Disclaimer: I don’t own CATS!

A/N: WORD!

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To Build This Bridge

Story by: Scrawler

Beta Read by: Latvian Ice

Chapter 8: Like a Kite

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When I wake up, long after the sun has risen and the morning dew has dried, Munkustrap has Francis in a choke hold.

I watch with sleepy confusion as Munkustrap shouts into Francis’ ears.

“You STAY here. STAY. And you SHUT UP.”

Francis mumbles on and on about something or another, his lips thin and cracking. He does not hold the same slow, easy tone he spoke with earlier. He seems frightened now. His eyes dart around dangerously, hungrily, and all Munkustrap does is tighten his hold around the other cat’s arms and throat.

Francis sends me a helpless glance. I bring myself to stand and walk cautiously over to the tom. He stops mumbling for a minute but his lips move as if he’s still talking to himself, considering something. Suddenly, with a burst of energy he begins to yell. My ears, as well as Munkustrap's, fall back immediately. I wince at the noise and take a step back.

Somewhere, not far, dogs are barking.

“Shut him up!” Munkustrap hisses. “Now!”

I hesitate only for a moment. What can I do? Munkustrap expects magic, of course, but I don’t know of a spell, or a charm, or anything…

So I stall him. I place my paw under his chin and then lift up. I keep him steady, griping his throat. I concentrate. Slowing down his thoughts isn’t the easiest thing to do, they’re so short-lived and broken, but I eventually am able to separate and sort them. I make him sleep.

Or, rather, I render him unconscious.

Oops.

“Good.” Munkustrap eases Francis to the ground. “He was getting to be a handful. Are those Pollicles back?”

I take a breath to steady myself and then look over the edge of the building. “No dogs,” I report, relieved. “Why was he screaming?”

Munkustrap shrugs a shoulder. “Cats like him… well, I don’t know exactly. When will he wake up?”

“Maybe in an hour.” I say this not because I actually know, but because I think that’s how long it will take me to save up some energy and force him awake.

But… our situation is dire. We need to be moving faster than we have been. Waiting for the tom seems to just be wasting time.

“Scratch that. Ten minutes.” I am such a piss-head.(1)

X-

“Heeeeyyyyy…” Ten minutes later, Francis is awake. He sounds like he had the night before, sleepy and scattered.

“Francis.” Munkustrap holds the cat's head in both his paws. “You are going to take us to the magic tom, remember?”

The mane cat groans and rubs his face with one paw. He does not look so thin and sickly in the daylight, as opposed to at night. This only indicates he is indeed a very skinny and wiry cat. Cats can see things not only clearer, but more truthfully at night. Just one of those things, you know?

He blinks his eyes awake and concentrates on our faces for a while. “Naw, man…”

“’Naw man’ you don’t remember or ‘naw man’ you don’t know the magical tom?” Munkustrap asks and sends me a worried look. Francis is the best we’ve got for answers right now, but what is the point of dragging him along if his brain is too fried to allow him to remember anything?

“Naw… what?” Francis asks, confused. “I ain’t know no…. heh. Know no. No, no, no. Ka-no. Heh.”

Munkustrap just stares at him.

I take a whack at trying to talk with the tom. “You know a magical cat, right?”

“Riiiiiiiight.”

“And you can take us to him, right?”

“Riiiiiiight.”

I nod and continue. “Take us them him now, okay?”

“Riiiiiiiight.” Francis smiles. “Waitzits… what?”

X-

After a good half hour of talking very calmly and slowly to Francis and keeping his voice down so to not attract any more dogs, Munkustrap and I finally got some answers.

Or, so we hoped.

We lead Francis off the roof as he had forgotten how he’d gotten up there.

“Maybe I was like a kite and flew,” he had said.

“High like a kite?” Munkustrap had asked, dryly.

“Like a goddamn air-o-plane, man.”

After a few minutes of what I think to be useless wandering, Francis takes a sharp turn and leads up towards a building in a busy, dark part of town.

Francis directs us down a flight of stairs that creak and whine with each step. We slink through a rusty hole in a pair of large cellar doors at the bottom of the steps.

“Nice accommodations,” Munkustrap notes. His voice is arid and attitude cupped. I guess he knows he can’t be too snarky considering his tribe lives in a junkyard.

The mane cat brings us to an opening to a bright room. There are lights in every corner and bright pillows piled up all over. Empty tuna cans lay forgotten on the peculiarly warm cement floor.

Cats are everywhere. There are many more cats in this tribe, maybe twice as many as there are in the Jellicles. I look up to the low overhead. There’s a constant cloud of thin smoke covering the cement ceiling that covers some of the lights so that the room looks soft and sleepy.

What has to be the strangest thing I’ve seen yet in this tribe is the fact that nearly every cat has a furry mane much like Rum Tum Tugger. Of course, some of these manes are white and others are black. Some have stripes and others, dots. Not one looks exactly like Tugger’s, though some bear the closest resemblance. I wonder if Tugger has family here.

“Thaaaat,” Francis says, pointing a thin paw to a sleek black tomcat sitting atop the highest account of pillows, “is our kickin’ sweet leader, PhorAngelo, the magic tom. Isn’t he marvelous, you know, a lot?”

“Nothing but,” Munkustrap says airily.

“We need to talk with him,” I tell Francis. “Call him down.”

Francis looks at me as though I’ve grown two heads. “Call him? Me? Wait, me what? Me…?” He sputters and spits. “No, man! No way.”

I guess I should ask. “Why not?”

“Because he’s PhorAngelo, man! I’m not related to the cat, I ain’t worth his time, ya see? I’m not even a queen! But I’d like a queen. Do you know a queen?” Francis blinks, confused even at his own stupidity. “Like I said, or have I not said it yet? Queens? How you expect me to up and-”

“PhorAngelo!” Munkustrap calls up to the lounging tom. Francis lets out a worried moan and turns to run off. He trips once, fumbles around on his paws for a second, concentrating hard on taking one step at a time, and slowly he seeks a hiding place amid the other cats. “We are of the Jellicle Tribe! If we could have a word-”

PhorAngelo appears in a swirl of mist. I realize that it is my disappearing act. Mine. I frown at the performance, unsure what to think of it.

“What,” he drawls, his voice thin, “is so important that you must interrupt the sanctuary of my tribe to ask my name?”

“As my friend said, we are Jellicles. We came in search of you to ask help.”

PhorAngelo is a very thin cat. The mane he sports is thick, however, and gives off the illusion of his torso having burst open. His face is so slight it looks like it exploded once, was held together with a rubber band, and then scared over that way. His nose and mouth and eyes are crammed right in the middle of his face as if there isn’t any more room with such large ears protruding from either side of his head.

When he speaks, it’s in a wheezy tone that smells like fart. I detest him already for keeping such fresh company and still griping bad hygiene as if it is his cream and nip. (2)

Munkustrap seems to have no problem keeping a straight face in PhorAngelo’s presence, but I can only hold my breath for so long…

“PhorAngelo,” Munkustrap starts to explain our predicament. He obviously wants to get away from these cats who bear too much a striking resemblance to Tugger. If there are attitudes to match, we’re leaving now.

“Don’t speak,” PhorAngelo orders. Munkustrap stops in mid sentence. His pride is hurt but he knows what’s more important at the moment. We need to get on this tom's good side.

PhorAngelo offers a paw to me. “You, speak.”

“Um, yes. I do.” What? Oh. Heh, oops. “I mean, okay.” Two larger queens have arranged themselves by PhorAngelo’s side. They giggle at my response.

“A member of our tribe has gone missing. We need a more powerful magic cat to find him. To do that, we’ve traveled days to find you, PhorAngelo.” Yeah, smooth. And persuasive. We’re a shoe in.

“Really?” the magic tom asks lightly. “And you’re so sure you need my help, why?”

“Because,” I tell him. “You can find him. I know you can.” I have no clue if he can or not.

PhorAngelo seems to consider my pleas. This is good; I think he’s going to help!

“No.”

What?

“No?” Munkustrap echoes. “What do you mean no?”

“I haven’t the time,” PhorAngelo throws some lame excuse in our faces. “Or the proper motivation. Let’s say I helped you find the tom,” PhorAngelo concentrates a moment. “Plato, is his name.” He smirks. “What would it do for me? Waste my time, of course.”

He’s not even going to help…? “What good is it to have magic if you won’t help people?” I ask, dumbfounded.

PhorAngelo raises an eyebrow, which I’m surprised he bothered to do. “Why? And be taken advantage of?” He looks at me, his tiny eyes glinting like he knows something I don’t. “Too many magical felines feel they are a mistake and deserve to be treated badly. I do not. These powers are my own; they are a part of me I treasure. I flourish in my talents. I let them grow.” Yeah, I think to myself, grow like mold on catnip soggy with piss. He hears my thoughts and frowns darkly at me.

“You let them waste.” H ate burns into my words. Magic will always be a touchy subject for magical cats, even for a tom who has wasted it some himself.

I turn, ready to leave. Munkustrap looks as though he’s going to smack someone. His claws are out and digging into the dirt. With a final hiss, he collects himself and we leave the exact way we came in.

X-

“I can’t believe it. After all of that- all of this- and he doesn’t even help. He doesn’t even care. Who does he think he is?”

I’m shouting and complaining to Munkustrap who sits quietly atop some garbage can lid. I feel physically ill to the point of vomiting, I’m so disgusted with PhorAngelo. We were polite, we were kind, and we were anything and everything he wasn’t to us.

“Is it true?” Munkustrap asks quietly from his perch.

I turn around sharply. “What?”

Munkustrap stands up. “Did you feel like the tribe was taking advantage of you? Did you think you were a mistake?”

I cock my head in confusion. “Huh? Well, yeah. I mean, no. No.” I shake my head indignantly. No.

The silver tabby sighs silently to himself. “Munkustrap. As nice as it is that you care so much, and I really do appreciate it, we haven’t found Plato. That’s what we need to do. So... no more of this stuff, alright?” I force a smile. Some people just don’t back off a sensitive subject, and some people, like Munkustrap, understand that little concept but don’t stick to it anyway. It’s like he’s double teaming me by saying the “okay, okay,
I’m over it” line with a follow up of “are /you/ over it, though?” Sticky, sticky.

“I know,” Munkustrap nods his head. “I know what we’re here to do. It’s just that, well, we came here to find a tom of the tribe. To help. And I can’t help but thinking there’s another tom who needs help.”

I blink. “Who? Me? You?”

“You.” Of course. And how could I have not seen this coming?

But, for once, I think I’ll stop it before it starts.

“You know what I need? Sleep. And so do you. G’night.”

“Mistoffelees-” Munkustrap shakes me 'awake'. “No. We need to talk about this. Something is bugging you and I want to know what.”

My face burns with embarrassment. “Well, Munkustrap, I’m sorry but I don’t want to tell you.” I can’t.

“Then what kind of leader am I if a member of my own tribe won’t talk to me?” He’s pleading, now. “What kind of friend does that make me?”

“The good kind,” I say, quietly. “Munkustrap, it’s not that I don’t want to tell you, I just can’t tell anyone…”

“Mistoffelees,” Munkustrap is almost laughing. “You can tell me anything. That’s what I’m here for. Not just to find Plato, but to help you. I’m ready to listen so please, talk to me.”

I swallow my pride. Here it goes. “I’m worried.”

Munkustrap nods. Okay, so far so good.

“I don’t think we’ll find Plato. And I need to find him. I have to apologize.” Already I know I’ve said too much, but now I can’t stop myself… I feel a little release from all of this built up stress. Like helium slipping from a balloon without the gassy sounds.

“I… I don’t know what to do anymore, Munkustrap. I can’t… I can’t…” My voice starts to break. I feel tears coming to my eyes. I feel my masculinity laughing at me.

“Hey, hey…” Munkustrap, for the first time since we’ve been gone form the junkyard, talks to me and treats me like a sorry kitten and not a sorry tom. And I feel like a kitten. I feel small and helpless and blind to
everything around me.

“Shh, Mistoffelees.” Munkustrap touches his paw to mine. His face reads, “keep talking,” and I do.

“I feel like all my magic is slipping away,” I hiccup. “Because I wasn’t practicing… because I didn’t care… I didn’t want it back, I wanted it gone. I felt so normal without it but I need it, Munkustrap. It’s all I have that’s mine and mine alone. And I’ve been trying to hold on to it and get it back but it’s so frustrating…”

“It’s okay,” Munkustrap soothes and his voice wills me to continue.

“I don’t know what to think about Plato. I’m the reason Macavity is dead and… and Plato, he…”

“Plato what?” Munkustrap attentively stays away from the subject of Macavity and it kills me to have to bring it up, but I need to hear myself say it.

“Macavity was Plato’s lover. Macavity died, it was my fault, Plato’s been miserable and I didn’t even know it.” The look on Munkustrap’s face right now… it makes me want to keep talking in hopes of perhaps changing his expression. “Jemima wanted to hook up but I didn’t even care. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel so distant from everyone, everything. What am I doing, Munkustrap? What is it that I can’t be content with? My own mistakes? Everyone else’s?”

“Hey, hey…” Munkustrap, despite what I would have expected, does not sound distant in the least. He waits quietly as I clean my face with my paws and finally look up to face him.

“Okay?” he asks, nudging my left paw with one of his own.

I nod silently.

I feel nothing short of a weak mass of fluff and magic dust. If the wind picks up I am certain I would be carried off in a second to the next city. My legs only just hold me up but even so, they shake. My whole body shakes.

I look up, hoping to see the moon. My constant, perfectly round, perfectly illuminated moon shining brightly in the sky. I see only a sliver of moon, which confuses me. Wasn’t it full just a night ago?

And then the irony sets in. It starts in my mind and bleeds through my body. I exhale only a wisp of it, but the rest sinks down into my stomach and my legs, making my paws feel heavy like lead. I choke on the irony, a little, but force it down. Of course the moon isn’t full like it has been. It’s broken into pieces and the other parts are somewhere hidden, forsaken, only to show up again… later? But when? A couple of nights? More than that?
And just where is the rest of it, really?

“Munkustrap?” I ask, quietly, lowering my head.

“Yeah, Mistoffelees?”

“I’m better now.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” I quietly doubt myself, but mostly… I’m sure. I think I can get things figured out in the morning. “But Munkustrap?”

“Yeah?”

“One thing. You need to return to the junkyard. As soon as possible. Tonight.”

X-

I tell Munkustrap he has to go. I tell him once, twice, and three times more. All he does is continue to stare at me, scattered and confused.

“Are you saying we should quit our search? But Plato-”

“Not us, you,” I elaborate once more for him.

Munkustrap looks hurt. “Me? I can’t leave you alone here. Not now…”

“You have to,” I say, though rather unconvincingly. “Plato is here, I know that now. I feel it. I just have to find him.”

“Well, if he’s here, then can’t I just stay with you and search?”

I shake my head. “No, you can’t. Demeter’s kittens are due any day now. She needs you more than anyone right now.”

“But-” Munkustrap stops, blinks, closes his eyes, takes a breath, thinks for a moment, opens his eyes, lets out a little laugh of a breath and blinks, again.

“…Kits…?”

I nod. Didn’t he know? “A good litter, from what I can tell.”

Or, from what has just appeared in my mind, anyway. Visions are nothing new for me. Looking at the moon was nice, but not just that. I felt a concentrated hold take place for a moment. Pictures and sounds appeared out of the starry dust around the moon and played behind my eyes and ears only for me to see.

Mouth opening and closing continuously, Munkustrap tries to find some words to say. I do have a feeling that Plato is in the city, somewhere. And Munkustrap needs to be with his mate. Demeter didn’t look nearly as ready when Munkustrap left the junkyard a few days ago. I think maybe she was keeping the kits a secret to Munk, thinking that if she didn’t tell him before he left he couldn’t be disappointed about missing the births
hypothetically and then a second time, for real.

“She’s going to have at least four,” I tell Munkustrap with a small smile I can’t keep off my face. Demeter will make a beautiful mother. “You need to be there.”

Munkustrap falls into a slouchy sitting position on the ground, having just understood that my words are the truth. He’s initially shocked, having not expected kits so soon. I can see by the bemused smile on his face, he wants to be with Demeter.

“We’ll… talk about it in the morning.”

And by morning, I’m sure he means ten minutes. He’s going to be a father now… he won’t have a “morning” anymore, just another extended part of the night that’s too bright and too early.

I feel like all worries of me have gone out the window, just as I want. There’s no place for worry about me when Demeter is having her very first litter, which, oddly enough, I only just now found out.

It is as if the information just popped into my mind like an idea, but it’s too real and too true to be an idea. I have a feeling Coricopat and Tantomile have been keeping my “status” in check and, well, maybe they decided what was best for me and Munkustrap? That is to say, of course, that Munkustrap goes to his family and I find my friend on my own terms.

“Okay,” I tell Munkustrap, satisfied with the silence, “in the morning.”

Okay, I think to myself, in ten minutes.

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(1): Hee, LI. Clever.

(2): cream and nip, like bread and butter! It’s so corny I like it…

Demeter is having babies! A little out of nowhere? Well, not completely…

Anyway. I’m loving all the feedback! And as a treat for this being a little late (considering I sent it to LI more than a week or so later than I normally do) here’s the tiniest snippit of next chapter, which I am yet to actually start…

“I am always getting beat up. This is my final thought before I slip into unconsciousness, a helpless mass of bruised skin and soaked fur at the steps to PhorAngelo’s cellar.”

Dun dun dun!

OH NO! Formatting is INSANE. It won’t let me work my "-X-" the right way! WAH! Unless I have a character in front of the "-" it doesn't show up! Not. Cool.