The subject of all the medical care and concern was lying on the table in the middle of the den. Rumpleteazer, her fur damp with tears, knelt by him. Mungojerrie looked so peaceful asleep. He had a history with Macavity, having once worked as a hired thief and burglar for the large tom, even if he had never actually been a part of the gang of ferals that Macavity controlled. Despite having stopped once Macavity started taking things too far, many of the Jellicles had never let the young cat forget this. Rumpleteazer looked down at her lover's face, bruised from the blows he had sustained fending off Macavity. Munkustrap, Alonzo and the other protectors were expected to defend the tribe – they were toms in the prime of their life, trained beyond the rest in the ways of fighting. But Mungojerrie was barely an adult, an outcast who had grudgingly been accepted by Rumpleteazer and her immediate family after saving the young queen from a group of vicious strays. He was clever and cunning, but not a fighter. Despite this, he had been the first to attack Macavity after he finished off the protectors, and had nearly been killed for his trouble.
The young cat was up and about within a few days. Despite this he had retreated into himself, spending much time alone in the den he shared with Rumpleteazer. Only his mate seemed to be able to reach him – everyone else was just blanked out. Since the attack, security had been beefed up. Admetus, Plato, Quaxo, Skimbleskanks, Augustus, Tumblebrutus and Bill Bailey had joined Munkustrap, Alonzo, George, Victor and Coricopat in guarding the junkyard, when they could be spared or those that had owners were spending time in the junkyard. Mungojerrie was still considered too ill to help guard yet. Jennyanydots had been fussing over him for some time now, eager to return him to full strength. Jenny and Skimble had never really approved of their daughter's choice of partner, but his bravery in fighting Macavity, along with the fact that Rumpleteazer evidently loved him, had finally won them around.
The young cat pushed himself up on his elbows, crawling out of the den and into the dim light of the attic. Most of the cats lived permanently in the junkyard, but not all of them. Gus, Jellyorum and their youngest sons lived in a theatre with the manager, Bustopher Jones and his mate boarded with a wealthy gentleman who lived in St James's Street, Jennyanydots and Skimbleskanks lived with a Station Master and his family, while Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer lived with a rich family in Victoria Grove. As soon as he was well enough, Rumpleteazer and her parents had helped him get back home before he was missed. All the family had noticed was that the amount of petty thefts and broken lamps had both greatly decreased.
The cat now lay on the floor, his yellow eyes scanning the room before him. Rumpleteazer trotted over, licking him affectionately. "Nearly lunch time. What do you fancy?" she asked. Mungojerrie sniffed the air, breathing the smells of his home in deeply. "I smell roast," he meowed, the delicious smell of the joint in the oven wafting over him. Rumpleteazer smiled wickedly. "It is Sunday," she giggled. "And they could do with getting a little thinner," Mungojerrie responded. The two cats stole off through the house, slipping down to the lower levels, heading for the kitchen. Unfortunately they were expected. The cook was waiting for them, broom in hand. "Run," Mungojerrie yelled as she swung at them. The tomcat dived in the way, taking a blow meant for his mate as they fled down the hall.
"Damm and blast," Mungojerrie spat. His ribs were burning like fire. Rumpleteazer licked his flanks as he sat and thought. "The dumbwaiter," he eventually declared. The dumbwaiter ran from the breakfast room on the second floor, down through the dining room and into the kitchen. With cook standing guard outside the door, they would have free run of the kitchen. The two cats flew up the stairs, taking them two at a time. The breakfast room was empty at this time of day, the family currently occupying the sitting room instead. Rumpleteazer slid open the hidden door, clambering onto the small platform. "Come on," she whined impatiently. Unable to deny her anything, Mungojerrie followed her up. The cat sized elevator was operated by a pulley system inside the shaft, with Mungojerrie soon got the hang of. They shot down the shaft, before colliding heavily with the bottom. Nothing was broken, but Mungojerrie had to stifle a yelp as his ribs flashed with pain again. The oven was just finishing off the roast, the smell filling the room. Potatoes and greens were arrayed on the table, ready for serving. In a move perfected long ago, Rumpleteazer wandered along the wood table, helping herself to a nibble here and there as she approached her target. With an incredible leap, the young queen launched herself onto the oven, depressing the gas nob and killing the heat. Kicking backwards with her rear legs opened the door, revealing the meaty prize. Mungojerrie carefully seized hold of the joint, pulling it from the oven in one swift movement. The cats fled with their prize, back to the dumbwaiter, giggling through mouthfuls of Argentine joint.
Pulling the dumbwaiter upwards, bearing the weight of two moderately sized cats and a joint of meat, was too much for them to accomplish. They barely reached the dining room, the platform whooshing away into the darkness as they scrambled off. The two cats were stranded two floors away from their den in the attic, with incriminating evidence and no means of transport. To add to their woes, Mungojerrie was evidently struggling. His ribs hurt far more than he let on, even to his mate. Rumpleteazer dropped the joint, with her mate following suit. She licked his face affectionately. Mungojerrie responded in kind, before sitting on his haunches and having a think. Despite his reputation, not wholly unearned, for mischief and theft, Mungojerrie was actually a very insightful and intelligent young cat. Rumpleteazer was the same, perhaps offering an explanation as to how they had fallen for one another. While they did steal things and pull pranks, they were very carefully planned heists and practical jokes.
Mungojerrie furrowed his brow. The clock on the wall read half past twelve. They had all of half hour until lunch would start, but only twenty minutes at most until the theft was discovered. Then he remembered the servant's staircase at the back of the house. They knew the cook was downstairs, and the maids would be in the drawing room, preparing it for after. "The servant's stairs," he muttered to his companion. She purred her agreement and they cautiously stuck their heads out of the door.
The hallway was clear, and the cats slid out of the room and hurried down it. A murmuring of voices from ahead of them froze the thieves in their tracks. The family were still in the sitting room, and the door had been left open. Rumpleteazer dropped her end of the joint, slinking around the door to have a look. All the family were there, but none were facing the door. "If we hurry, we can make it," she exclaimed to Mungojerrie. The two cats raced past, hoping to avoid detection. They scurried around a corner and up the stairs.
The two cats tucked into their stolen booty in the attic, tearing chunks off of the joint with their jaws. Their escapades had not gone unnoticed however. A great cry arose from the dining room, as the cook broke the news to the distraught family. "It's that horrible cat!" came the booming roar of the head of the family. Mungojerrie flashed a grin across to Rumpleteazer. No matter what they did, no matter what priceless vase was broken or whose dinner disappeared, no-one seemed able to hold a grudge against either of them. The primary dispute was which cat was responsible. The mother and her two daughters tended to blame Mungojerrie, while the father and two sons favoured Rumpleteazer as the culprit. Only the drunken, alcoholic uncle who lived with the family had any inkling of the truth, muttering under his alcohol riddled breath that he thought that the cats were organised and conspiring against him. Fortunately the fact that he was almost never sober meant that no-one took him seriously.