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~*~Part 1~*~ Pounce's Poetical Puzzlement

Pouncival watched her dance....

Perfect. The word seemed completely inadequate for the sheer wonder he was beholding. Just watching gave him the sudden and sinful urge...

... to nick Rumpelteazer's Woolworth pearls for Victoria. They would compliment her fur so beautifully... But no, they would just be an insult to the more-pearly-than-pearls softness of white fur covering the lithe body.

She span, she leapt, arms outstretched and toes pointed. It was as if she soared high in the glowing heavens, reaching for the exquisite diamonds of stars she so deserved. Her beauty doth outshine the fairest star! thought Pounce dreamily, sitting back in the pipe he was sitting in. Wow... I must be, like, totally in love, man!

Then he sighed heavily and flung a paw to his head dramatically. But why should she like me? he wondered despairingly. She was everything he was not.

She was graceful, he was clumsy. She was composed, he was a crazy cartwheeling catastrophe. She was beautiful, he was.... um... (He racked his brain for a good way to put it)...not.

She was a heaven-sent ballerina, he was but an earth-bound clown.

He sighed still more deeply, and removed the paw from his head as his arm had started to ache.

~*~Part Two~*~ A Theatre Trip

The kittens were at the theatre and Gus was vigorously reacting Growltiger's Last Stand with the aid of a mop (making a valiant effort to sing soprano), and several uncooperative mice (who had been given toothpicks to fight eachother with.)

Afterwards, Pouncival found to his great surprise that the old cat was approaching him. He straightened his nonexistent collar and tried to look studious.

"I've been watching you, young fellow!"

"You have?"

"Yes!"

"Oh."

"And I can see by the look in your eye that you are a born actor!"

"Oh right."

"You have just the look too... and at present, if you don't mind my saying, you have somewhat of a forlorn, lovesick look about you."

"Oh, do I?" said Pounce, for lack of anything better to say.

"Yes! So, why don't you show me something?"

"OK." He cleared his throat.
"Oh woe is me!" he cried, striking a tragic pose.
"For I do pine most grievously for yonder fair lady. Her every word doth speak of truth, and with each step she doth move the round earth nearer to the gracious heavens!
O! That mine heart wouldst not beat so within me! I would that it desist and leave me to my deserving grave than continue to pound so in melancholy 'membrance of my youth! Mine eyes are sloth to spy upon nought else; they sicken me from within, forever gazing upon that which I may ne'er touch.
For such is the grief of my soul- that my lone angel knowest not of mine existence!!"

"Bravo, bravo!" cheered Gus, cheering. "Spoken from the heart, young fella-me-lad! Here, take these Shakespeare books and learn all of them. I'll see you tomorrow!"

And with that, the old cat dumped a huge pile of books in Pounce's arms and danced away, humming "Memory."

~*~Part Three~*~ The Drama King

Pouncival was very soon intensely grateful for the wonderful instruction and wealth of knowledge bestowed upon him by his mentor. He clearly had natural talent - he was able to make up a sonnet on the spot, and could mention the word "doth" in any context! Before the week was out, he had learnt every speaking part in "Romeo and Juliet", "King Lear", "The Taming of the Shrew", "The Merchant of Venice", "A Comedy of Error", "Hamlet", "A Midsummer Night's Dream" and was currently studying "Macbeth" which he enjoyed greatly since a lot of people got killed.

It was also working wonders for his self-esteem. He was an actor! A thespian, no less! Wow! he thought. He was going to be world famous, and then kittens would beg to just meet him, there'd be posters of him on every up-with-the-times young queen's bedroom wall... Suddenly, he could see his life stretching out before him; a life of fame and acclaim, filled with all the glittering prizes stardom could bring...

And in that instant, he knew he would never be happy.

Never, without her... The glamour, the world-wide feline community popstar status could mean nothing to him if he could not have her love.

Dejected, he hung his head, then launched into every tragic speech of unrequited love he could think of.

He was just getting into Romeo's "Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs..." when he was struck with a sudden and blinding shot of inspiration.

Casting down "New Swan Shakespeare Study's 'Macbeth'" with the utmost vehemence, he strode away purposefully; his cloak, (if had had one) swirling impressively around him.

~*~Part Four~*~ In Which Pounce Doth Confess His Love

He found Victoria sitting and talking with Jemima, Electra and Etcetera. They all went very quiet when he arrived and stared at him. Pouncival cleared his throat, not in the least put off by this minimal audience, and began.

"Can I say something to Victoria please?" he asked.

Victoria smiled shyly at him. "Of course you may," she said softly, her voice the exact texture of double cream... the kind Pounce found lying around in the refrigerator at home, with a blue label and a foil top, the kind that... AGH! He forced his attention back to the matter in hand.

"Ahem!" he cleared his throat twice more, suddenly feeling very nervous, bowed graciously, and began:

"I have wondered; often wandered lost,
For thy love is without price or cost,
And I, a lowly circus clown,
Come but to beg (without a crown)
A word from thee to end the pain,
And make me joyous once again!
O! Do not scorn me, gentle maid,
I venture thus far unafraid,
But thine harsher word should wound me so,
That I to Hell would straightway go.
O fairest dancer, lift thy frown,
And smile upon thy circus clown!"

He finished upon his knees, head bowed. He'd had a good few seconds to examine the ground before he chanced a look upwards.

Victoria clapped politely.

"That was very good, Pounce," she said. And that was all.

Pouncival stood, transfixed to the spot for a moment, then turned and ran, his feet stumbling, his head down, and his heart in a million pieces.

~*~Part Five~*~ Girl Talk

"Vicki?" cried Jem, as soon as Pounce had gone.

"What?" asked Victoria.

"That was Pouncival, in case you hadn't noticed!" said Etcetera, while Jemima nodded vigorously, "You know, Pouncival, the tom you've been obsessing over for the last months!"

"Yeah," agreed Electra, "I thought you'd at least try to talk to him!"

"I know!" wailed Vicki, "I wanted to! But- but, he- he said a- a poem! Just some dumb poem! He doesn't even want to actually talk to me!" She put her head in her paws and sobbed.

"Aw..." soothed Etcetera, putting a paw round her friend's shoulders to comfort her, "Don't worry... maybe he couldn't think of anything else to say!"

Jemima stared at them. "Were any of you actually listening to what the poem said?" she asked, incredulously.

"What?" exclaimed Electra. "Well, I did try for a bit there... something about clowns with crowns?"

"You- you mean," sniffed Victoria, dabbing pathetically at her streaming eyes, "That it actually meant something?"

~*~Part Six~*~ Aforesaid Conclusion

"Pounce?" asked someone shyly.

"Go 'way," moaned the tormented tom, who was writhing theatrically and was a little miffed at being interuptted in the middle of a slightly modified monologue: "'Tis torture and not mercy. Heaven is here where Victoria lives..."

"Pounce, please, I want - I need - to talk to you!"

And then he knew the voice. It was that voice which did inhabit his very dreams of late - both waking and nightly - though his nights had been oft without sleep, so set was his mind upon she that he could'st not live without. The voice of the exact texture of blue-label double-cream, with a foil top... SNAP OUT OF IT, POUNCE!!! he yelled inwardly.

"V-Victoria?" he gasped, all composure gone.

"Yes!" she cried, "It's me!"

"Victoria... I-"

"Let me speak, please," she said, sounding very nervous and somewhat breathless.

She quietly entered the cardboard box that served as Pouncival's den.

She took a deep breath and then began to speak very fast.
"The ballerina faltereth at but a word from thee,
Thy- thy voice doth move the very soul of me."

Pouncival could not help noticing she seemed to be concentrating very hard on the back of her paw, squinting at it as she said the long words.

"I s-sleep now ne- ne'er but to dream of thine fair face,
Dances fail, I cannot move with - with... something.... or with grace-
Oh it's no good, Pounce! Just read it, OK?"

She stuck out her paw, and sure enough, there was the poem scrawled untidily over it.

"I can't read it!" she almost sobbed.

"It doesn't matter," he told her, taking her paw and reading the rest of the poem. "It's lovely," he said.

"But- I didn't even write it!" Victoria cried, "Jemima did! I didn't understand your poem at all... But it was still really, like, beautiful." She sniffed, "But-but... I'm so stupid! I can't even..."

"Shh, Vicki, don't say that." He sat down in front of her and held her shoulders, looking into her pure blue eyes, which were just like two deep pools but without any algae or frogs. "You are a beautiful dancer, and a beautiful cat, and you are the most beautiful- anything I've ever seen," he said seriously.

"Thanks," she said, smiling through her tears. "You're making more sense now," she commented. "I- I hope you don't expect me to be able to talk all - pretty, and spout Shakespeare- well, it wasn't Shakespeare, but - poems, and-"

He put a paw on her lips. "No. You talk however you like."

Her fur felt as soft as cherry blossom. She smiled and it was like a muted sunrise... And when they kissed, it felt as if his heart had been made complete and all his dreams had come true at once.

THE END!!!