Chapter Text
“Jemima! Time for bed!”
“Already on it, Mom!”
In truth, the young girl was not, contrary to her words, ‘on it.’ Well, perhaps she was in a sense, given that she was scrolling on her phone on her bed. In a technical view, she was, in fact, ‘on it.’ Though, convincing her mother that would likely take some doing; especially since said mother was peering at her from her door frame.
“I said bed, young lady.”
Jemima started, dropping her phone onto her sheets and staring at her mother with wide and guilty eyes. “Um…” she said, searching her mind for an excuse or technicality. But her mom had focused instead on her screen, stilling at what she saw. When Jemima saw her mother’s gaze, she snatched it away and quickly ducked under her covers. “Sorry, Mom. Night.”
She turned her back to her mother, hoping she’d accept the apology and head off to bed herself. After the door hadn’t closed, and she felt her bed shift under added weight, she resigned herself to a long conversation. “Jemima, please look at me.”
She didn’t want to- far from it, in fact. That was, perhaps, the absolute last thing Jemima wanted to do at the moment. She wanted her mother to go to bed, forget what she’d seen on the phone, and leave Jemima to her warm bed and blankets. She didn’t want to see her mother’s sad eyes or hear her mother’s weak voice.
“Please, Dove.” She surrendered to the name and the hand that had found its way to her shoulder, and spun to face her mother, tears beginning to well in her eyes.
“I miss them…” Her mother hugged her close and she hugged back, trying to fight back the tears that continued to sting her eyes.
“I know, Dove. I know.” Her mother drew circles on her back as they held each other, trying to steady her own breath and shoulders. “We’ll see them again. It might be a long time, but they’ll watch over you until it’s time. Believe that.”
“But why did it have to be so soon!” She sounded like a child, she knew she did. Especially with the hiccups threatening to burst from her lungs, but she didn’t care. She let the tears fall and clutched her mother tightly. “Why couldn’t Dad have stayed? Why did he get cancer, he didn’t do anything to anyone! Why’d Jacob have to be a stupid hero and get himself stabbed! Why? It’s not fair!”
“I know, sweetie.” Her mother said, shoulders shaking. “But that’s how life is at times. Sometimes, it’s the good ones, sometimes it’s the bad ones. We keep marching on.”
They held each other for minutes, Jemima failing to contain her wails of sorrow and her mother simply rubbing circles into her back. After ten minutes, Jemima had fallen asleep, tears staining her red cheeks and hair more disheveled than when they’d started. Tenderly, her mother laid her down on her pillow and pulled up the covers, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.
“Sweet dreams, my little Dove.”
The night air should have left her freezing, made her fingers numb, or at the very least made her nose run a little. Instead, she found that it was rather nice- perhaps a little cold, and perhaps a little… ‘smelly? Is that what that was?’ She could feel rough gravel and dirt beneath her… ‘are those my feet? They certainly don’t feel like mine, they feel like how Tolkien describes a Hobbit’s.’ And something was brushing against her tail…
“What?!” She whipped her head around, staring at a multi-coloured, patched tail that almost waved back at her. She was so focussed on her new found tail, that she almost didn’t see the thing that had brushed against it. Or, rather, the brown-patch tom that had, she supposed.
Said tom held his paws up in a sort of mock-surrender. “Easy, princess. It’s a shock the first time it happens, but ya get used ta it after a while.” He said in a somewhat lazy way, almost like he didn’t see her as a threat. Which, given she could hardly makes sense of the fact that she was a cat, she supposed that was a right assumption.
He smirked at her, almost like he was amused that she couldn’t pick between him and her bloody tail to focus on. “Yeah, it’s jarring. Don’t ya worry that pretty little head of yours, Princess. You’ll get used ta it.”
At his repetition of her new ‘nickname’ she glared. “You’re clearly not that much older than me if you’re still a tom-kit.” She said flatly, hoping for him to retreat slightly, hoping she looked at least a little like her mother.
She didn’t, if his growing smirk were anything to go by. “No, but I’m still older. And I’ve also been here longer, so you’re gonna have ta be stuck with me, Princess.” He teased, drawing up to his full height (which, though she was certain it wasn’t actually that impressive, was still far taller than her when she mimicked him).
“Carb, what are you doing over there?” A voice called, similar to ‘Carb’s but lower. Another tom poked his head into their clearing, very similar to Carb, except the prominent eye patch was on the right rather than the left.
Carb smirked to the newcomer, puffing his chest out a little more. “We got new blood, Tumble!”
‘Tumble,’ rolled his eyes as he gracefully stepped into the clearing and sat next to his friend. “Honestly, you shouldn’t call ‘em that. You’ll scare ‘em.” He smiled congenially at the newcomer, though a slight twinkle almost winked at her in his eye. “I’m Tumblebrutus, the moron’s Carbuckety. What’s your name, stranger?”
She opened her mouth to respond to the obviously more mature tom, but nothing came out. ‘What is my name?’ She wondered, looking down and scrunching her eyes. Tumble gave her an understanding look.
“Don’t worry. We know someone who can help. Come on – and ignore the idiot.” He nodded back the way he came and ignored the indignant ‘hey!’ from his friend. She followed closely, but warily; a voice in the back of her head, familiar but not recognizable, saying to not trust strangers. Even still, Tumble babbled on about what to expect.
“You’ll love ‘em all, trust me. They’re all super nice and helpful to newcomers. And our leader knows practically everything! It’s amazing, really.” On and on they went, and she had to leap every now and then to keep up with them and their stride, which (due to a lack of coordination) meant she more than once had to suffer through Carbuckety’s snicker when she nearly fell on her face.
She decided she should figure out where she was, given she was asleep in her pillow just a minute or so ago. She nodded at Tumble’s tale about a pair of particularly miscreant cats getting into trouble with a protector (she assumed he was talking about Carbuckety and himself), but had ultimately become entranced by the tall piles of junk. That would explain the dirt and gravel, but it still left her with many questions; such as why they were in a junk-yard.
A low roar became more and more prominent as they moved, and the piles became smaller and more spread out. Finally, the corridor of rubbish (‘have I always called it rubbish?’) ended and they entered a humongous clearing- at least five times the size of the last one. And yet, somehow, a large colony of cats had found a way to make it look crowded. Cats of all sort were mingling, speaking, a few were dancing, and a handful were singing. It was… jarring.
“Hey!” Carbuckety’s loud voice startled her, and several others in the clearing. “We got fresh meat!”
Tumble cuffed him around the ear, eliciting a yelp from the smaller and younger tom. “Don’t call her that, you moron!”
“Boys! Settle down, you’ll frighten the poor girl.” An elderly voice said from above. Her escorts winced a little (Carb with a small eye-roll) and peeked at the pile above them. An older queen glared back and leapt down to further reprimand them. “You two ruffians are the last ones she should be following around.”
“Sorry, Jenny,” they said, clearly only one actually meaning it. The queen smiled down, face crinkling with a motherly warmth and stripes and spots stretching.
“Hello, dear. My apologies about them – their rather…” she glared again at the younger toms, and Carbuckety gave a faux-innocent smile. “Unscrupulous.”
“Oh, they’re not too bad, Jenny,” a suave and velvet voice said from her other side, and Jenny glared at the tom who spoke. “And honestly, she’s not either.”
She turned to see a large Maine Coon, smiling down at her with a flirty smile, and she felt her face go warm under such a gaze. “Welcome to the Jellicles. I think you’ll fit in…” he winked, and she distinctly heard someone swoon and faint at the action. “Perfectly.”
He leapt down, forcing both younger (and far smaller) toms to dash out of the way and came up beside her, smouldering smirk never leaving his face. “The Rum-Tum-Tugger, at your service, madame.”
“Tugger, down.” Another voice called causing the Coon to roll his eyes. A silver tabby came up to small group, a disapproving look on his face. “She is clearly too young for you to indoctrinate. Go and try to swoon one of your other scores.”
“Oh, boo. You’re no fun, Munk. She’ll have to fall sooner,” he winked to her again, and she felt her face blaze. “Or later.”
“Then it will be later.” Munk replied, finality in his words and eyes that made the other surrender. He sauntered away, swaying his hips and was followed by a hoard of other queens and princesses. Jenny tutted beside her, and Munk turned his attention to the other two.
“I assume she doesn’t have a name, boys?” The two shook their heads, but only Tumble replied.
“Not that she knows, Munk.” Munk nodded and looked back at her, a sort of piercing gaze that made her fidget and squirm. Like she was some sort of experiment. Jenny placed a paw on her back and gave a more sympathetic look.
“We could always give her one.” Carbuckety suggested, causing both Munk and Tumble to give him a glare.
“Not from you!” Tumble practically yelled, beating him around the ear again.
“No.” Munk said, the same tone he’d used on Tugger previously. “You two run along, I’ll escort her to Deuteronomy. Behave.” He said flatly, obviously knowing that the last order would not be followed.
“Yes sir, Munkustrap.” And with that, they were off, running through the clearing at a pace that would surely leave one of them with an injured neck if they fell. Munkustrap sighed and looked at Jenny.
“You’d better make sure they don’t kill themselves.”
“I’d have to tie them down to do that.” Came the dry reply, but the older cat still followed after the two toms, perhaps a little more leisurely than she should have but no less dutifully. Munkustrap turned back to her and gave a smile that, while warm, didn’t quite settle her nerves or reach his eyes.
“Follow me, little one. We’ll figure out your name before the night’s over.” He kept her pace far better than the other two had, despite having a far larger and more powerful stride. He took smaller steps, enough to where she didn’t even have to jog to keep up, and let her take in the whole clearing and cats.
There were dozens, at least. If she could guess, at least two scores (‘when had I used score?’), all of them happily chatting about or bathing in the moonlight. If it weren’t for the constant curious stares and amused gazes, she’d have thought no one had noticed her existence, all too wrapped in each other and their conversations to bother. But what caught her eye the most were the odd colours.
Now, she was not unfamiliar with cats (at least, she didn’t think she was), and she was pretty sure that cats were not supposed to be such colours as blood-red, shimmering gold, or even the occasional variety of green. There were cats with specks of blue, and jagged stripes of pink and yellow. She was fairly certain she could make a large amount of the rainbow with how many cats there were.
And the variety of size and age! It seemed like she could find any cat she could dream of in the Yard, as if the whole world of cats had converged in this singular place.
“Old Deuteronomy? We have a new arrival.” Munkustrap called to the inside of a particular den. The shuffle of paws and the heavy falls of a large paw reached them before they saw the cat, and an overwhelming feeling of peace washed over her as they did. It was like it cleared her mind, helped her sort through all the noise that had been trying to burst her ear drums since the night began. Finally, an old Coon-tabby stepped into the moonlight, round face with a larger smile than should have been possible and almost shimmering eyes.
“Hello, little one,” he lilted, almost like he was singing. “Welcome to our home. Might I ask your name?”
This time, she didn’t have to find an answer. This time, she knew her name immediately, as if his presence alone had given her an answer. “Sillabub.” She said clearly, and she could swear that shimmer seemed to grow.
“What a lovely name, don’t you think so, Munkustrap?” The old tom looked at the younger silver.
Munk nodded, returning the smile. “Yes, indeed. Now, I must return to patrols. Old Deuteronomy, Sillabub.” He nodded to each again and turned, leaping off the pile and headed off down another of the corridors of rubbish. Sillabub gave Deuteronomy a questioning look.
“Come,” he said, turning back into his den. “You must have many questions.” He shuffled back into the den, and Sillabub followed, albeit a little hesitantly. They were, for all intents and purposes, strangers.
The den itself was… unimpressive, for a leader. She’d expected extravagant hallways and little trinkets and such, but it was rather plain. A simple room and some cushions were the extent of it all. She supposed, at the end of the day, that was all a cat needed for luxury, but it still seemed so… innocuous (‘when did my vocabulary expand to such words? … When was the last time I’d used vocabulary?’).
Deuteronomy sat on the largest cushion, heaving a heavy sigh as he did and nestling himself into it. If Sillabub could use any analogy for how firmly he was sat, she’d liken it to the sword in the stone.
“Sit. We have much to discuss before the night is over.” The old tom lilted, smiling like the sun. She looked at each of the pillows but, though she didn’t want to be rude, none seemed quite right for her. There was one velvet that she was certain would be heavenly to sit on, but she didn’t want to potentially sit in a rather important cat’s pillow. There was another (a beautiful, green felt one) that seemed appealing, but also looked like she’d fall into and never be found again.
But she didn’t want to be rude, which left the rather plain, somewhat aged, and nearly mud-brown pillow on the end, furthest from the door and nearly at the old cat’s side. The voice in the back of her head said to be careful, but she ignored it. The old cat couldn’t possibly do anything, what was there to worry about?
He hummed as she sat, and a spike of worry shot through her. Had she chosen wrong? Was this one not one of the offered seats. “I-I can move if-”
“No, no. I just find it curious.” He said, smiling reassuringly to her. “Only a handful of cats have chosen that one on their own volition. In fact, you’d make number four.”
“Oh…” Sillabub was unsure how to respond to such a statement, neither compliment nor reprimand. She did find it perhaps a little odd, but enough to point out? Surely it can’t have been that strange. “Odd…”
“Indeed. But you have questions, and we have little time. Ask away.”
Sillabub was silent, trying to parse through her thoughts and get to the most relevant question. Th sheer number was intimidating, but one thought kept surfacing, had been nagging at the back of her mind since the night began.
“I was just asleep. Not a cat.” She said simply, trying to not make it sound like an accusation. Whether the old tom had been offended or not, she couldn’t tell. He simply smiled warmly.
“That is how almost everyone comes to us.” She cocked her head and he chuckled. “This is a world between worlds; a sort of neighbouring universe, if you will.”
“Like a mass hallucination?”
He laughed loud and full then. She couldn’t help but smile a little too, if more from slight embarrassment than from genuine humour.
“No, not quite,” He shook his head gently, still chuckling. “More like a mass dream. They come here and live a second life, in a sense. Of course, it’s that of a feline, but what matters is this: each who come here seeks something. They find it here. What is it that you seek, I wonder?”
His gaze was exactly like Munkustrap’s had been, though more good-natured and fatherly than the defensive, protector-like glare the tabby had worn. Even still, she shifted under it and ignored the obviously rhetorical question.
“All right. Then why is it a junk-yard? Surely there must be someone who’s the centre of the dream, what if they stop dreaming? What –”
“My goodness, slow down.” He chuckled again, holding up a paw. “Ask what you like, but one at a time. I’m an old cat, I can’t keep up with you younger ones.
“As for the first and second one: I think it’s a rather appropriate area for a collection of cats, don’t you?” His smile was almost wry, as if he’d told the worst joke to ever disgrace the Earth. But Sillabub neither groaned nor laughed, simply looking at him with wide(er) eyes and an open jaw. “And I don’t anticipate stopping anytime soon.”
He stood, groaning under the force, and then shook his fur. She followed a second later, padding after him as he strode to the door. “Now, you may ask the rest tomorrow. For now, it is time to wake up.”
The moon was just about to set, and a sliver of sunlight was peeking over the lower piles of rubbish. A small panic settled in her and she looked to the old Coon with desperate eyes. “What if I don’t come back tomorrow? What if I never come back?”
He placed a comforting paw on her shoulder and smiled warmly. “You will. If not tomorrow, then the next, or the next. Everyone who comes here finds their way back eventually.”
She tried to ask more, to understand, but was blinded by a strong light. She gasped as the entire clearing was illuminated, the light reflecting and breaking in hundreds of colours and meeting at odd angles. It was beautiful.
“As I said – rather nice for a colony of cats.”
Jemima awoke slowly, blinking the sleep from her eyes. The sun streamed through her window, blinding her before she’d even had a chance of consciousness. It was morning.
“… Ahhh!” She planted her face into her pillow and groaned. How her mind had dreamt up such a nonsensical story she’d never know. A group of people all dreaming the same dream of being cats? Absurd!
“Jemima! Hurry up, we’re headed to Grandma’s in a bit!”
She groaned again, but not loud enough for her mother to hear.