A/N: Standard Disclaimer - The author and the twisted, messy, writhing mass of "What's this do?" that is their brain does not own any of the characters or situations in this story, or even the word "the". As such, they are not the owner of a multi-billion(?) or at the very least multi-million dollar franchise, and if they were, this would be a Deleted Scene or on Pottermore. As it is neither, it is safe to assume that the author coined as Dark Lord Duckie is neither J. K. Rowling or Warner Brothers or Andrew Lloyd Webber, such as it were. DLD is also broke, so would appreciate not being sued for playing with characters.


Unbeknownst to many, Crookshanks was quite the Casanova of the Hogwarts pet population. After many a feline fling and litters spawned off in the Castle with mottled ginger fur, he accompanied his caretaker Miss Granger to London, where with a flick of his tail and a twitch of his whiskers, he sauntered off into a side lane. He would find his human later, but for now he had a gathering to attend.

As he neared the rundown, haphazard refuse in a back alley, he could hear the growling cacophony of what humans would label "yowling" or "screeching" in their ignorance, but was in actualityy the astronomical heights of the angelical choir. Slinking onto the scene, Crookshanks meowed a greeting to his fellow brethren, joining in the singing when he knew where they were up to exactly. Suddenly a boot that one of the disenfranchised would-be caretakers had hurled, landed less than an inch from his tail.

The cats, all at once, paused for a moment in their melodic catcalling, then with a feline shrug or catlike grace, continued in their uplifting harmony. As the last bars echoed outwards, Crookshanks spotted a feline of remarkable grace and poise, a cat known as the Rhapsody on a Windy Night, t'were Grizabella the Glamour Cat. He had heard of her afore, stories long since circled, of a rough approximation their ages were. A more disheveled beauty there wanted for none.

But why were these cats, his brethren fair, treating her as a canine, to abuse and deny? Were she not as one, as all of them were? A Jellicle Cat of the utmost furore? He himself were hardly pretty no matter what his Human caretaker declared. Least not in the conventional manner, as bricks were to mortar or sand twixt shore and sea.

Crookshanks shook out the waxing poetic verses that clung inside his head, and prowled to the edge of the Grey Beauty's berth, as wide as the others wouldst give to the cat, and purred a soft purr, as if t'were catnip in the air.

With a slow turn, Grizabella the Glamour Cat glanced across at the orange puffball with the squashed face. He was not what she would call aesthetically handsome, but he held himself in a confident manner that suggested a strong self esteem and personal strength. It was more heady than the most intoxicating catnip. She slowly slunk across to investigate the only cat that paid her any close, positive attention.

The ginger half-Kneazle and the Glamour Cat circled each other, sniffing and twitching their whiskers, ignoring the surrounding cats, deeming them as merely unimportant. As they circled, they grew closer and closer until they were almost nose to nose, small tiger and wizened dame. Crookshanks was just gaining and building the courage when Grizabella leant forwards and lightly stroked his face with her whiskers. Surprised by her initiative, but joyous in the leap of faith, Crookshanks nuzzled the Glamour Cat from jaw to shoulder. With a flickered glance to the watching felines, Crookshanks and Grizabella sauntered side by side away from the dumbfounded Jellicle Cats to yowl, purr and converse to their hearts' desire.


The following morning after the Jellicle Night's festivities, Crookshank's slunk slowly back to his Human's residence. He was glad that he had found Grizabella and hoped to see her again someday. Provided that he too had been chosen to be reborn through the Heavyside Layer. With a purr he shook himself lightly, releasing suspicious grey furs that clung to his own ginger red.

Life was good for Crookshanks, and he still had many lives left to live...