Of Unashamed Felinity

There's the Wonder

His son had done well for himself, living in a posh, new house in Victoria Grove with the family at his mercy. Macavity chuckled as he strolled alone through London's streets, recalling Mungojerrie's telling of how the young, sickly boy of the family would howl at the suggestion of punishment for feline misdeeds. So he and Rumpleteazer had the run of the house and would go through it like a hurricane. When their mischief was found, the adults would simply say "It's that horrible cat."

"And do they try to figger which one of you did it?" Macavity had asked.

Mungojerrie had responded with a shrug. "Most of the time, they leave it at that."

Macavity snickered again and continued his musings. The tam was a charmer, to be sure. If she could manage the little errand on which he'd sent her, she might just be good enough for the lad. He wasn't positive of her pedigree, but suspected that she was from that rich, tiger family from the St. James area. Perhaps old Bustopher could help him with that, though he would never be able to remember on his own. Fat and forgetful, Macavity said to himself with a smile. It would take some prompting from him to tweak the older cat's memory and for Bustopher, prompting meant food. I might drop by with a little venison, after I see Gus.

Asparagus was a theatre cat who had taken what he knew about costumes to a successful second act, crafting cat accessories. He shook with palsy now, so he only did the designs and left the production to his assistants.

Macavity had dabbled in acting himself at one time, and had admired Gus for his bravura performance of Firefrorefiddle, the Fiend of the Fell. He considered Gus an important contact in the legit world. He'd torn his collar during his latest heist and he hoped that the old stage cat could fix it.

But what have we here? The career criminal and consummate ladies' man licked his whiskers at the sight of the two young catta trying on spiked collars in Gus's shop.

The roanish, spotted one, a real bombshell, was batting her eyes at Gus's assistants, two black cats, known as George and Bill Bailey.

"Come now," she purred with a cute, country accent, drawing out her soft sounds, "surely you won't charge us the same price that you would just anyone."

The brothers were putty in her paws, their eyes cycling between her face and swishing tail.

Macavity shook his head in amusement. Yes, she was obviously attractive, but the quieter black and gold lovely with her...there was something familiar...

"Hello, kitties," he hailed them, swaying his head from side to side and showing off the points of his teeth, "Gus, where are your manners? Aren't you going to introduce us?"

The old grey and brown cat looked up from his worktable in confusion.

The fiend in feline shape moved closer to the girls. "Never mind. Perhaps you've heard of me; I'm Macavity."

Bombalurina turned her head to the commanding voice, wriggling with excitement. Macavity smiled in response, but couldn't take his eyes off of the little black and gold powder puff.

Munkustap stretched his legs like a gazelle, covering the distance between the vicarage and the outskirts of London in an amazingly short span of time. He had to slow down at the train station and heard a strained voice far behind him.

"Munk," panted someone. "Munk, wait for us."

He turned with annoyance to see the Rum Tum Tugger and Mr. Mistoffeles sprinting over the tracks to meet him.

Ever on the alert, Skimbleshanks, the railway cat, watched the trio for signs of trouble.

"What?" Munkustrap hissed when Old Deuteronomy's grandson reached him.

Huffing like the train engines, the Tugger said, "We-want-to help."

No," Munkustrap snarled. "You'll be in the way."

Rum Tum Tugger shook his head so that his mane-like scruff whipped around him. "I've been places, Munk. I know how to get around, how to talk to cats from all over."

Munkustrap wrinkled his face into a furry squint, not convinced.

Tugger recovered his full voice. "And Misto," he pointed out, beckoning the smallest of the three to hurry to them. "Misto is magical."

"Presto," Misto said in a soft voice, turning a somersault in mid-air, flashes of light emanating from his paws. He landed on his feet with a flourish.

"See," the Tugger said in triumph to the shocked Munkustrap. "We won't be in the way; we can help you find Demeter."

The cheshire grin the notorious thief gave the two young cats had stolen the hearts of much more experienced mollys for years. "May I offer my services as your escort?" he drawled, still staring at Demeter's golden eyes. "We can share a meal and then, how would you like to see my famous lair?"

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