Holy crow! It's becoming one heck of a hectic week! And not only for Munk!
"Thank you for walking with me today, Munkustrap."
"It was my pleasure, Asparagus. It's a shame Jellylorum couldn't walk with us, I know how much she likes to look at the flowers in the Farmer's Market."
Stopping across the street from the market, Munkustrap paused to allow his companion a quick breather. The fifth one the took in the past hour. While it was nice and warm today, he really wasn't in much of a mood to see the town; he'd much rather be sunbathing on the tire or spending time with Mistoffelees and his friends— not that Gus wasn't his friend, he liked him perfectly fine!
"Just Gus, m'boy. You know when I was young…" But not too long ago, Munkustrap recited. "…But not too long ago!" Gus laughed and pat the dust from his arms with shaky paws. "The Farmer's Market took up all of London proper."
With only the patience earned in years of knowing the old tom, Munkustrap gently urged him forward with an "Oh yes?"
"There were stands of strawberries as far as the nose could sniff; I would always visit this one stand when I was a kit with my mama. I stayed close friends with the vendor until he passed away too."
Yes Munkustrap liked Gus, and wouldn't fuss over a friendly conversation with the old Theatre Cat, but discussions often led to depressing, horrible stories that would take all one's emotional sanity to sit through. And Gus was a very long-winded though short-breath tom. "Yes. It turns out the strawberries were—"
"Oh look! It's safe to pass now, we shouldn't waste our luck on a busy day like today." Young and strong, it took little more than a slight push to propel the tabby into the street; Gus, on the other hand, required several shoves, a moment of collection, another for recollection, and two-point-five seconds to convince his muscles to stumble forward. "Would you like me to carry you across?"
"What!? I'm seventeen years old, my boy! If I could move myself around for that long I sure as Heaviside can now." Right. And he was about as stubborn as a mule.
Munkustrap circled the palsy-ridden tom like a vulture, creating a buffer zone around them as cars eventually made their way over, up to, and around. "Looks like we're the only ones not in a hurry today," Gus smiled at him. Ruefully Munkustrap smiled back. Not only were they not in a hurry, but they were also taking the detour around the market to get to the theater.
With no little sense of relief for Munkustrap, Gus finally made it over to the other side of the street. Albeit half dead and wheezing like a huffery snuffery Pom. "Are you sure you don't want me to carry you, Gus? I can take us through the market, wouldn't that be nice?"
"Oh nononono, Munkustrap!" Gus tutted, waving him off and sitting down for another break. "You're getting on in your years! I wouldn't want you to throw out your back."
Hurt, Munkustrap glanced down at himself, eying the toned muscles of his abdomen that maybe weren't as young and able as he thought; the grey in his coat that maybe hadn't actually been silver in a very long time. "I'm only three," he murmured.
"Three?! I could have sworn you were at least five!"
With a tempered sigh the tabby glanced through the legs of the shoppers, catching sight of the theater a couple blocks across and suddenly feeling very very tired. Then an idea. "It's a shame we must go around," he began forlornly. "I would have loved to stop for some strawberries myself; all this talk of them has made me rather hungry."
Gus nodded and paused a moment to scratch the thinning fur on his belly. "They do sound nice, and I haven't had any in ages…"
"It's settled then!" Munkustrap stood with determination. He was going to risk everything, even putting out his back, to get that old tom his strawberries… and get him to the theater in reasonable time.
When the word Farmer's Market comes to mind usually it brings with it thoughts of fresh, delicious produce, homemade crafted jewelry, and organic soap made of beeswax. This was not the case— at least for the feline patron.
Everywhere he looked Munkustrap found alleycats stealing things from the humans left, right, up, down, and center. A group of rough looking toms gathered by the fountain for some potentially immoral activities; beneath a rug stand feline queens were lined up by the floor display, looking for the next tom to sire their litters.
A couple of them purred at him and caterwauled gently in hopes of snagging his libido if only for a few minutes. Munkustrap knew these kind; they wouldn't follow for very long if he just kept to himself and kept walking. Lying lazily on Munkustrap's back, Gus saw everything and was watching the young gaggle trail behind them. "Tuck your tails, you trollops!"
The blood immediately drained from Munkustrap's face. He whirled around to explain, or at least apologize. When he tuned to face the queens he was met with a hard, surprisingly very painful, slap across the face. "You're looking for a fight, you gormless prat?"
"No! I-not at all! It's my friend here, you see, he's a little bit off his onion and—"
"Ah! Get outta here, ya bint!" Gus barked and swiped his quaky paw at the livid trio.
"Gus!" Another smack to the face and the queens turned tail to storm off to their strange-smelling rugs. He waited until they were a safe distance away before turning to the shaking tom on his back. "…What the bloody hell was that?!"
"That," Gus motioned towards the small parade of queens waving their exposed undertails at some mange-riddled toms. "Was a disaster waiting to happen. I know how hard it is to say no to them folk, Munkustrap—"
"I wasn't going to— Okay, you know what, how about we just ignore the queens next time?" Gus shrugged atop his shoulders and settled behind his neck for (hopefully) a nap.
Everlasting, is he trying to get us killed? Perhaps it would be best if they avoided queens altogether. When he'd spotted another rug stand lookalike Munkustrap quickly steered away, preferring the less intimidating presence of the homicidal toms near the fountain over horny, hormonal queens.
Both toms twitched at the sound of desperate, pained mewls for help echoing out from the center of ten-tom buddy circle. It was clear from the gleeful shouts of "dunk him!" and "don't let the bugger run off, now!" that what was going on was not a diplomatic conversation between consenting adults.
Munkustrap tentatively drew closer, eyes locked with those of the poor yelping tom being pulled and dragged over a rather box-shaped tom's head. His heart ached for the young shorthair that was not too dissimilar in size and age to his Mistoffelees. Without a doubt he was going to step in and help… he just needed to lose Gus and— "What do you buggers think you're doing!?"
Twelve sets of eyes darted to Munkustrap's shoulder, two of which were trembling and glazed with fear. The ten offenders dropped their plaything on the ground letting him skitter away into the crowded market. Then there was only one horrified stare watching Gus shake his crippled fist at the hooligans: Munkustrap's. "Why don't you arse-heads pick on someone your own size!"
But I'm their size! "You mean like him?" one of the couch-sized creatures spoke up, nodding to his ride.
"Well… yes, I guess."
"No! Not me!" Munkustrap laughed nervously, slowly backing away from the encroaching crowd. "I-erm-I…" Now would have been an excellent time to channel some of that Protector bravado. "I have an injury… and I can't exhaust it or it'll get all achy and take forever to go away—"
"That how your whiskers got rearranged, freak?"
Munkustrap swallowed hard. Gus growled louder and spat. The toms crept closer. Damn.
"Come on, boy!" Gus encouraged, kicking him in the side like a rider would his horse to get him moving. "Stand up for yourself!" The parade of underachievers chuckled and jeered.
"Yeah, whiskers, stand up for yourself."
Munkustrap backed himself into a wall— literally! The side of a grape merchant's booth kept him in place while they were cornered. "Alright," Munkustrap said. "Come at us."
"Us?!" Gus croaked.
"Us," Munkustrap confirmed. "If you hit me you'll end up hitting him anyway, so you might as well swing for the both of us."
The thug smiled at the tabby, ugly yellow teeth reflecting a blinding shine. "Well you're a smart bugger, aren't ya?"
It was a rhetorical question, Munkustrap knew, but he was very tempted to answer it with the same dung-eating smile. In fact he was two seconds away from showing this pisser how smart he really was when something as shiny and discoloured as the crook's teeth flew right into the valley of his nugget-less head.
All ten heads of the dynamic crew snapped up to the stand behind him. Even Gus was able to crane and lean over to look up behind them. The shaky but bold "Pick on someone your own age!" and the pelting grapes that followed reassured Munkustrap that the young tom they'd saved hadn't left them entirely.
Munkustrap chose to ignore the fact that he was also their age.
While his saviour distracted the thugly crowd, Munkustrap took his chance to storm through two of the less intimidating toms, knocking them to the ground and breaking free.
He didn't wait to check if the mob had taken off after them before leaping up and over the wall of the fountain to splash and tumble into the stale water. Gus cursed at him to get his bloody arse out of the water; he wasn't allowed onto the stage with wet paws.
Looking back Munkustrap found only a few chasing after them, including the tom Gus had so explicitly complimented, the others stayed back to underachieve in peace. Instead of chasing through the fountain, these toms had gone around and weren't struggling to keep up with Munkustrap who now had Gus's full weight and the syrupy water to trudge through.
"I bet your mothers are proud!" Gus hollered.
"You'll be able to ask her in Heaviside in a couple minutes!"
"Gus," Munkustrap wheezed, digging his paws harder into the fountain to push forward. "Stop talking!"
With an exasperated leap over the fountain's edge paws met pavement. Ahead, behind that small line of vendors would be the theater. And safety. Behind them would be a merciless beating into next Tuesday.
He'd been just about to take the final corner out of the market when his eyes caught someone sitting in the middle of the aisle. It took him no more than two iotas of a second to instantly recognize the hunched-over queen that sat, playing with a broken top. It was the fortuneteller.
Everlasting, no! Another lethal skid and he managed to avoid running up to her by barreling into a fruit crate. He must have been going pretty fast for the crate just crumpled as he torpedoed through and fell into the green tablecloth and under the table.
Something wet, slippery, and very strange smelling smeared beneath his paws, When he fell over (with Gus toppling off his back just in time to avoid grinding his paper-thin pelt into the brick), it not only helped him slide along but it also made a very dramatic job of turning the slide look like an angry cheese grater attack.
The moment he'd heard the thugs pass by, backtrack, and dumbly declare "He's gone!" and head back to their pals, Munkustrap bolted up and rushed to Gus. Shaking and jittering, Gus looked about as bloody as a newborn kit but as happy as pig in poop. He was giggling. "Looks like you found the strawberries, m'boy!"
Munkustrap helped him sit up and smiled. He wanted to strangle that little old tom something fierce, but the kittenish glee as he licked himself clean of the sweet goo reminded Munkustrap that Jellylorum would be dropping by later. And she'd expect him alive.
"We should get you back."
"Just…" Gus pulled himself up to sit and panted from the effort. "Give me a quick break."