While the others grazed and gathered Munkustrap watched over them, as much an admirer as a guardian. Reclining in his throne- or so the other Jellicles had taken to calling it- he was completely content with the night and all its goings-on. His flock truly were the pick of the litter, a noble and hardy breed, virtuous in body and soul. But none among them compared to the kitten he now called his acolyte.
Alonzo, perhaps disapproving of his private pontificating, had begun to rub his fur against the older cat's. That lithe young body fit snugly on the seat of the throne as well, especially when it was curled up around his own, rear upturned and paws supporting themselves on Munkustrap's thighs. Every Leader required an aide, and in Alonzo Munkustrap had found the promise of youth finely complimented by the wisdom he himself had deposited there.
But in the coming nights, the perpetuity and propagation of the younger generation were not his concern. Munkustrap had a pressing task to consider, more present even than the texture of his young kitten's fur against his face. For Munkustrap was burdened with bestowing the gift of immortality to one Jellicle alone.
For him to have inherited this prestigious role was unprecedented. Young as he was, the followers of the Jellicle faith lauded Munkustrap for his strict adherence to their sacred way of life. A handsome face- untouched it seemed by the burden of his vocation and the sternness of his character- had attracted many a stray to his sermons. Old Deuteronomy himself had taken notice, and Munkustrap could still recall the day he was summoned to his chambers, for reasons he was yet to understand. He was lead prancing to a private cell in the temple, which hardly was larger than the cat himself. In all his rotund whiteness he most resembled that beloved lunar orb.
He told Munkustrap that- though he reveled in the celebrations surrounding their annual Ascension- he wished for the faith to have a new face, a new promise for the future. From the resignation with which he mewed into the pliant young acolyte's ears, it seemed as if he were wishing to be reincarnated into the young Munkustrap, so to speak; to slip seamlessly out of the limelight while a fresh replacement slipped in to do his bidding.
Munkustrap was all too willing, and able besides, to act, however superficially, in service of his faith. Lunar Cycles had come and gone since then and Old Deuteronomy had become quite a bit more old, and Munkustrap found his responsibilities improving from mere presence to those of a truly spiritual import. His tasks included: presiding over unions, blessing newborn kittens, sending the departed off to their final resting places on the face of the Moon; and now he was to grant new life to those most deserving. A strange pride stirred in him, though he knew these miracles were wrought by no feline hand.
In service of this great goal, the following nights were to be dedicated to the community's most treasured cats, commemorating their accomplishments and testifying to their worthiness before the judgement of the Moon. Among those up for review were: Gus, a Cat of Many Faces, but Owner of None; Skimbleshanks, Fire of the Engine, Father of Steam, the Red Caboose; Jennyanydots, Maternity given Feline Form; Grizabella the Grey, once treasured for her beauty and grace; and Bustopher Jones, He of the Finest Tastes. Though the Jellicles would rave and rally for their choice of cat, only one would earn that annual rite, and Munkustrap would deliver the sentence.
The celebrations were beginning, and those of true faith were gathered 'round for the preliminary presentations. But there were a few cats who simply were not there.