo couldn't hear to someone that he couldn't see. Immediately, yowling broke out in the clearing. Quaxo bristled, flattened his ears firmly to his head, and burrowed into the Tugger's fur.

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