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munkuposting (metastrap?) for the jellinclined (i am so sorry)

you tell me i'm insane but i know my truth and my truth is that munkustrap wants to help her. he wants to reach out and help her up like he just helped jennyanydots during her song. he leans down and it's not just so he can look at her better. it's not just cause there's no point to his defensive stance here except for her to see, for him to communicate she's unwanted, and he knows it. shit dude the guy can't look her in the eyes for longer than 5 seconds.

like come on. munkustrap's running after old deuteronomy and the rest of the older/less agile cats so much in this goddamn film he might as well be Munkustrap the Mobility Aid Cat. man knows what he wants in life and that's going on as many walks with senior citizens hanging off his arm as physically possible and neither god nor the heaviside layer will stand in his way.

his responsibility's a whole different thing, though. look at the lad puffing up when grizabella shows up. that's a guard he uses against perceived threats like macavity and it's well and warranted then, but what in the name of ye olde cat gods is the old lady gonna do? garbage stink them all to death? it's performative as hell on purpose. both of them know she's not gonna jump him and he doesn't need to protect himself or his fellow cats from her physically.

in the macavity scares, odd as it might look on a person, The MunkuStance™ is a genuine threat. he's up above everyone else or he's one of the few cats on the stage, he's spreading himself out to look bigger, he HISSES lmao.

look at the lad. hissssss lmao i love him.

not only is he saying i won't hesitate bitch he's also establishing himself as The Guy You Fight. if you're an outsider looking in, you're probably not gonna notice Mr Mistoffelees Scampering Through The Pipes Again, but you sure as hell are gonna see the Snarling Tabby Fresh From Hell hopping around in the middle of the stage with his legs 16 kilometers apart at all times. and okay, doing that for the entire musical sure is a Choice, but it's a Character Choice, and mr michael gruber the man you are. the star that you are. i want to send him flowers and chocolate and a card. i would greatly like to do that.

with grizabella though? jesus christ she's about as threatening as a patchy sock. it's not even his first instinct to go Tall Big Puffy when he's trailing after her because there's genuinely nothing to defend against there.

he just sort of slowly stands into it as though he's forgotten he was supposed to be Protecting for a second. the stance, the threat, all that's only there to set a dynamic. it's there to say you're not one of us, we don't like you, please go away, but he's half-assing it so much it loses all its i won't hesitate bitch and turns into i have never hesitated so hard in my entire life. he still establishes himself as The Guy You Fight, but it's obvious grizabella isn't about to fight anyone, so now he's just The Guy She's Staring In Incredulous Longing At, and he can't even hold her gaze for long enough to pretend it's not getting to him because at his core he's not a bad person and he knows that all this is kind of a Dick Move.

this is what makes munkustrap so dummy god tier as a character to me. he may wish he could help grizabella. hell he may even want her back, if not as openly as old deuteronomy does. when all the cats scuttle away and turn their backs to grizabella before memory reprise, munkustrap never even fucking bothers ?? like he's straight up just watching her, and then later watching old deuteronomy watch her like with the most somber wee eyebrows up so can we finally do something about this expression i've ever seen on a performer lmao.

but that means nothing without the approval of the entire tribe! absolutely nothing! because munkustrap, in that regard, is exactly like old deuteronomy: what he wants comes second to what the jellicles want. it's harder to see in him because old deuteronomy is mostly up on the tire being cat jesus and munkustrap mingles with the rest of the ensemble way more, but it's really obvious when you look. they defer to his leadership, but he defers to their collective decisions.

he moves mistoffelees away from grizabella (just like the rest of the older cats) because mistoffelees doesn't know any better and grizabella is untouchable, but then he stalls and waits when demeter reaches out to her. like, i'm pretty sure he would've just let her touch grizabella right then and there. had demeter been a little less aware of the fact that this was the first 30 minutes of the musical, i'm pretty sure she would've just taken grizabella back in right then and there and memory wouldn't have even been necessary. munkustrap sure wasn't about to do shit about it.

he's actively leaning back to give her space!! (i know logistically that it's mr michael giving an opening for ms aeva to execute her Conflicted Scuttle Away but munkustrap is still leaning back however you put it so i'm right automatically. haw yee)

i'm fascinated by it specifically because this way it's almost as though munkustrap is an extension of the jellicle collective, if that makes sense. obviously he's the narrator so we can't give him a complex emotional storyline if we want to keep the aryas in single digits, but in turn this means that now he's a character who chooses to forgo his own feelings in favour of those of his community, and that's just, man, that's just. man. ca(s)t of all time for real. a guardian and a weapon and a storyteller and a teacher and not one of those for his own sake. Man.

tl;dr, old deuteronomy can be hella proud of his kid, and i can eventually stop crying. also here are the gifs of him finally getting to comfort grizabella a little. experience emotions with me.

unfortunately i have similar (if slightly less rambling) thoughts on tugger and why he's constantly being such a massive cunt to grizabella lmao. if you guys are unfortunate enough i may subject myself to the giffing and writing of that post too. toodlepip ✌️

#this. all of this. #reblog #munkustrap #my boi

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colorful cats nonrep redesign -- some info under the cut

i finally pulled together my two-year-old colorful designs--and filled in the rest of the cast--so i can finally share!

it's a bit underbaked: i don't have a setting in mind, other than perhaps a colorfully painted junkyard, but color in general would be very, very prominent in the show--with grizabella having lost all her color except for her one final pink heart, and macavity's fight sequence ideally being illuminated only by a set of sodium lamps--causing the entire stage to appear monochromatic--taking color away from all the other cats until mister mistoffelees returns it in his number.

overall the main point was to introduce bright or unnatural colors to all the cats; I really liked how mexico '18 included a bit of pink and a few bright colors in their designs, so I wanted to go a lot further with that, and use the london costume style

later on i would like to expand on the designs since i obv used the same silhouette for everyone when there SHOULD be some variation in the wig shapes and shoulder-fluffies placement, etc, but i definitely didn't have the time or energy for that this time around lol

note: the 'chorus' cats are all my pre-existing ocs except for tabbyswing!

#these are beautiful! #reblog

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tap dance duo

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Hello, Catsies!!!

Do you remember that silly poll about rp server on discord? I'm happy to tell you "Cats' life and mischief" is almost ready! We are opening in 04.04!!!!!!!! Also, it has slightly changed profile - not only for RP but also for chill and chat for EVERYONE. Shippers and not shippers are welcomed! There are channels for every group separately and one for everyone about everything.

Lovies!!!!

#cats the musical #jellicle cats #jellicle rp #!! #reblog

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Anjalka's Story

Paris, August 1788 

Quaxo and Anjalka were sitting together quietly on the wall outside the queen’s human home. The sun was setting again, spreading its rays of blood red and marigold orange across the Parisian skyline, but the heat did not dissipate — it wouldn’t for at least an hour. Briefly, as Quaxo watched the sun sink out of view, he wondered what he wouldn’t give to be able to follow it at this moment in time. For he knew the conversation he had been dreading was coming. It had been hurtling towards them like a shooting star for days now.

A shooting star. That was how it’d all started, was it not? Quaxo stifled a sigh as his memories swept him away.

~~~

One year ago

The heat was as unrelenting as it had been last week, Quaxo reflected as he made his way lazily across the rooftop under the setting sun. That was, however, to be expected this far into July. He sighed briefly. It had been foolish of him to journey to Paris at this time of year. He’d known what it was like in the city in summertime — known what it was like in any big city during the summer months. Stiflingly hot, overcrowded, and not to mention the stench. Unwashed bodies, sweat, and rotting food — all mixed with the smell of human excrement. And it was always worse in Paris, he thought glumly.

But something had drawn him to Paris. He usually avoided cities in the summer, and made his way to some country village and cosied up to a nice family or two during the summer — preferably somewhere near the sea, if he could get it. The air was cooler by the sea, and he always enjoyed a light breeze ruffling his fur. Here in France he had a few favourite locations that he’d come across over the years. In fact, he’d been en route to a fishing village in the north west, when some mysterious impulse had caused him to hop onto a train to Paris instead.

(Later, he would vow that this was the last time he listened to a “mysterious impulse”. It was not. It never was.)

And so, Quaxo had found himself wandering wearily through the ever-gross alleyways of Paris once again. As he picked his way through dishevelled and dirty sleeping bodies and caught a scrawny rat or two, he reflected on the last time he had been in Paris, some… 40 years prior? Well, he thought to himself, the fashion certainly hasn’t changed all that much. The rich ladies still wore dresses that were as big as ever and wigs that were taller than Qaxo on his hind legs and the peasants still wore rags — some of which looked suspiciously like they were made from potato sacks. Or at least, they did to him. 

Shaking off these thoughts with disdain, he made his way towards a more respectable part of Paris. This, he knew, was where the middle class people lived. Or at least it had been 40 years ago — and still was, thankfully. He padded along the streets, taking in deep breaths of slightly fresher air. Key word being slightly, he thought grimly. Thankfully the city was quieter in this area. Quaxo yawned, hoping to be able to get some good quality sleep in a more peaceful part of the city. It was roughly three in the morning and still swelteringly hot, and all the houses and gardens were blissfully dark. No one to spot him and shoo him from the general vicinity yet. Finding a nice enough garden, Quaxo crouched down, preparing to wriggle under a bush when a voice called out from above. 

“The stars are beautiful tonight, are they not?” 

Quaxo started, banging his head hard on a low branch protruding from the bush he had selected as his bed for the night. Wincing, he looked up blearily, searching for the source of the comment. 

“What?” Admittedly, it was not his most elegant moment, but in his defence, he felt as if he was seeing more stars than just the ones hanging from the sky. 

“The stars,” the voice said again, “They’re quite incredible this evening.” This time Quaxo was able to tell it was the voice of a queen. He looked around again, blinking quickly, trying to clear his vision. A slight thud sounded to his right. He swung around to face the other cat. 

“I’m sorry for startling you — I’ll do you the favour of assuming that’s the reason you’re looking at me like I’ve got two heads,” She said, an undertone of amusement in her tone. Quaxo stared at her, insulted, his vision finally clearing enough for him to see more than a dark blob. 

The queen stared back. She was bigger than Quaxo, with long, neat, dark brown fur. Her amber eyes betrayed nothing but open curiosity as she examined Quaxo, looking him up and down before looking up at the sky again. If he were a younger cat with less practice at controlling himself, he would have been speechless. Even in the dark he could tell she was beautiful. But as he was not a young cat with no control over his response to beautiful cats who apparently dropped from the sky talking about the stars, he asked, rather stupidly,  “Who are you?” 

This was definitely not his most elegant moment. He was tired from travelling, the stench of Paris was making him want to retch and now his head was throbbing painfully, in time with his heart — and underneath it, his magic. It was roiling beneath the surface, agitated by his current state of surprise and weariness. 

The other cat eyed him, unimpressed. “I should be the one asking that question. After all, you are the one in the middle of crawling under Grazyna’s bush. Rather like a furry black worm, actually,” she added as an afterthought. Quaxo stared at her, insulted. 

“I did not look like a furry black worm,” He said with great dignity. “If anything, I looked like a majestic—” he cast around for something that seemed appropriately majestic. “—a majestic turtle.” 

“A turtle scrabbling inelegantly in the sand, perhaps,” said the queen, smirking. “Who are you, anyway?”

Quaxo eyed the other cat with mounting dislike. “Quaxo,” he said shortly, unsure why he was bothering, “And you are?”

“Anjalka,” Apparently-Anjalka shared pleasantly. She sat down and curled her tail around her paws, before raising her head toward the sky once again. “Well?”

Quaxo followed her gaze and, remembering her original comment about the stars, agreed begrudgingly. “Yes, they are.” She was right, though. The night sky was as clear as a wealthy woman’s looking glass, and Quaxo felt as if he were looking at a thousand tiny pearls of light in the velvety navy of the heavens. Regrettably, he thought, it was a moonless night, so he could not look into what he had come to consider as the Everlasting cat’s gentle eye. (He considered the sun her stern eye, but that, I’m afraid, is a story for another moment in time.)

“How come you’re in my human’s garden?” Anjalka asked, drawing him out of his thoughts with her eyes still fixed upon the stars she seemed to love so. 

Quaxo hummed non-commitally as he too sat down. “You’re a curious one, aren’t you?” 

Anjalka turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “And you’re an odd one.”

Quaxo tore his eyes away from the twinkling stars — which had become rather mesmerising as they flickered above, so far out of reach — and met Anjalka’s gaze evenly. “Oh? Do elaborate.” Small golden sparks sprung from his paws, which were planted firmly on the ground. Anjalka’s eyes grew wide, and Quaxo knew he was being slightly reckless. But a restless energy had settled over him the minute he had stepped out of the train and onto the streets of Paris. He felt like indulging a bit of recklessness for once. And something about Anjalka was intriguing to him. 

A flash of realisation bolted through his mind. He had felt this before — but it had only been once or twice. Anjalka had drawn him to Paris, without realising it. 

This was her first life. 

“You’re a Jellicle,” he breathed, kicking himself internally for not realising. He must have hit his head harder than he thought to have not recognised one of his own…

Anjalka’s expression turned defensive. “And you aren’t.” 

Quaxo chuckled darkly. “Technically,” he said, “I am.” 

He had been drawn to Paris because his magic had felt Anjalka’s soul. His magic always felt the pull of new souls — that is, cats who were living their first lives. A new soul was electric in the way souls that were on their second, third, fourth and so on lives weren’t. It was vivacious and lively and naive and curious — almost like a kitten. 

“What do you mean technically,” Anjalka questioned, scrutinising the black tom. 

“I mean I am and I am not.” Quaxo said evasively. Common sense was telling him not to indulge this stranger and her questions, but his magic was already warming to the cat in front of him. Soul bonds were weird, and Quaxo had long since learned to stop questioning the weird ways his magic worked. It was urging him on like a dark shadowy cheerleader in the back of his mind. 

Of course, it was also possible that this wasn’t a soul bond and that this was just his magic foreseeing something. Who knew? Certainly not Quaxo, anyway. Maybe it was being nice to him for a change. Deciding to follow his instincts — or rather, those of his magic, but was there really any difference? They were one and the same after all — he continued speaking. 

“I mean that I am a Jellicle cat, but I’m also not. I don’t have nine lives, I don’t go to the Heavyside Layer and I have magic. I also don’t die — or at least, I haven’t yet. I imagine if someone were to cut my throat or something I would die, but I don’t know for sure. Nor am I keen to find out. But,” he continued, “I sense the presence of the Everlasting Cat, I dance by the light of the Jellicle moon and Jellicle blood runs through my veins.” Along with whatever else does. “I am and am not a Jellicle cat.”

Anjalka looked at him, intrigued. “I knew you were odd,” she breathed, something alight in her eyes. 

Just then, Quaxo spotted something out of the corner of his eye. He looked up and, smiling, told Anjalka to do the same. 

High up above, a shooting star was making its way across the navy sky. And Quaxo was captivated — not only by the delights of the dark sky, but also by the queen next to him.

~~~

Paris, 1788 (Present day)

Quaxo turned to face Anjalka, unable to take the tension anymore. “You’re going back to Poland, aren’t you?” he asked her, resigned. 

“Yes,” Anjalka answered quietly. “I’ve made my decision. Grazyna needs me — she’d be heartbroken if she thought something had happened to me. She is worried about the rising tensions here in France, and her young man. He wants to revolt alongside his fellow sans-culottes of Paris, but she wants him to marry her and return to Poland.” Anjalka hesitated slightly.  “And…”

“And not to mention that Filoshk is waiting for you,” Quaxo muttered bitterly, turning his gaze to his paws. Anjalka hesitated again.

“Yes, he is,” she admitted. Filoshk had always been a sore subject between the two. Anjalka had told Quaxo about him not long into their relationship. He had asked her to be his mate and stay with him in Poland, but Anjalka had refused, insisting that she must stay with Grazyna, and so go to France. She had believed she would never return to Poland. 

Quaxo swung around to face her, wearing an expression of anguish. “And he… matters more to you than I do?” 

Anjalka looked at him, hurt on her face. “Of course not! But what am I supposed to do, Quaxo? You won’t come with me to Poland—”

“—yet, Anjalka, if you could just give me a little time,” He pleaded. 

She gave a frustrated cry. “Time! As if that isn’t more of the problem!” 

“And what’s that supposed to mean, Anjalka?”

“You know what I mean! I don’t have as much time as you! Who knows how long this– this- business dealing of yours will take?” she cried, anger in her voice. “I don’t have as much time as you do, Quaxo! I never will! And besides,” she continued, looking as if she were trying to comfort both him and herself at the same time. “We’ll meet again sometime, I’m sure. As you said, I have eight lives ahead of me. 

But Filoshk… I don’t know how many lives he has left, if any! So while you and I could have a whole other life together, he and I may only have now, do you understand?” 

Quaxo did. Hurt blossoming in his chest, he rose silently from his place by his love on the wall. Anjalka wept as he padded away from her. When he reached the end of the wall, he turned around and said softly, “I understand, ma chérie. I’ll go now.” 

~~~

Many years later, Misto would find himself faced with a fiery red queen whose eyes were lit with the same ferocity and passion and love Anjalka’s had been. And he would smile, and make a note to himself to tell her a story about a vivacious, stubborn queen he had met in Paris one time who, upon meeting him for the first time, called him both a furry black worm and a scrabbling turtle within five minutes. And Bombalurina — her familiar soul rejoicing at meeting Misto’s magic again — would laugh and say teasingly, “She wasn’t far wrong, was she!”

woooo so this is actually a spinoff/sequel to Eternity Is A Long Damn Time that I wrote aaaaaages ago

if it wasn’t clear, Anjalka is a past life of Bombalurina! this is I think the first time I’ve written misto x bomba but I really enjoyed it 👀

thank you to @gaylittlewizardcat for beta reading!

#self reblog #because i am still fucking proud of this goddamnit

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This may be horribly evil but if you had to choose just one (1) moment from 1998 as your favorite, what would it be?

that IS horribly evil nate and you know it. but i am going to agonise over this anyway :3

its *probably* going to be from either jsfjc or the ball itself. i'm currently running through a list in my mind that includes munk lifting victoria, "are you blind when youre born?", the head shakes, the bit of the ball that's just lonz/pounce/misto/tumble/cass (ooooo the casslonzo moments,,,,), the boys coming to dance w the girls after bomba comes in and takes over, the end of the ball where they're all dancing together and gettng rly hyped up and mungo helping vic down the stairs. oh and also every time mungo and vic are in the same shot.

there's literally so many to choose from ahhhhhh

i'm going to go with "are you blind when you're born?" and that whole shot of munk simply because i always get excited chills when i watch it because *i'm watching cats again yesss!!* i honestly love it so much

#cats the musical #mean like a minx and lean like a lynx #thank u for the ask! #even tho it was a devious one lol #jellicle cats #asked and answered #jellicle asks

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i watched cats 1998 again yesterday and the silly dancing kittes have crawled back into my brain so pls send me asks! anything at all!!

#cats the musical #mean like a minx and lean like a lynx #jellicle cats

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Anjalka's Story

Paris, August 1788 

Quaxo and Anjalka were sitting together quietly on the wall outside the queen’s human home. The sun was setting again, spreading its rays of blood red and marigold orange across the Parisian skyline, but the heat did not dissipate — it wouldn’t for at least an hour. Briefly, as Quaxo watched the sun sink out of view, he wondered what he wouldn’t give to be able to follow it at this moment in time. For he knew the conversation he had been dreading was coming. It had been hurtling towards them like a shooting star for days now.

A shooting star. That was how it’d all started, was it not? Quaxo stifled a sigh as his memories swept him away.

~~~

One year ago

The heat was as unrelenting as it had been last week, Quaxo reflected as he made his way lazily across the rooftop under the setting sun. That was, however, to be expected this far into July. He sighed briefly. It had been foolish of him to journey to Paris at this time of year. He’d known what it was like in the city in summertime — known what it was like in any big city during the summer months. Stiflingly hot, overcrowded, and not to mention the stench. Unwashed bodies, sweat, and rotting food — all mixed with the smell of human excrement. And it was always worse in Paris, he thought glumly.

But something had drawn him to Paris. He usually avoided cities in the summer, and made his way to some country village and cosied up to a nice family or two during the summer — preferably somewhere near the sea, if he could get it. The air was cooler by the sea, and he always enjoyed a light breeze ruffling his fur. Here in France he had a few favourite locations that he’d come across over the years. In fact, he’d been en route to a fishing village in the north west, when some mysterious impulse had caused him to hop onto a train to Paris instead.

(Later, he would vow that this was the last time he listened to a “mysterious impulse”. It was not. It never was.)

And so, Quaxo had found himself wandering wearily through the ever-gross alleyways of Paris once again. As he picked his way through dishevelled and dirty sleeping bodies and caught a scrawny rat or two, he reflected on the last time he had been in Paris, some… 40 years prior? Well, he thought to himself, the fashion certainly hasn’t changed all that much. The rich ladies still wore dresses that were as big as ever and wigs that were taller than Qaxo on his hind legs and the peasants still wore rags — some of which looked suspiciously like they were made from potato sacks. Or at least, they did to him. 

Shaking off these thoughts with disdain, he made his way towards a more respectable part of Paris. This, he knew, was where the middle class people lived. Or at least it had been 40 years ago — and still was, thankfully. He padded along the streets, taking in deep breaths of slightly fresher air. Key word being slightly, he thought grimly. Thankfully the city was quieter in this area. Quaxo yawned, hoping to be able to get some good quality sleep in a more peaceful part of the city. It was roughly three in the morning and still swelteringly hot, and all the houses and gardens were blissfully dark. No one to spot him and shoo him from the general vicinity yet. Finding a nice enough garden, Quaxo crouched down, preparing to wriggle under a bush when a voice called out from above. 

“The stars are beautiful tonight, are they not?” 

Quaxo started, banging his head hard on a low branch protruding from the bush he had selected as his bed for the night. Wincing, he looked up blearily, searching for the source of the comment. 

“What?” Admittedly, it was not his most elegant moment, but in his defence, he felt as if he was seeing more stars than just the ones hanging from the sky. 

“The stars,” the voice said again, “They’re quite incredible this evening.” This time Quaxo was able to tell it was the voice of a queen. He looked around again, blinking quickly, trying to clear his vision. A slight thud sounded to his right. He swung around to face the other cat. 

“I’m sorry for startling you — I’ll do you the favour of assuming that’s the reason you’re looking at me like I’ve got two heads,” She said, an undertone of amusement in her tone. Quaxo stared at her, insulted, his vision finally clearing enough for him to see more than a dark blob. 

The queen stared back. She was bigger than Quaxo, with long, neat, dark brown fur. Her amber eyes betrayed nothing but open curiosity as she examined Quaxo, looking him up and down before looking up at the sky again. If he were a younger cat with less practice at controlling himself, he would have been speechless. Even in the dark he could tell she was beautiful. But as he was not a young cat with no control over his response to beautiful cats who apparently dropped from the sky talking about the stars, he asked, rather stupidly,  “Who are you?” 

This was definitely not his most elegant moment. He was tired from travelling, the stench of Paris was making him want to retch and now his head was throbbing painfully, in time with his heart — and underneath it, his magic. It was roiling beneath the surface, agitated by his current state of surprise and weariness. 

The other cat eyed him, unimpressed. “I should be the one asking that question. After all, you are the one in the middle of crawling under Grazyna’s bush. Rather like a furry black worm, actually,” she added as an afterthought. Quaxo stared at her, insulted. 

“I did not look like a furry black worm,” He said with great dignity. “If anything, I looked like a majestic—” he cast around for something that seemed appropriately majestic. “—a majestic turtle.” 

“A turtle scrabbling inelegantly in the sand, perhaps,” said the queen, smirking. “Who are you, anyway?”

Quaxo eyed the other cat with mounting dislike. “Quaxo,” he said shortly, unsure why he was bothering, “And you are?”

“Anjalka,” Apparently-Anjalka shared pleasantly. She sat down and curled her tail around her paws, before raising her head toward the sky once again. “Well?”

Quaxo followed her gaze and, remembering her original comment about the stars, agreed begrudgingly. “Yes, they are.” She was right, though. The night sky was as clear as a wealthy woman’s looking glass, and Quaxo felt as if he were looking at a thousand tiny pearls of light in the velvety navy of the heavens. Regrettably, he thought, it was a moonless night, so he could not look into what he had come to consider as the Everlasting cat’s gentle eye. (He considered the sun her stern eye, but that, I’m afraid, is a story for another moment in time.)

“How come you’re in my human’s garden?” Anjalka asked, drawing him out of his thoughts with her eyes still fixed upon the stars she seemed to love so. 

Quaxo hummed non-commitally as he too sat down. “You’re a curious one, aren’t you?” 

Anjalka turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “And you’re an odd one.”

Quaxo tore his eyes away from the twinkling stars — which had become rather mesmerising as they flickered above, so far out of reach — and met Anjalka’s gaze evenly. “Oh? Do elaborate.” Small golden sparks sprung from his paws, which were planted firmly on the ground. Anjalka’s eyes grew wide, and Quaxo knew he was being slightly reckless. But a restless energy had settled over him the minute he had stepped out of the train and onto the streets of Paris. He felt like indulging a bit of recklessness for once. And something about Anjalka was intriguing to him. 

A flash of realisation bolted through his mind. He had felt this before — but it had only been once or twice. Anjalka had drawn him to Paris, without realising it. 

This was her first life. 

“You’re a Jellicle,” he breathed, kicking himself internally for not realising. He must have hit his head harder than he thought to have not recognised one of his own…

Anjalka’s expression turned defensive. “And you aren’t.” 

Quaxo chuckled darkly. “Technically,” he said, “I am.” 

He had been drawn to Paris because his magic had felt Anjalka’s soul. His magic always felt the pull of new souls — that is, cats who were living their first lives. A new soul was electric in the way souls that were on their second, third, fourth and so on lives weren’t. It was vivacious and lively and naive and curious — almost like a kitten. 

“What do you mean technically,” Anjalka questioned, scrutinising the black tom. 

“I mean I am and I am not.” Quaxo said evasively. Common sense was telling him not to indulge this stranger and her questions, but his magic was already warming to the cat in front of him. Soul bonds were weird, and Quaxo had long since learned to stop questioning the weird ways his magic worked. It was urging him on like a dark shadowy cheerleader in the back of his mind. 

Of course, it was also possible that this wasn’t a soul bond and that this was just his magic foreseeing something. Who knew? Certainly not Quaxo, anyway. Maybe it was being nice to him for a change. Deciding to follow his instincts — or rather, those of his magic, but was there really any difference? They were one and the same after all — he continued speaking. 

“I mean that I am a Jellicle cat, but I’m also not. I don’t have nine lives, I don’t go to the Heavyside Layer and I have magic. I also don’t die — or at least, I haven’t yet. I imagine if someone were to cut my throat or something I would die, but I don’t know for sure. Nor am I keen to find out. But,” he continued, “I sense the presence of the Everlasting Cat, I dance by the light of the Jellicle moon and Jellicle blood runs through my veins.” Along with whatever else does. “I am and am not a Jellicle cat.”

Anjalka looked at him, intrigued. “I knew you were odd,” she breathed, something alight in her eyes. 

Just then, Quaxo spotted something out of the corner of his eye. He looked up and, smiling, told Anjalka to do the same. 

High up above, a shooting star was making its way across the navy sky. And Quaxo was captivated — not only by the delights of the dark sky, but also by the queen next to him.

~~~

Paris, 1788 (Present day)

Quaxo turned to face Anjalka, unable to take the tension anymore. “You’re going back to Poland, aren’t you?” he asked her, resigned. 

“Yes,” Anjalka answered quietly. “I’ve made my decision. Grazyna needs me — she’d be heartbroken if she thought something had happened to me. She is worried about the rising tensions here in France, and her young man. He wants to revolt alongside his fellow sans-culottes of Paris, but she wants him to marry her and return to Poland.” Anjalka hesitated slightly.  “And…”

“And not to mention that Filoshk is waiting for you,” Quaxo muttered bitterly, turning his gaze to his paws. Anjalka hesitated again.

“Yes, he is,” she admitted. Filoshk had always been a sore subject between the two. Anjalka had told Quaxo about him not long into their relationship. He had asked her to be his mate and stay with him in Poland, but Anjalka had refused, insisting that she must stay with Grazyna, and so go to France. She had believed she would never return to Poland. 

Quaxo swung around to face her, wearing an expression of anguish. “And he… matters more to you than I do?” 

Anjalka looked at him, hurt on her face. “Of course not! But what am I supposed to do, Quaxo? You won’t come with me to Poland—”

“—yet, Anjalka, if you could just give me a little time,” He pleaded. 

She gave a frustrated cry. “Time! As if that isn’t more of the problem!” 

“And what’s that supposed to mean, Anjalka?”

“You know what I mean! I don’t have as much time as you! Who knows how long this– this- business dealing of yours will take?” she cried, anger in her voice. “I don’t have as much time as you do, Quaxo! I never will! And besides,” she continued, looking as if she were trying to comfort both him and herself at the same time. “We’ll meet again sometime, I’m sure. As you said, I have eight lives ahead of me. 

But Filoshk… I don’t know how many lives he has left, if any! So while you and I could have a whole other life together, he and I may only have now, do you understand?” 

Quaxo did. Hurt blossoming in his chest, he rose silently from his place by his love on the wall. Anjalka wept as he padded away from her. When he reached the end of the wall, he turned around and said softly, “I understand, ma chérie. I’ll go now.” 

~~~

Many years later, Misto would find himself faced with a fiery red queen whose eyes were lit with the same ferocity and passion and love Anjalka’s had been. And he would smile, and make a note to himself to tell her a story about a vivacious, stubborn queen he had met in Paris one time who, upon meeting him for the first time, called him both a furry black worm and a scrabbling turtle within five minutes. And Bombalurina — her familiar soul rejoicing at meeting Misto’s magic again — would laugh and say teasingly, “She wasn’t far wrong, was she!”

woooo so this is actually a spinoff/sequel to Eternity Is A Long Damn Time that I wrote aaaaaages ago

if it wasn’t clear, Anjalka is a past life of Bombalurina! this is I think the first time I’ve written misto x bomba but I really enjoyed it 👀

thank you to @gaylittlewizardcat for beta reading!

#self-reblog

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Anjalka's Story

Paris, August 1788 

Quaxo and Anjalka were sitting together quietly on the wall outside the queen’s human home. The sun was setting again, spreading its rays of blood red and marigold orange across the Parisian skyline, but the heat did not dissipate — it wouldn’t for at least an hour. Briefly, as Quaxo watched the sun sink out of view, he wondered what he wouldn’t give to be able to follow it at this moment in time. For he knew the conversation he had been dreading was coming. It had been hurtling towards them like a shooting star for days now.

A shooting star. That was how it’d all started, was it not? Quaxo stifled a sigh as his memories swept him away.

~~~

One year ago

The heat was as unrelenting as it had been last week, Quaxo reflected as he made his way lazily across the rooftop under the setting sun. That was, however, to be expected this far into July. He sighed briefly. It had been foolish of him to journey to Paris at this time of year. He’d known what it was like in the city in summertime — known what it was like in any big city during the summer months. Stiflingly hot, overcrowded, and not to mention the stench. Unwashed bodies, sweat, and rotting food — all mixed with the smell of human excrement. And it was always worse in Paris, he thought glumly.

But something had drawn him to Paris. He usually avoided cities in the summer, and made his way to some country village and cosied up to a nice family or two during the summer — preferably somewhere near the sea, if he could get it. The air was cooler by the sea, and he always enjoyed a light breeze ruffling his fur. Here in France he had a few favourite locations that he’d come across over the years. In fact, he’d been en route to a fishing village in the north west, when some mysterious impulse had caused him to hop onto a train to Paris instead.

(Later, he would vow that this was the last time he listened to a “mysterious impulse”. It was not. It never was.)

And so, Quaxo had found himself wandering wearily through the ever-gross alleyways of Paris once again. As he picked his way through dishevelled and dirty sleeping bodies and caught a scrawny rat or two, he reflected on the last time he had been in Paris, some… 40 years prior? Well, he thought to himself, the fashion certainly hasn’t changed all that much. The rich ladies still wore dresses that were as big as ever and wigs that were taller than Qaxo on his hind legs and the peasants still wore rags — some of which looked suspiciously like they were made from potato sacks. Or at least, they did to him. 

Shaking off these thoughts with disdain, he made his way towards a more respectable part of Paris. This, he knew, was where the middle class people lived. Or at least it had been 40 years ago — and still was, thankfully. He padded along the streets, taking in deep breaths of slightly fresher air. Key word being slightly, he thought grimly. Thankfully the city was quieter in this area. Quaxo yawned, hoping to be able to get some good quality sleep in a more peaceful part of the city. It was roughly three in the morning and still swelteringly hot, and all the houses and gardens were blissfully dark. No one to spot him and shoo him from the general vicinity yet. Finding a nice enough garden, Quaxo crouched down, preparing to wriggle under a bush when a voice called out from above. 

“The stars are beautiful tonight, are they not?” 

Quaxo started, banging his head hard on a low branch protruding from the bush he had selected as his bed for the night. Wincing, he looked up blearily, searching for the source of the comment. 

“What?” Admittedly, it was not his most elegant moment, but in his defence, he felt as if he was seeing more stars than just the ones hanging from the sky. 

“The stars,” the voice said again, “They’re quite incredible this evening.” This time Quaxo was able to tell it was the voice of a queen. He looked around again, blinking quickly, trying to clear his vision. A slight thud sounded to his right. He swung around to face the other cat. 

“I’m sorry for startling you — I’ll do you the favour of assuming that’s the reason you’re looking at me like I’ve got two heads,” She said, an undertone of amusement in her tone. Quaxo stared at her, insulted, his vision finally clearing enough for him to see more than a dark blob. 

The queen stared back. She was bigger than Quaxo, with long, neat, dark brown fur. Her amber eyes betrayed nothing but open curiosity as she examined Quaxo, looking him up and down before looking up at the sky again. If he were a younger cat with less practice at controlling himself, he would have been speechless. Even in the dark he could tell she was beautiful. But as he was not a young cat with no control over his response to beautiful cats who apparently dropped from the sky talking about the stars, he asked, rather stupidly,  “Who are you?” 

This was definitely not his most elegant moment. He was tired from travelling, the stench of Paris was making him want to retch and now his head was throbbing painfully, in time with his heart — and underneath it, his magic. It was roiling beneath the surface, agitated by his current state of surprise and weariness. 

The other cat eyed him, unimpressed. “I should be the one asking that question. After all, you are the one in the middle of crawling under Grazyna’s bush. Rather like a furry black worm, actually,” she added as an afterthought. Quaxo stared at her, insulted. 

“I did not look like a furry black worm,” He said with great dignity. “If anything, I looked like a majestic—” he cast around for something that seemed appropriately majestic. “—a majestic turtle.” 

“A turtle scrabbling inelegantly in the sand, perhaps,” said the queen, smirking. “Who are you, anyway?”

Quaxo eyed the other cat with mounting dislike. “Quaxo,” he said shortly, unsure why he was bothering, “And you are?”

“Anjalka,” Apparently-Anjalka shared pleasantly. She sat down and curled her tail around her paws, before raising her head toward the sky once again. “Well?”

Quaxo followed her gaze and, remembering her original comment about the stars, agreed begrudgingly. “Yes, they are.” She was right, though. The night sky was as clear as a wealthy woman’s looking glass, and Quaxo felt as if he were looking at a thousand tiny pearls of light in the velvety navy of the heavens. Regrettably, he thought, it was a moonless night, so he could not look into what he had come to consider as the Everlasting cat’s gentle eye. (He considered the sun her stern eye, but that, I’m afraid, is a story for another moment in time.)

“How come you’re in my human’s garden?” Anjalka asked, drawing him out of his thoughts with her eyes still fixed upon the stars she seemed to love so. 

Quaxo hummed non-commitally as he too sat down. “You’re a curious one, aren’t you?” 

Anjalka turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “And you’re an odd one.”

Quaxo tore his eyes away from the twinkling stars — which had become rather mesmerising as they flickered above, so far out of reach — and met Anjalka’s gaze evenly. “Oh? Do elaborate.” Small golden sparks sprung from his paws, which were planted firmly on the ground. Anjalka’s eyes grew wide, and Quaxo knew he was being slightly reckless. But a restless energy had settled over him the minute he had stepped out of the train and onto the streets of Paris. He felt like indulging a bit of recklessness for once. And something about Anjalka was intriguing to him. 

A flash of realisation bolted through his mind. He had felt this before — but it had only been once or twice. Anjalka had drawn him to Paris, without realising it. 

This was her first life. 

“You’re a Jellicle,” he breathed, kicking himself internally for not realising. He must have hit his head harder than he thought to have not recognised one of his own…

Anjalka’s expression turned defensive. “And you aren’t.” 

Quaxo chuckled darkly. “Technically,” he said, “I am.” 

He had been drawn to Paris because his magic had felt Anjalka’s soul. His magic always felt the pull of new souls — that is, cats who were living their first lives. A new soul was electric in the way souls that were on their second, third, fourth and so on lives weren’t. It was vivacious and lively and naive and curious — almost like a kitten. 

“What do you mean technically,” Anjalka questioned, scrutinising the black tom. 

“I mean I am and I am not.” Quaxo said evasively. Common sense was telling him not to indulge this stranger and her questions, but his magic was already warming to the cat in front of him. Soul bonds were weird, and Quaxo had long since learned to stop questioning the weird ways his magic worked. It was urging him on like a dark shadowy cheerleader in the back of his mind. 

Of course, it was also possible that this wasn’t a soul bond and that this was just his magic foreseeing something. Who knew? Certainly not Quaxo, anyway. Maybe it was being nice to him for a change. Deciding to follow his instincts — or rather, those of his magic, but was there really any difference? They were one and the same after all — he continued speaking. 

“I mean that I am a Jellicle cat, but I’m also not. I don’t have nine lives, I don’t go to the Heavyside Layer and I have magic. I also don’t die — or at least, I haven’t yet. I imagine if someone were to cut my throat or something I would die, but I don’t know for sure. Nor am I keen to find out. But,” he continued, “I sense the presence of the Everlasting Cat, I dance by the light of the Jellicle moon and Jellicle blood runs through my veins.” Along with whatever else does. “I am and am not a Jellicle cat.”

Anjalka looked at him, intrigued. “I knew you were odd,” she breathed, something alight in her eyes. 

Just then, Quaxo spotted something out of the corner of his eye. He looked up and, smiling, told Anjalka to do the same. 

High up above, a shooting star was making its way across the navy sky. And Quaxo was captivated — not only by the delights of the dark sky, but also by the queen next to him.

~~~

Paris, 1788 (Present day)

Quaxo turned to face Anjalka, unable to take the tension anymore. “You’re going back to Poland, aren’t you?” he asked her, resigned. 

“Yes,” Anjalka answered quietly. “I’ve made my decision. Grazyna needs me — she’d be heartbroken if she thought something had happened to me. She is worried about the rising tensions here in France, and her young man. He wants to revolt alongside his fellow sans-culottes of Paris, but she wants him to marry her and return to Poland.” Anjalka hesitated slightly.  “And…”

“And not to mention that Filoshk is waiting for you,” Quaxo muttered bitterly, turning his gaze to his paws. Anjalka hesitated again.

“Yes, he is,” she admitted. Filoshk had always been a sore subject between the two. Anjalka had told Quaxo about him not long into their relationship. He had asked her to be his mate and stay with him in Poland, but Anjalka had refused, insisting that she must stay with Grazyna, and so go to France. She had believed she would never return to Poland. 

Quaxo swung around to face her, wearing an expression of anguish. “And he… matters more to you than I do?” 

Anjalka looked at him, hurt on her face. “Of course not! But what am I supposed to do, Quaxo? You won’t come with me to Poland—”

“—yet, Anjalka, if you could just give me a little time,” He pleaded. 

She gave a frustrated cry. “Time! As if that isn’t more of the problem!” 

“And what’s that supposed to mean, Anjalka?”

“You know what I mean! I don’t have as much time as you! Who knows how long this– this- business dealing of yours will take?” she cried, anger in her voice. “I don’t have as much time as you do, Quaxo! I never will! And besides,” she continued, looking as if she were trying to comfort both him and herself at the same time. “We’ll meet again sometime, I’m sure. As you said, I have eight lives ahead of me. 

But Filoshk… I don’t know how many lives he has left, if any! So while you and I could have a whole other life together, he and I may only have now, do you understand?” 

Quaxo did. Hurt blossoming in his chest, he rose silently from his place by his love on the wall. Anjalka wept as he padded away from her. When he reached the end of the wall, he turned around and said softly, “I understand, ma chérie. I’ll go now.” 

~~~

Many years later, Misto would find himself faced with a fiery red queen whose eyes were lit with the same ferocity and passion and love Anjalka’s had been. And he would smile, and make a note to himself to tell her a story about a vivacious, stubborn queen he had met in Paris one time who, upon meeting him for the first time, called him both a furry black worm and a scrabbling turtle within five minutes. And Bombalurina — her familiar soul rejoicing at meeting Misto’s magic again — would laugh and say teasingly, “She wasn’t far wrong, was she!”

woooo so this is actually a spinoff/sequel to Eternity Is A Long Damn Time that I wrote aaaaaages ago

if it wasn’t clear, Anjalka is a past life of Bombalurina! this is I think the first time I’ve written misto x bomba but I really enjoyed it 👀

thank you to @gaylittlewizardcat for beta reading!

#cats the musical #jellicle cats #mean like a minx and lean like a lynx #nix-writes #mr mistoffelees #bombalurina #bomboffelees #mistolurina #anjalka #immortal misto my beloved #Ngl I actually am quite proud of this one #bombamisto

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Hi, I'm Nix!

It was high time for a new intro post the other one is old

Basically, I've been watching CATS 1998 since I was tiny and I absolutely love it XD This is where I dump my random litle silly Cats stuff :p I love them

Asks!

Absolutely send me asks! Interact with me, don't be shy! I love talking to people (most of the time) and making new friends. Requests for bits to write here and there are ok too, but if I don't like it I won't write it. Simple as that.

Now onto the less-fun stuff:

No hate will be tolerated here. None. I will just block you.

Don't repost whatever my stuff without credit, please!

Don't be weird towards me, I will just block you.

Some helpful things!

Here is a list I put together of named swings and the like Here is another helpful list of swings (with visuals) (by @theimpossiblescheme) And for all my fellow writers struggling on whether a character you based off of a swing or something is your oc, here is my opinion on that, hope it helps you come to a decision (can you tell I struggled with that lol)

I tag all my original posts with #mean like a minx and lean like a lynx

My writiting tag is #nix-writes

Anything I reblog will be tagged #reblog or possibly #rebleb or maybe even #reblob (#self reblog, #self rebleb, #self reblob also lmao)

Anything not cats will be tagged #not CATS or #not cats

My two sideblogs are:

@its-called-a-hyperfixation-honey where i reblog random shiz and

@alonzo-the-slinky-bastard an alonzo rp blog

#cats the musical #jellicle cats #mean like a minx and lean like a lynx #introduction post #this'll probably be added to/edited #pinned post

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I said it already on discord but I love them so much thank you!!! She is his treasure 💕

A little something for @flame-x for a gift exchange! You gave me a lot of ideas, but I kept picturing Jerrie absconding with Victoria like he's gotten away with some treasure ;)

#mungotoria #reblog #art #thank you so much 💕 beautiful

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#cats the musical #jellicle cats #poll-icle dogs #ill be honest i cant be bothered to tag that many characters #mean like a minx and lean like a lynx

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ohh 🧵 ✍️ for the ask game?

🧵 What's your favorite production and why?

Hmm, probably 1998? I'll be honest, I haven't watched many other productions fully besides a few Oasises and the bway revival, but my favourite song from a different production is Dr. Diavolo from the 2007 Dutch tour (i have talked about this A Lot.)

As to why, 1998 is how I first got into Cats, I grew up watching it, it holds a Lot of precious memories for me. Also? It's fantastic. Lighting, actors, choreo, makeup, costuming, the singing. Fabulous. I even love how Pounce teleports all over the place all the time, vex me as it may at the beginning of the Jellicle Ball - along with all the other mistakes that make it what it is. It is imperfect and perfect and it is very dear to me.

✍️ If you had total creative control over a production of Cats, what would you change and why?

I would change it all back to the Gillian Lynne choreo (sorry bway revival), have Etcetera, Electra and George as permanent ensemble characters, use all London designs (sorry broadway), bring back all the bright colours, change the lyrics of pekes and pollicles and give it back to Munk (why does gus have it?), change all the racist parts of growltiger and give that to gus instead (with the ballad instead of the aria) hmmmm what else, jellicle sharps and jellicle flat verse in jsfjc my beloved, tap-off back in the gumbie cat, put the extra verse back in in m&r (but keep it the modern speed version, much as i love the jazz one) and speaking of rumple, mention her in macavity again!!!!!!! she deserves to be known a criminal as much as her brother, #girlpower

keep bustopher as a permanent ensemble character (i'm pretty sure il sistina has this?), along with gus, and have asparagus also existing. make it more obvious that the plato actor also plays macavity. i'm not sure how. but yeah. and ears like the 2022 int tour cass ears for cass and the twins. and no spiky deme or jemima wigs.

also mungotoria pas de deux :D

edit: also bring back the shadowdance

#tysm for the ask! #cats the musical #jellicle cats #mean like a minx and lean like a lynx #asked and answered #i got so carried away with the second one #and i didn't think i would actually have much to say #cats 1998 #dr diavolo

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Another point for 🎯-

i've never liked mungoteazer as a romantic ship, i always hc them as siblings

🎁🧠🎯 :]

🎁 If you could give any of the ensemble cats a song, who would it be? What would it be about?

I would give Alonzo his own song! I made a post about it before, here

🧠 Share a headcanon/theory about the show that you like!

So many, but I really love all the hcs about the mating bond :) and the pas de deux. Also any and all headcanons about the Everlasting Cat and how religion works, I've honestly thougt so much about how the whole thing works and it's such an interesting thing to think about. For example, cats are reborn nine times and then just kinda. i dont actually know what happened after that lmao. bad example. also cryptid!misto <3. He be immortal and meeting the reincarnations of cats. and magical. speaking of magic, another of my fave hcs is that all jellicles have magic aside from their terpsichorean powers. like, there are big flashy, obvious magicks like those of misto/mac and the implied magicks of cori/tanto/jem but i also like the idea of subtle magic. i used this example in mistocord before, but skimble's magic being that he knows exactly when the midnight mail will leave and that he can predict which passengers will travel on the train again.

i also touch on the subtle magicks hc at the end of this ficlet

🎯 What's a common headcanon/theory/interpretation that you don't prescribe to?

Griz as Munk and Tugger's mom/Deut's mate. I prefer her as Bomba and Deme (and occasionally Vic)'s mother instead :3

I don't hate it though, and I have enjoyed content about this hc when I've seen it

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🎶

❤️

💛

🎁

🧠

❤️ What's your favorite romantical ship?

ehehehe you know what it is it's mungotoria my belovedssssss they're just so perfect they Live In My Head rent free i coulf think about them for hours

💛 What's your favorite familial ship?

hmmmm i really really like mungo&teazer as siblings. like i always, alwaya, always hc them as siblings

and i've answered 🎁&🧠 here and 🎶 here!

#thank you for the ask!! :D #cats the musical #jellicle cats #victoria the white cat #mungojerrie #rumpleteazer #mungotoria #mean like a minx and lean like a lynx #asked and answered

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👀🔥

🔥Share one (1) hot take/opinion about the show/fandom/etc

This fandom is genuinely one of the nicest and most welcoming I've ever seen? Like, ye're all so lovely and every single headcanon and ship and what-have-you is greeted enthusiastically and with great interest and it's so wonderful to see :D

and i've already answered 👀 here! :))

#tysm for the ask! #:3 #mean like a minx and lean like a lynx #asked and answered #jellicle cats #cats the musical

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🎶🧠 and 🎯 for Cats asks?

🎶Who's your favourite ensemble cat and why?

Hehe Alonzo, I can't explain why but he's just my bestest slinky boy and he's so pathetic and sopping wet and silly and I love him for reasons unknown to everyone including me

and i've already answered 🧠 and 🎯 here :)

#thank you for the ask! #cats the musical #jellicle cats #mean like a minx and lean like a lynx #asked and answered #alonzo cats