A/N - Kinda pointless one-shot. A weird little idea that made itself known in French class. I just wanted to see what would happen if Pouncival's mind wasn't all happiness and hyperness. R*R plz! >^-^<
Disclaimer - I don't own anything besides my lovely collection of pop tops, which is all you'll get if you sue me. CATS belongs to Andrew Lloyd Webber and the Really Useful Group, and "Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats" belongs, of course, to T.S. Eliot. Pocky, anyone? Anyway, on with the ficcy!
~
It's hard for someone like me to express their feelings. I'm not so sure anymore that anyone even knows that I have feelings. I'm just another kitten who's always been there before and will always be there no matter if anyone feels like paying attention to me or not. My role in the tribe isn't an important one, anyway. I'm not the protector, like Munkustrap; the comic relief, like Etcetera; a mystic, like Coricopat or Tantomile; or even someone who's just "there", like Alonzo or Plato. Just a plain, everyday kitten.
That doesn't mean that I've stopped trying to belong. It's not that difficult - all I have to do is act hyper and no questions are asked. I try to act like I don't notice the looks that get sent my way; like they don't bother me and I can just get on with life. But I see them: the looks that plainly say, 'That poor little kitten. Who does he think he is, Tugger in miniature? He'll never be anybody.' I notice. I feel. They don't understand that it's not so much a matter of choosing. Given a choice between crying your eyes out every time someone looks at you funny and acting like a fool, which would you choose?
Lately I get the feeling that even my own brother is against me. Where we used to be virtually inseparable, now he hangs around with the older cats, even helping out with Munkustrap and Demeter's new litter. When I remind him of all the fun we used to have just the two of us or do a spontaneous backflip over his head to get his attention, he just scolds me for being such a kitten. In case you've forgotten, dear brother, I still am a kitten, and very much alone.
There are only two who can accept me for who I am, the only ones who really try to understand me. Jemima is one. I don't think I can look at her huge green eyes for more than two seconds without melting into a puddle at her feet. She sees something with those eyes that even I cannot sense about myself. It's almost like she can pierce my skin and see straight into my soul. She must like what she sees. Why else would she still be around? Everyone else has moved on and forgotten about the little kitten with the patch on his left eye. But Jemima's still there to listen when I want to talk about what's bothering me and to just have fun and play when the words can't get themselves in the right order. She understands. She's still there, just as I hope she always will be.
The other cat is perhaps the one cat you would never guess. The Magical Mr. Mistoffelees himself. The funny part of it is, we've known each other since we were born but only recently started to really talk. I remember when we were smaller sometimes I used to find him out alone, staring up at the stars, small tears tracing paths down his face. If any of the kittens had it off worse than I did, it was him. Even though he was older, he was smaller than the rest of us, and he was shy and quiet around most other cats. But I didn't see the parallel until my first Jellicle Ball, when he was introduced to us not as Quaxo, but for the first time as Mistoffelees. For the first time in my memory I had seen a large group of cats fall into a respectful silence and accept into their midst a member of their community who they used to take for granted.
It was his eyes that tipped me off. When the tribe started to sing his praises, I managed to catch a fleeting glimpse of them. What I saw there was not the empty sadness I had too often seen reflected in both of our eyes, but a jubilant smile that made the one on his face pale by comparison. He was truly happy. And it was then that I knew I had found my soul brother. It didn't matter that Tumblebrutus and I were already littermates; this cat could be the one to show me the way to my own personal brand of happiness, and the first lesson was acceptance. Towards the end of his performance, I remember almost running into the cat behind me trying to catch one of the blue sparkles he left behind. I thought then that perhaps the magic could show me what I had to do to be accepted.
Someday I'll know.
* * * *
Tumblebrutus woke up from his mid-morning nap with a yawn and stretched. Scratching his ear idly, he caught sight of his brother sitting quietly on top of the old rocking chair, seeming lost in thought. I haven't been paying as much attention to him as I should, he thought guiltily. Maybe now's a good time to make it up. Trotting over to where the other kitten was and springing up to the box beside the rocking chair, he said simply, "Wanna play?"
It took a few seconds for the words to register in Pouncival's mind, but finally he looked up at his brother and grinned brightly. Encouraged, Tumblebrutus jumped down from the box and started chasing a butterfly that had landed innocently a few yards away. Following behind him, Pouncival smiled to himself. Maybe that someday is now.
THE END