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Triskell
Author of 90 Stories |
Author's Notes: Blame it on bad weather, trying to overcome writers' block and Maccy dancing in my head ;D.
I suppose sitting perched on the roof of a warehouse in the drizzle won't help me get warm either. Seeing that there is no body heat I can curl up next to when I get down it doesn't matter though.
And it is important to just be seen - ginger red and black, patches of white - it all blazes like a fire through the greyness of the storm clouds above me. I'm imposing, never more so than when a bolt of lightning flashes and illuminates me. My features, impassive, stony, cold.
All as it should be. I am the villain that everyone has made of me. I prefer being called the 'Napoleon of Crime' - though small and insignificant at first this human managed to change the course of history, all the world was at his feet for one sweet, glorious moment. To think I have deserved equation with him is an honour.
But, unlike him, I know from the start that it won't last. He believed he had a chance to rule forever. Naïve, isn't it? Nothing this grand can last. Each empire crumbles with time, from the inside decay rots it away until there is only the Emperor left - a dull, little man without a cause or crown.
I won't be dull, but I won't fight for the unattainable as he did. The 'Reign of a hundred Days' - how ignorant did he have to be? He was brilliant, for a human. And yet not brilliant enough to see he had been beaten when he lay on the ground.
I have no hope of my little Empire lasting longer than my strength to keep it. And I will exhaust that power I hold over all my followers. When my muscles cease to serve me and my body becomes frail. Old age is not for me. I sleep easy though I am pretty certain I will be taken in my sleep. Perhaps killed.
'Murder' is such a harsh word. It's only a way of pushing the useless to the side, cleaning up and starting anew. My body is a shell for the mind that has created a tribe of outcasts, of strays and loners like myself. They heed me because they fear me. And they worship me.
The likes of me are not to be blessed with love. Or I have misunderstood the ways of the Everlasting Cat. Bombalurina and Demeter - two sisters, one loss. I cared for them both and they both left. The red fire because she learned to hate me, the golden sun because she feared the power in my blood.
Napoleon is supposed to have loved Josephine. And he threw her away, gave up her love, for a dynasty of little Hapsburg blooded children. As I mentioned, he was human. And stupid. He thought he had a chance when it was clear he would be broken. All he did, even his best and most beneficial inventions and ideas were scrapped.
It wasn't his time I believe, monarchies were too strong, Europe too small to house such a man. I have no such expanse myself. But I know that if one of my queens loved me I would not turn her away. I like having a place I can call home. Not that I truly had one, but it's nice to think I did.
I have used up my stores of loneliness a long time ago. Now I simply sit, stare into nothingness and contemplate my life. As every good Jellicle should. Creating a little havoc now and then. My best coups are those where I thwart the humans, make them think they are up against a master-mind from amidst their own ranks.
A 'Napoleon of Crime' they can apprehend. But they will never catch me. Like my namesake they don't think that far. I know that my two queens have understood me, I heard them spin their tales of me.
My prowess as a lover somewhat outshines the glory of my other achievements. Much as I enjoy being in their thoughts in such a way it is sad to think that not even they can accept my genius as anything but evil.
I admit to having fought, injured and killed a number of cats - and an even greater number of pollicles. I bear scars of these encounters on my body. Red as blood, black as night and white as innocence I still believe I have.
Because my conscience is unspoiled by my deeds - I feel remorse. That I don't show it is the only way I can survive amidst my peers. I am untainted by the darkness, because I use it to my ends. It will consume me in the end - a dance with the devil can only end by losing your own soul. Faust lost to Mephisto - there is no redemption once you've chosen your path.
The only one who can forgive you for your sins is you. The Everlasting Cat is universal, but her power cannot sway what you yourself must know and life with. Humans call that fate, or destiny. I call it justice.
Thunder rolls somewhere behind me and I know that lightning isn't far behind it. After the first few flashes I will cease to hear the drops of water splashing around me and my mind will be at peace again.
Nature is more powerful than me. But I am more cunning. I cloud the minds of little kittens in their sleep with nightmares that come from stories that I haven't told. I spark respect for what I embody with a regal presence no one else can muster while I humiliate, deceive and taunt.
I mock my human namesake's folly and indulge myself in a downfall that will be my own. Demeter called me 'Mystery Cat' - a very good description indeed. I vanish and appear like leaves dancing on the wind.
And when I cease to hold the power that reverberates through every cry of pain, anger and rage 'Macavity' evokes I will go down in history.
The 'Monster of Depravity', the greatest Lord of Crime the world of cats has ever known, feared long after his demise - like Growltiger and Firefrorefiddle. Only with the difference that my story will at least in parts, be real…
End.
