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Summary: Mistoffelees', everybody's favorite kitty, history revealed!
The trees surrendered what was left of their leaves to the harsh night wind that wheezed its icy breath along the city's concrete sidewalk. The small black kitten quickened his pace, eager to reach his warm domicile at the end of the street, where there would surely be a meal waiting for him. His mouth watered at the thought of it; perhaps a fish, or a piece of turkey left over from Sunday dinner, placed in the middle of a plate with a garnish of catnip and a dish of milk or cream on the side. A few drops of saliva spattered the ground beneath his paws.
He saw a light ahead, coming from one of the windows of his house. He strolled through the gate and made his way up the porch steps and to the front door, where he sat and alternately meowed and scratched at the door with his claws. A loud exclamation of disgust was heard within the house, but the door swung open and he was admitted. In he walked, tail held straight and erect, whiskers spread, eyes shining, nose searching for the smell of food.
The kitten was puzzled. He smelled nothing edible; only a strange cardboard scent, and the unmistakable odor of cleaning fluid. He sensed that something was not right, and the fact that there was no furniture in sight amplified this feeling. He meowed and rubbed against the bearded man's trouser legs.
"Oh, no," the man scolded. "You'll be getting nothing from me, cat. This is the last time you'll mooch in my house!"
A slim woman with short brown hair and a nervous expression descended the staircase. "John," she said, setting down the box she had been carrying, "couldn't you give him a piece of liver or something?"
"No, Muriel," the man said, kicking at the kitten. "I want this cat gone now! We can't have him following us to the new house. We'd never get rid of him then!"
"New house!" the kitten exclaimed to himself. He suddenly hissed at the man, his fur rising on end. He darted several hopeful, sideways glances at the woman, who only stared at him with a piteous expression on her face.
"See? I told you that cat was no good the very minute he set foot on our porch! Look at the way he turned on me, just like that! And to think we've been giving that flea-bitten feline room and board. Why, he doesn't deserve to have it as good as he does!" With that the man stooped and lifted the kitten, still hissing, by the scruff of his neck. he turned for the door.
"Where are you going, John?" the woman asked. She was wringing her hands and looking desperately at the tiny cat whose imploring eyes pierced her very heart.
"To the pound." The man must have had a heart somewhere beneath his beardy exterior, for when he heard his wife's gasp he turned to face her. "Muriel," he began, "I promise you that as soon as we get moved, you can have any animal you want. I'll even pay for one with a pedigree. Think about it. A real Persian pussy, instead of a scrawny skunk." He flung open the door, grabbed his hat from the coat rack beside it, and started off down the street, cat in tow.
This was before cars were really necessary for transportation but were essential for bragging rights, in the time when the grocer's, laundry, and hardware store were in walking distance from one's house. However, the wind was so cruel that the man had barely started off before he decided it was worth the trouble to get the car out of the garage. He tucked the squirming kitten under one arm and tried to lift the garage door with the other. It refused to budge, having most likely frozen shut. He used both hands, but the kitten was squeezed between the man's arm and torso and let out such a yowl that the man sighed, put the kitten down, and resumed trying to open the garage. The kitten decided to save him the trouble, for as soon as his feet touched the ground he was up and running down the street. The man stared after him for a moment, wiped his brow with his sleeve, and uttered a loud curse after the kitten before returning to the warmth of his house.
The kitten cowered in a storm drain for what seemed like an eternity, his muscles tensed to the point of aching. He was utterly miserable. Besides being cold and hungry, he felt unwanted and unloved, rejected and desolate. "I haven't a friend in the world," he moaned to himself.
His ears pricked up at the sound of someone singing. The song, one which he was not familiar with, was sung in a deep baritone voice that cracked occasionally on the lower notes, as if it were really a tenor trying to sing bass. "My Wild Irish Rose! The sweetest flowr' that grows..." the voice boomed, stopping abruptly after "grows." The kitten noticed a pair of rather large paws outside the opening of the drain. His heart seemed to beat in his throat, pulsating to the rhythm of dog! dog! dog! dog!
"Who's in there?" the voice said, returning to its normal pitch. A pair of glowing green eyes appeared at the end of the drain, and the cat inside hunched himself into the smallest possible ball at the far end of the drain, as far away from the eyes as he could go. He felt something close around his tail, and then he was outside the drain, laying on the ground and still curled up in a ball. He could feel the wind biting at him through his thin fur.
"Why, if it isn't little Mistoffelees!" the voice exclaimed. The black kitten opened his eyes and slowly uncurled. He was in the presence of a large orange tabby, a familiar friend of his. He brightened when he realized that the tabby was a friend, and after he'd assumed he hadn't any!
"Skimbleshanks!" exclaimed Mistoffelees, embracing his friend around the neck and giving him a playful and loving nip on the ear.
"Ay and begorrah, it is!" Skimbleshanks laughed. Then his manner became serious, and he looked the small black tom in the eyes. "Now supposin' you tell old Skimble why you're not at home enjoyin' a meal."
"They're moving away," Mistoffelees sighed. "I was really very lucky. The man was going to take me to the pound, but I ran away the second he put me down."
"The pound!" Skimble exclaimed. A look of horror crossed his face, and as he shuddered he drew the little kitten nearer. "You'll be comin' with me. It's too cold a night for you to be out on the street, and in the shape you're in. Why, I do believe you've lost some weight!" As if in response, Mistoffelees sneezed loudly.
Skimbleshanks pulled the tired kitten, who was so much smaller and lighter than himself, onto his back and set off for the train station that was his home. He worried to himself along the way. "Where," he thought, "is this kitten going to stay now that he has no family? Not with me; the guard at the door will let him stay the night, being the kind soul he is, but he canna live with me forever. He is obviously ill. He is skinny as a rail and sneezing, too. I must take him to Munkustrap first thing tomorrow morning. Perhaps he will know what to do." Mistoffelees sighed in his sleep and dreamed of mice and catnip.
"Evenin', Joseph," the guard at the station door said, tipping his cap to the cat that kept the station free of mice and provided company for the guards on their shifts and the station master's youngest daughters. The cat responded with a loud meow. He turned around in circles and meowed at the door in a manner most undignified and quite embarrassing, but which got the job done and brought the guard's attention to the still black form on the frozen earth outside the station.
The kindly man lifted the furry form and carried him inside, where he wrapped him in a sheet from one of the berths and laid him in front of the electric heater. Skimbleshanks curled up beside Mistoffelees and slept at intervals, sometimes rising to make his rounds at the station, sometimes stopping to worry more.
It was in this manner that daylight found the orange tabby, pacing to and fro before the covered kitten and worrying. The guard had changed; Thomas had come in for his shift, with stern instructions from Pete not to disturb the "new arrival" and to give him some bologna upon his waking. Thomas knelt and scratched Skimble behind the ears, watching the motionless bundle with the same intense curiosity as Skimble.
They were both surprised and delighted when the form acknowledged their attention by rising, stretching, yawning, and tottering drunkenly towards them with a sneeze or two. Skimble rushed to the other cat's side, much to the horror of Thomas, who was afraid they would fight, and began cleaning his matted fur. Mistoffelees seated himself and purred patiently while Skimble satisfied his paternal instincts. Mistoffelees sneezed three times in quick succession, shaking his head and scratching his nose with a paw.
"Oh my," said Thomas, stroking the black kitten tentatively down the back. "We've got a sickie, eh? I knows jest what to do, I do." He ran into a small room at one end of the station and emerged a minute later cradling a steaming white cup between two hands, insulated with several layers of napkins. He sat the cup down in front of Mistoffelees and said with an air of importance, "This is really supposed to be for guards and conductors only, when we're workin' late and need a bit of a perk, but I think we can make an exception in your case. Go on now, drink it while it's still hot enough to do you some good."
Mistoffelees sniffed the coffee warily. It stank, and looked foul; it was black and steamy, with bubbles rising in the center. He wrinkled his nose in distaste, but took a quick lap so as not to be rude. His tongue felt as though it were on fire. He could feel the steam rising to his nose, and found to his amazement that he could breathe easier. He lapped almost half of it up, and then Thomas offered the rest to Skimbleshanks, who politely declined.
"We should be off now," Skimble said to Mistoffelees, who nodded in agreement and rose to show that he was ready. They gave a quick thank-you to Thomas and left the railway station.
"Where are we going?" Mistoffelees asked, trying hard to keep up with the larger cat. He had to resist an impulse to play with Skimble's tail; such kittenish pleasures were behind him now. He would have to learn to look after himself, to be a real cat and not a puny kitten.
"To find Munkustrap," Skimble replied matter-of-factly. He pretended not to notice how Mistoffelees cringed at the name. Though kind and gentle, Munkustrap was not the most patient of cats, and he was easily annoyed. Too, his status of power was intimidating, even to Skimble, who had known him since Munkustrap was but a kitten.
Mistoffelees hid his feelings and walked proudly, with his head up and his whiskers spread. His tail betrayed him, for instead of waving erect like a flag it drooped and waved nervously. He thought of how he had felt last night in the storm drain, alone in the world, and of how wrong he had been. "After all," he thought, "am I not in the presence of a friend? And are we not going to see others like Skimble?"
They reached the junkyard and entered by way of a loose board in the high fence that surrounded the place. The trash man always grumbled about how all the cats found their way in despite the high fence, but never bothered doing anything about it. He was just too lazy. A loud crash to the left of Skimbleshanks startled him and made him jump protectively in front of his companion.
The Rum Tum Tugger swaggered out from behind an overturned garbage can, wearing a grin and a banana peel. Mistoffelees would have laughed had he not been awed by the appearance of the junkyard legend. Instead, he simply hid beneath Skimbleshanks, who laughed for him.
"Tugger, the hat is a nice touch, but don't you think it's a little feminine?" Skimbleshanks hooted, pointing with a claw to the banana peel.
"A little what?" the Tugger asked, pulling the peel off his head and discarding it over his shoulder. He did not use big words often.
"Never mind." Skimble shook his head. Mistoffelees peeped out from behind Skimble's orange flank, staring with curiosity at the much larger cat before them.
"Hey, who's the runt?" Tugger asked nonchalantly, leaping on top of the trash can and straining his neck to see Mistoffelees. The black kitten moved to where he could no longer be seen behind Skimbleshanks, and Rum Tum Tugger growled impatiently. "Ah, come on, kid! I'm not going to bite you or anything."
Skimbleshanks picked up the timid beast by the scruff of his neck like a mother lifting her kitten, an action which mortified Mistoffelees. The last thing he wanted was for the great Rum Tum Tugger to think of him as no more than a cowardly kitten! It was bad enough being so much smaller than the other adult cats.
The Tugger jumped down from the trash can and strutted over to Mistoffelees, who continued to stare in wide-eyed wonder. Tugger circled round him, and Mistoffelees felt sure he was being scrutinized, examined, and that the great feline was trying to decide whether to keep him or throw him away. He puffed out his chest and held his tail proud and erect so as to better the other's judgment.
"Kinda scrawny for a cat," the Tugger remarked after a while, and Mistoffelees' chest deflated. "Kinda shy, too." A look of pity crossed his gallant face, and he reached out with a broad paw and thumped Mistoffelees on the back. "You're okay, kid."
"This is Mistoffelees," Skimbleshanks said. "His family, er... well, you know, they... um..."
"They moved away and left me," Mistoffelees remarked quietly, startling the other two.
"He speaks!" Tugger exclaimed with mock surprise. He became serious and put his arm around the ebony feline, noting how small he was in comparison. "Oh, well. Them's the breaks. That's life, you know. Hey, don't worry, Misto! Me and Skimble'll look after ya, won't we, Skimble?"
"Actually, that's why we came to the junkyard," Skimble said, looking uncomfortable. "Y'see, there's no place for him to stay at the station. I'd be turned out in the cold if it weren't for the station master's lovely daughters what likes me so well, and I know that he'd never allow a second cat. He hates 'em. Allergies, you know."
Tugger nodded thoughtfully and Skimbleshanks continued. "You haven't by any chance seen Munkustrap? I thought perhaps he could find somewhere for the lit... for the fella to stay." He had carefully avoided saying "little fellow", for he knew how sensitive Misto was about his size.
"Why can't he stay here, in the junkyard?" Tugger said. It was an honest question, but Skimble had to think how to answer it just right.
"Misto, um... go stand watch for Munkustrap. Perhaps he'll be along shortly." Puzzled by his friend's request, Misto stumbled off to watch for the beloved leader.
"Tugger," Skimbleshanks said, taking him aside, "Misto's a bit small, even for a kitten. He's very naive, and not very strong. He's sick a lot, you know. I'm afraid he won't be able to take care of himself out here. I was hoping perhaps an adoption of some sort...?"
"Jellylorum loves kittens," Rum Tum Tugger suggested. "She'd be glad to take him in."
"Well you see that's just the thing," Skimble said in one breath. "He doesn't like being called a kitten. He's very sensitive about it. He's been forced to grow up too fast, and considers himself an adult, although he's barely a year old."
"Jelly would spoil him anyway. Make him into a powderpuff," Tugger said. "He needs a father figure, someone like Munk or maybe Bustopher."
Skimbleshanks shook his head vehemently. "No!" he exclaimed. "Munkustrap doesn't have the patience to look after Mistoffelees, and Bustopher Jones? Come on, Tugger! What kind of a suggestion was that?"
Tugger shrugged and looked hopelessly at Misto, who sat atop a rocking chair. His tail swayed to and fro placidly, and his fur blew in the wind. "Well, I'd watch him, but I'm no good. I'd be afraid he'd turn out like me," he said with a grin.
Skimbleshanks groaned and called for Mistoffelees. He was already returning to the two, a look of mixed horror and awe on his face. "Skimble!" he cried breathlessly. "He's here!"
"Good. Come on." Skimble walked towards the junkyard entrance. A large group of cats had gathered to greet Munkustrap; Skimble picked out Jellylorum, Tantomile, Coricopat, and Alonzo among the flood of familiar faces.
"Oh," Mistoffelees moaned.
"Whatsamatter, kid?" Tugger said, concern edging his voice.
"All those cats," he said. "Must I speak to Munkustrap in front of them all?"
"There's nothing to it," the other replied. "I'll go with you." Grateful for company, Misto walked hidden beneath the huge leopard-spotted beast.
Skimbleshanks had already pushed his way through the crowd and was speaking to Munkustrap. When the latter replied, a hush fell over the group. Everyone stopped talking and moving and sat perfectly still to listen to this important exchange between the two. "Where is he?" Munkustrap was saying.
"Right here," Tugger replied, swaggering up to the silver tabby. A few squeals of delight came from the females in the crowd, but all soon fell quiet. "Or... he was here," he said, looking behind himself with confusion. He stepped quickly away and Misto tried to follow, but was not quick enough and sat, exposed to the group.
A few gasps and coos of "How cute!" and "Who's that?" were heard, much to the embarrassment of the specimen. He sat quite still, stretching himself as tall as he would go. His tail, curled tightly around his legs, twitched nervously. Again he was scrutinized, this time by the tabby, whose face betrayed no thought or emotion.
"He will come with me," Munkustrap said quietly. "We will decide tonight, at the meeting." Most of the cats disbanded, contenting themselves with the thought of the meeting, but a few approached Munkustrap.
"I haven't had a kitten to look after since Tumblebrutus," a thin calico remarked. "And he's such a quiet little thing. I wouldn't mind, I've nothing better to do."
"Aw, come on, Munk! Let me have him. Jelly'll spoil him rotten. He needs a real man to teach him what's what!" a large black and white tom laughed. Jellylorum, the calico, gave him a swat on the ear.
"Of course, not all my pupils turn out good," she said with a glare at the tom. "Like Alonzo here, the only mistake in my career."
Munkustrap dismissed them and turned to Skimbleshanks. Misto was sitting miserably at the orange cat's feet while Skimble talked to Jennyanydots. "We will leave now," he said.
Misto tugged on Skimble's tail. "You're coming with me?" he said hopefully.
"No," Skimbleshanks said with a faint smile. "Go with Munkustrap. And for heaven's sake don't annoy him!"
The walk from the junkyard to Munkustrap's home was a long and silent one. Mistoffelees trudged on behind the great silver tabby, mesmerized by the rising and falling of his huge paws. Misto looked at his own paws; they were tiny and white, like the fur on his chest and face and the tip of his tail. His face burned in shame at the thought of his being mistaken for a kitten at the junkyard. He held his head a little higher. Munkustrap turned a corner abruptly, and Mistoffelees looked up, startled at the loss of his guardian. Not knowing what to do, he sat down on the curb to wait. Munkustrap did not look behind him until he was at least a block away. With a sigh and a growl of exasperation he backtracked and found Misto sitting calmly where he had been left.
"If you can't keep up I can carry you," Munkustrap said, trying to be friendly to the little beast. Mistoffelees nodded timidly. His feet were tired and his eyelids were heavy, although it was only late afternoon. The tabby stooped and Misto clambered onto his back, trying to grip with his claws without hurting Munkustrap.
They continued. After a while Munkustrap himself began to feel sleepy, and he realized it was because of the rhythmic purring of his charge. In his sleep Misto was kneading his claws on Munkustrap's head, an action which both annoyed and amused him. After a while, Munkustrap arrived at a large red gate. The gate was in front of a deserted, ramshackle cottage with weeds growing around it and ivy growing up its rotted wooden walls. The gate, which was never latched because there was no one to latch it, swung open in the breeze, and Munkustrap entered.
He dumped the sleeping kitten onto the ground and curled up himself by a large mildewed flower pot in the yard. Awakened by the impact, Mistoffelees stared in awe at his surroundings. He had expected the grand leader to live in a golden palace, with Pollicle servants who waited on you hand and foot and brought you cream and catnip. But this place was just as beautiful, and seemed more fitting for the strong, silent tabby.
The yard was surrounded by a high red picket fence. The grass in the yard grew green and high, and smelled sweet. There were patches of clover here and there. The yard was littered with pieces of junk dragged in to decorate the place and serve as furniture; a car fender, three flower pots, an old tire, a wadded up towel, two huge sofa cushions, a wooden bench, and a dilapidated cabinet with four doors that squeaked when they opened or shut.
Misto looked around for a place to sleep. He debated snoozing on one of the sofa cushions, but decided against it. They were probably for important company, not for scrawny young kittens, and he didn't want to annoy Munkustrap. So, he curled up beneath the towel and fell asleep.
· Easy
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"All opposed?" the yard was silent. "Good. Then we have passed the motion to appoint a Pollicle guard. Are there any volunteers?" No one raised a paw. Munkustrap began to explain. "We'll take shifts, see," he said. "One cat gets it this week, another next week, and so on. We should get a sign-up sheet and a schedule. Skimbleshanks, can you be in charge of that? I know you're busy, but you seem to be the most organized of us all." A murmur of approval arose at this suggestion.
Awakened by the sound of Munkustrap's voice, Misto peeked his nose out from under the towel, sniffing for his friend Skimble. What he got a whiff of was the pungent odor of many cats all in the same place, their different scents combined into one. He stuck the rest of his head out to see if he could spot Skimble, but there were two or three cats right in front of him and that was all that he could see. He recognized two of them from earlier, the skinny calico and the placid yellow tabby that Skimble was infatuated with. The third was a huge tuxedo cat who held a silver spoon beneath his arm. Misto gasped aloud; could it be Bustopher Jones, the famous cat about town? He immediately wished he'd never woken up, for at the sound of his gasp the two lady cats looked at him sharply.
"Who's under there?" Jennyanydots hissed under her breath, lifting the towel from over Misto. He hissed back, fluffing up his fur, but the ladies chuckled.
"It's the kitten from this morning!" Jellylorum said. "Come here, dear, and sit by Jelly."
Though thoroughly humiliated, Mistoffelees did not want to be rude. He obliged the calico and sat beside her on the grass, peering up at her timidly.
Jennyanydots crooned, "Oh, isn't he darling! He has the nicest blue eyes."
"I hear you and Skimble are quite good friends," Mistoffelees said to her, trying to make conversation. Jennyanydots looked shocked for a moment, and then burst into laughter. She rubbed her face against Misto's lovingly.
Jellylorum put her arm around Misto and drew him nearer. She began to clean his fur with her rough, pink tongue, and the black kitten purred in delight. He began to think perhaps being a kitten was not such a bad thing after all.
"If there are no more matters of business, the meeting is hereby adjourned," Munkustrap announced from his perch atop the tire. Mistoffelees flattened his ears against his head in fear; he had been forgotten!
"Just a minute, dearie!" Jennyanydots called out. "We haven't yet decided about our little friend." She grabbed Mistoffelees and lifted him over her head so that Munkustrap could see him. An expression of shock crossed Munkustrap's face.
"How could I have forgotten..." he started, but caught his composure just in time. "Um, yes. The, uh, young kitten needs a guardian, at least until he can fend for himself. Volunteers?"
Several paws went up. Jellylorum's paw was the first. Alonzo, the black and white cat whom Jellylorum had scolded, volunteered; so did the notorious pair of cat burglars, Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer, who no doubt wanted the kitten for an accomplice. The only other cat to raise his hand was Bustopher Jones, much to the surprise of the crowd. "I need a caddie," he explained.
"Not Jellylorum. Not Jellylorum. Not Jellylorum," Skimbleshanks and Rum Tum Tugger chanted in unison.
"Well, I suppose we'll have a vote," Munkustrap said.
"Why won't he let me decide?" Mistoffelees asked Jellylorum, burying his head in her fur. She sighed and stroked his back.
"We must decide what would be best for you, so that you don't make a wrong decision. It is Munkustrap's opinion that the judgment of many is better than the judgment of one," she replied. Mistoffelees didn't understand, but nodded anyway.
"All in favor of Alonzo taking charge of Mistoffelees say aye." Alonzo and his friends, Tumblebrutus and Pouncival, yelled "aye" as loud as their voices allowed. Rum Tum Tugger joined in. In his opinion, even Alonzo was better than Jellylorum. The kitten would be better off learning streetfighting than needlepoint, he thought, and yelled even louder.
"All in favor of Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer." The two hollered "aye" in their harsh cockney accents, but the effect was lost, for no one else joined in.
"Humph," Rumpleteazer remarked. "Well that's just fine then. We don't need that kitten anyhow. If we wants one we can steal one, right, Mungo?" Her partner in crime nodded, but looked sadly at the black kitten. He had always wanted a kitten to teach and play with, and he had his heart set on Mistoffelees. Oh, well, he thought. He'll always be at the junkyard whenever I feel like visiting him.
"Bustopher Jones." The fat cat boomed "aye" in his deep baritone. Again all was silent but for the echo of his voice.
"Could we perhaps appoint a caddie for me?" he asked Munkustrap hopefully. "There's a tournament next week in Pall Mall I was hoping to attend."
Sighing, Munkustrap looked to Jellylorum. "All in favor of appointing Jellylorum the kitten's guardian, say aye." The yard resounded with cries of "aye" and "hear, hear". Mistoffelees looked happily at Jellylorum, and Skimbleshanks groaned.
After the meeting was officially over and most of the cats had left to return to the junkyard, Skimbleshanks made his way towards Jellylorum and her new kitten. "Jelly," he said patiently. "Please, whatever you do, don't spoil him! He must learn to look after himself. One of these days there'll be no one to watch him, and then..."
She interrupted him. "Skimbleshanks, dear, I appreciate your trying to help, but he's my kitten now and I'll do as I darn well please with him! Besides, I'm planning on living a very long time, and as long as I'm around he'll never have to worry about anything. Come along, Mistoffelees."
Mistoffelees rubbed his head along Skimble's flank, and the orange tabby returned the sentiment. "Don't let her make you a sissy," Skimble whispered, and Misto nodded and laughed. Then he left his friend's side for that of his new mother.
***
"We'll be home soon, dear," said Jellylorum. Mistoffelees trotted alongside her, keeping close to her for warmth and security. His feet ached and his eyelids drooped; although he had slept all day, it had been a hectic night, and he felt rather ill.
"Where exactly are we going?" he asked with a yawn.
"I live in an oven in the junkyard," she replied. "There are blankets inside, and a few old sofa cushions. It's quite roomy, but you're so small you won't be cramped anyway." She stopped abruptly and turned to him. "Oh, I'm sorry, dear," she said. "I didn't mean to..."
"That's all right," Mistoffelees stopped her. "I am small. And I am a kitten, though I used to think otherwise."
They walked on in silence. Mistoffelees was about to ask her how much further it would be when he suddenly felt his arms and legs being grasped by hairy paws. He tried to cry out, but his mouth was covered with a strip of fabric. He was dragged away down the street in the dark, unsure of his captors or his destination. His heart thumped in his chest, and he strained his eyes to see Jellylorum. "She doesn't even know I'm gone!" he though miserably.
He was dragged on for many blocks. After a while he stopped struggling; his captors were too strong, and it only made him tired. Finally they stopped, and he was lifted rudely off the ground and thrown into a sort of box. He hit the back of it hard, and fell to the bottom in a daze. Darkness closed in, and his last thought before unconsciousness was that the darkness was darker even than the night.
***
"Is he awake yet?" a strange voice asked. It was high pitched and squeaky, and had a thick cockney accent. Misto found that with great difficulty he could open his eyes and sit up. His joints and muscles ached terribly from laying in an awkward position all night, and his head throbbed from the light that shone in through a small window in the front of the box.
"Hey, Macavity! He's up, what shall we do with him?" Mistoffelees looked out the window and saw that, to his horror, he was in a room full of rats. They were horrible things, covered in black bristly fur and with yellow, rotten teeth sticking out from under wet pink snouts. He meowed in fear and cringed at the back of the box.
A face, worse even than the sight of the rats, appeared at the window. It belonged to the biggest and meanest looking feline Mistoffelees had ever laid eyes on. He was a queer sort of orange red, with white and black stripes. His fur stuck out in every direction; his eyes, green and glowing, were set far back in his head, and two white fangs glistened on his lower lip. He spoke with a snarl and his upper lip curled back to show a row of fine, sharp teeth and expose the rest of the fangs.
"Let's have a look at him." The door to the box opened. A huge paw, bigger even than Munkustrap's and armed with long black claws, came towards Mistoffelees, grasped him around the tail, and pulled him out into the light.
He was being held upside down, and the pain was terrible; he writhed and squirmed and tried to shield his eyes from the brightness of the light. When his eyes had adjusted, he glanced back and got a look at his prison. Mistoffelees had never seen one before, but if he had, he would have known that it was a pet carrier, the kind old women carry their small dogs in to keep them from running away on the train. The little window was so that the dog could look out but not get out.
"You morons," Macavity muttered, not bothering to raise his voice. The effect was the same as if he had; the rats cowered against the walls of what Mistoffelees had thought to be a room but was really an alley, with the exit blocked off with trash cans. "I said a black cat. He's got white on him, see?" He flipped Misto over and showed the terrified rats his white tail-tip. "And here. And here." He poked a rough claw in Misto's face and chest.
"They ain't no black cats, boss," one rat spoke up. "They's calicos, and they's tabbies, and they's Bustopher Jones, but he ain't all black neither. He's got more white on him than this'n."
Macavity growled and stuck Misto under his arm. Too terrified to struggle, he lay there like a limp rag. "We'll make do with this one," Macavity said with a dismissive wave of his paw. "Come and help me bend his will."
The rats followed Macavity down the alleyway into the dark shadowy recesses at the back. There was a rope attached to the handle of a trash can, and Macavity tied a firm knot with it around Misto's neck. "Is it too tight?" Macavity asked. The kitten nodded. "Good," came the reply.
Then he and his rat accomplices stood back and watched the kitten. Mistoffelees didn't know quite what to do, so he stood there and stared back. After this had gone on for a good five minutes, Macavity snarled impatiently, "Well?"
"Well what?" Mistoffelees said, his fright growing to anger. Had they dragged him all this way just to perform for them? What was he supposed to do, dance?
"Get on with the magic," Macavity said.
"Magic?" came the confused reply.
Macavity growled and advanced on the small kitten, who stood his ground defiantly, though his legs were shaking. "You're a black cat, right? Well, do some magic!" he said.
"I-I-I've never done any b-before," Mistoffelees said truthfully.
"Aha!" Macavity exclaimed. "I had thought as much. Well, that's all right. We'll soon remedy that. Watch him until I return," he commanded the rats, who advanced with forks and butter knives in a circle around the poor frightened feline. Macavity turned and seemed to melt into the shadows.
***
"What do you mean, you lost him?" Munkustrap cried.
"Well, he was right behind me one minute, and the next..." Jellylorum sighed and patted her face with a handkerchief. "I'm worried sick about the poor dear! Where could he have gone?"
"We'll have to wait until morning to organize a search party," the other replied, pacing back and forth. "He could be anywhere in the city. Someone could have picked him up, or..." A horrible thought came to him. He tried to brush it away, but it clung to the back of his mind like a cobweb. Actually, it was several thoughts clumped up into one big, frightening image.
"Jelly," Munkustrap said, his face deepening into a haggard look of worry. "Do you remember Grikspittle?" "That horrible old tom that used to set things on fire?" she shuddered.
"That's the one. Remember, he could make lightning bolts come out of his paws. He could make things disappear and reappear moments later someplace else."
"He could make himself disappear, too. Didn't we banish him from the tribe?"
Munkustrap's face became a stormy scowl. "He and Grizabella, after she was banished from the tribe, had a kitten. Grizabella couldn't look after him, and Grikspittle didn't want to, so he was on his own since birth. Do you think..."
"...Mistoffelees could be that kitten?" Jellylorum finished the thought for him. "Well, but what does that have to do with anything?"
"Suppose Grikspittle's powers are hereditary. Mistoffelees has them, but doesn't know it," he gulped, "and Macavity wants them. Grikspittle always was a loner, and he refuses to have anything to do with anyone, Macavity included, but the fiend knows that he could use someone with powers like that."
"Oh, but Mistoffelees would never turn against us," Jellylorum said.
"Maybe not," Munkustrap replied. "But there's no telling what they'll do to make him try. There's not a moment to lose now. Run and get Skimbleshanks!" Jellylorum took off down the street to the railway station, leaving Munkustrap to summon the others.
***
When Macavity returned, he was followed by a strange black tom. The tom was lean and wiry, much smaller than Macavity, and was black all over. Even his nose was black. His paws were big and caked in mud as if he had been out walking but had forgotten to clean himself. His eyes, though, were the first thing that caught Mistoffelees' eye. They were blue, like his own.
"Aye, that's him," the tom growled in a low, gravely voice. "I'd know him if I saw him anywhere. And you want me to teach him magic?" Macavity nodded, and the tom looked uncertain. "Well, he's not completely black, but I suppose he could learn."
Macavity looked impatient. "Oh, just cast a spell over him or something and he can learn the rest by experience."
The tom peered at the notorious cat. "Well, all right. It'd be faster that way. But it would leave a lot of things out." He walked up to Mistoffelees, who sat staring as if transfixed. The tom clapped his paws together and a bright beam of light shot out of each of his claws. He fixed one of them on Mistoffelees. "Look at the light, boy," the tom commanded. Misto tried to resist, but the voice was so compelling and the light so beautiful that he couldn't help himself. The light fixed itself on the kitten's eyes and seemed to enter into his body. Mistoffelees rose from the ground and floated in midair for a few seconds, much to the awe of Macavity and his henchmen, before the light shut off and he fell to the ground in an unconscious heap.
"And that'll do it?" Macavity asked eagerly. "You haven't killed him, have you?"
"No," the tom replied. "When he awakes, he should have the ability to use most of his powers. He won't be able to use them correctly, though." He frowned. "I still wish you'd have let me teach him. He had the powers all along, but he'd never have known it if I hadn't helped him out."
"Can't you give me the powers too? I mean, with the light and everything." Macavity was fairly tingling with excitement at the prospect.
The tom shook his head firmly. "It only works with black cats. Now listen to me: Do not overexcite him for a while. Let him rest and come to his senses, then try him out. If I find out you have done otherwise, I'll roast you alive." The tom turned to Mistoffelees and stroked his fur tenderly with a dirty paw. "Goodbye, son," he whispered.
"So long, Grikspittle," Macavity said without thanking him, for it was not Macavity's nature to thank others. The black tom looked over his shoulder with mixed emotions and a strange pain in his chest that he had never felt before as he walked slowly out of the alley.
***
Mistoffelees came to in a blur of colors that made him sick. He closed his eyes tightly, waiting for the feeling to pass, and when it did he noticed something strange. His senses had been amplified greatly. He could feel every speck of dirt beneath his fur, and it made him very uncomfortable.
He struggled to his feet and found that he was still bound by the rope. A tingling sensation passed over his body as he looked at the rope with distaste, and he suddenly found that he was free. The rope had broken in two and lay coiled on the ground like an evil snake. He jumped away from it in fear and wonder, and then, keeping close to the shadows by the wall, made his way to the end of the alley.
He tiptoed with extreme caution by the sleeping rats, and thought his heart would stop when, as he passed Macavity, the great villain stretched in his sleep. The trash cans stood like silver metal giants barring the exit. He knew that if he jumped over or through them, they would topple over and bring attention to his escape, but he went for it anyway. Crouching low to the ground, he tensed his muscles and sprang. For a whole, wonderful second, he thought he would clear the cans and get away with no hassle. He was wrong.
He landed with a resounding clang on the lid of one trash can. Immediately he heard the sound of a dozen rats and one angry cat springing to their feet in pursuit. Wasting no time, he leaped to the ground and ran off down the street. His feet were smaller and his legs shorter than Macavity's, and despite the fact that he had a head start he could hear the villain's pawsteps echoing on the pavement just behind him. Mistoffelees ran on blindly, unaware of his surroundings until he suddenly collided into something large.
"Oof!" the large beast exclaimed. "Hey! There you are!" Rum Tum Tugger reached down and lifted Mistoffelees by the scruff of the neck just as Macavity caught up with him. The result of this was that Macavity got a firm grip on the kitten's back legs and Rum Tum Tugger had a firm grip on his front legs.
"Skimble! Help me out!" Skimbleshanks rounded the corner and valiantly pounced upon Macavity, who let go of Misto's tail. The kitten clambered onto Tugger's back, where he watched in horrified fascination as Macavity and his henchmen got the better of his beloved friend.
"Skimbleshanks!" Mistoffelees screamed, reaching out to his friend. Tugger grabbed hold of him before he could jump down and injure himself in the brawl. Skimbleshanks rolled around on the ground, hissing and clawing at the rats and Macavity.
Alonzo, who had just arrived, and Munkustrap stood back and waited for the moment when they could jump in and rescue Skimbleshanks. "Why don't you help him!" Misto screeched at them. "They'll kill him!" Weakened, the rats were beginning to slacken off, and after a few terrible seconds Skimbleshanks was left with only Macavity to deal with.
The villain circled round the orange tom, his eyes glaring fiercely. Skimbleshanks lay very still, his chest heaving. Suddenly Macavity grabbed Skimble by the neck and placed a razor sharp claw at his throat. "Give me the kitten," Macavity growled in a low voice. "Otherwise, there'll be more than one cat to visit the Heaviside Layer this year."
"Let him go!" Mistoffelees yelled. He stood up on Tugger's back and raised his paws above his head. At that moment an extraordinary thing happened. Had any humans been about, they would not have been able to believe their eyes. Munkustrap couldn't believe his; nor could Alonzo or Macavity, for that matter. The Rum Tum Tugger couldn't see what happened, for Mistoffelees was on his back, and Skimbleshanks' eyes were closed as if he were asleep or very tired.
A brilliant bolt of blue lightning shot from Mistoffelees' tiny paws. The ground around Macavity turned white hot, and the villain leaped up as if scalded. He glared at the group of cats for a moment, then turned and ran, followed by the rats.
"Coward!" Mistoffelees called after him. The kitten ran to Skimbleshanks' side and cradled his head in his lap. The other cats said nothing; there was nothing to say. They simply stared in awe at the kitten who sat breathing heavily with his companion's head in his lap, the kitten whom they now knew for sure would be able to look after himself.
"How is he?" Mistoffelees asked Munkustrap. They sat outside the railway station; the moon was shining, and the wind blew as harshly as ever.
"He'll be all right. He's resting now." They walked in silence to join Tugger and Alonzo. "We need to talk, Mistoffelees," Munkustrap said, obviously uncomfortable. "About what happened tonight."
The kitten listened as the three Jellicles explained about his father, the great Grikspittle, and about Grizabella, his mother. "Do you have any questions?" Munkustrap said, laying a comforting paw on Misto's shoulder.
"Just one." He stopped walking and looked Munkustrap in the eye. "If my father didn't want me, then why did he come back? Why did he want me to have his powers?"
Munkustrap shook his head solemnly. "I don't know," he said. "I do know that we want you. You will always be cared for if you stay with us. You can live in the junkyard. And there's no reason to be ashamed of your..."
"Size," Mistoffelees finished for him. After that, they did not talk. They simply journeyed on, to the junkyard that was their home.
In the shadows behind the four cats, a black tom smiled to himself. "Good luck, son," he whispered, before vanishing in a gust of wind.