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namethat-i-oughttohavetoldyou · 2 years

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The Fine Art of Kitten Wrangling

And to the person who had to wait the longest - @falasta, thank you for your patience! This one is, with over 4k words, the longest of the Catsiversary fics, out of the simple reason that you gave me the perfect opportunity to use a fic snippet that I didn’t really know what to do with. I hope you enjoy! ♥ All my love to all who read/like/reblog! :)

It was not often that a cat looking for trouble came to the junkyard, but when it did happen once upon a time, it was always the hottest topic in London for weeks on end.

On one of these occasions, little Pouncival laid on his back in the middle of a small private clearing, all four legs stretched towards the sky, and gave his best efforts to contemplate his third name. This was quite a hard exercise for such a young kitten as him, and Asparagus had often assured him that it was just fine to think about his second name until he could bring up enough concentration to start with his third, but Jemima was already thinking about her third name a lot, and she was younger than him, so he could do it just as well as her.

Or so he claimed.

In reality, his thoughts kept drifting to the latest game he and Tumblebrutus had come up with, and from there to Munkustrap’s last story, which had been very entertaining and made him giggle when he only thought about it in passing, and from there they drifted to the new toy he had found in the rubbish that a human had left at the outskirts of the junkyard a fortnight ago… And when he remembered what he had tried to do in the first place, he promptly fell asleep.

His surprise was great when he was rudely awakened by someone slapping at his outstretched legs. His outraged squeak only drew a threatening hiss from his attacker.

Pouncival raised a warning cry, just how Alonzo had taught him, although it sounded more like a mouse choking on a too-big piece of cheese. He felt very brave, either way.

The attacker stood tall in front of him. It was a rather bedraggled looking tomcat, and as far as Pouncival could see (which wasn’t very far, as he was covering his face with his paws), he was sporting brown fur with black patches, was missing half of his tail and his teeth were more crooked than Plato’s milk teeth had been.

“Where is your leader.” the tom said, and it didn’t really sound like a question.

Pouncival carefully lowered one paw, resisting the urge to suck on the other like a nursing kitten. “At the vicarage,” he managed to squeak out, only remembering that he probably should refer from answering any questions. Then again, it hadn’t really been a question, had it? Jenny would certainly believe him if he told her –

“I don’t mean that ole’ shoe brush,” the tom snarled, tail lashing aggressively. “Your leader. Where is he.”

Pouncival was very scandalized at this ugly, know-nothing cat calling Old Deuteronomy a shoe brush, but he had enough sense to not argue. That wouldn’t be very clever, after all. And he wanted to be clever, just like Mister Mistof–

“Bring me to him!” the tom shouted at the poor kitten, who cowered and brought his paw back up over his face.

“To whom?” he whispered.

“The silver one. With the deadly kick.”

Pouncival took both paws off his face this time and frowned. “But he’s not our leader. He’s our storyteller.” He turned to the hills of junk behind him, impatiently waiting for reinforcements. After a moment of consideration, he raised a second warning call, just to be sure. It was quite a bit louder this time.

The tom flinched at the call, his claws extending. “He is your leader.”

“No, he’s not.”

“He is your leader,” the tom repeated.

“Is not.”

“He is.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Bring me to him!” the tom barked, in a tone that would have made the bravest pom make a run for it.

Pouncival wasn’t a pom. He stood his ground, tail pulled between his legs.

Before he could inhale to utter a third warning cry, Alonzo was suddenly between them, going to town on the unsuspecting tom who very quickly lost his tough attitude after a few well-placed hits against his muzzle.

Pouncival sat back on his haunches and lifted one paw back to his face to suck on it, purring a little to calm himself down. Everything was alright now, he was allowed a little self-soothing, wasn’t he? Jenny surely wouldn’t reprimand him.

Apparently, Alonzo had grown tired of smacking the impoliteness out of the other cat, since he came to a stop, breathing heavily, tail waving quickly from side to side in warning. He turned around to Pouncival. “Alright, Pounci?”

Pouncival nodded dutifully, still sucking on his paw. Alonzo wasn’t big on physical affection, but that was alright. He hadn’t been hurt, anyway.

“Your leader,” said tom wheezed, licking at his shoulder. Everlasting Cat, he was surely insistent.

Alonzo hissed. “What about him?”

“The silver one. Bring me to him. I want to speak to him.”

“Say please,” Pouncival said, feeling a lot braver now that Alonzo was there.

Alonzo sent him a look, but he didn’t hide his amusement well.

The tomcat pulled a face as if he had a bad case of gas. “Please. I want to speak to him.”

With a grunt, Alonzo picked up Pouncival by the scruff of his neck and nodded at the tom, gesturing to him to follow.

The junkyard-Jellicles were no strangers to unexpected guests, and they were always open to newcomers, always offering shelter and food if they had enough of both. The streets were hard on any cat that didn’t have a human home, and thus every cat was welcome, as long as they abided by the rules. Sometimes, when a cat in need of help came to them, he or she was mistrustful or downright rude, but the Jellicles knew better than to take it personally. Those who made the junkyard their permanent home came out of their shell after a certain amount of time, becoming a part of the community without much troubles after staying for one or two Balls. Thus, Alonzo didn’t chase the tom away, even if he was inclined to do just that with how rudely he had treated the poor kitten he was carrying.

It was very hard to withstand the temptation.

“Get Munkustrap, if you would” he told Plato as soon as he entered the main clearing, setting Pouncival down in Jennyanydots’ lap, who immediately began to groom the kitten, purring loud enough for Alonzo’s whiskers to pick up the vibrations a few meters away.

Plato blinked slowly and shook his head. “He’s not here. He’s escorting Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer to their human family.”

Alonzo could feel the strange tom bristle behind him. “Thank you, Plato,” he said, breathing deeply before turning around to avoid grinning a bit too widely.

“You’ll have to wait–“ he began, but the tom beat him to the chase.

“I am Geralford and I will become the new leader of this tribe!” he announced unceremoniously.

A perplexed bout of silence fell over the junkyard.

“Erm,” said Alonzo.

“I will challenge Mousetrap to a duel of strength and endurance, and the winner shall acquire leadership over this tribe!” Geralford continued self-confidently, every singly hair on his body raised up to make him appear taller.

Someone snorted a laugh at the tom’s creative mispronunciation of Munkustrap’s name.

“Ah, my dear,” Jellylorum piped up from the sidelines, “that’s not quite how it works, I’m afraid.”

“Winning leadership by fighting? Cat above, where are we, the middle ages?” Asparagus muttered from his position on the pipe. Tumblebrutus next to him shook his head in exasperation, even thought he hadn’t listened and wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to be exasperated about.

Geralford huffed. “I was told by trusted sources that the Jellicle Cats had claimed the Junkyard as their territory. Mousetrap defeated Macavity and gained the position of the leader of this tribe in the same night,” he spoke confidently, looking down at Alonzo, who had flopped down into a nice patch of sunlight and was snickering quietly.

To everyone’s surprise, Mister Mistoffelees raised his voice. “Macavity never was the leader of our tribe,” he scoffed, irritatedly scratching at his right ear. “He is a fiend and an intruder, and that is all he has ever been.”

“And Old Deuteronomy certainly didn’t become leader by fighting for it. What a distasteful idea!” Jellylorum’s whiskers twitched with carefully repressed irritation.

“I will speak to Mousetrap about it,” Geralford said stubbornly.

“Nonsense,” Jennyanydots said, sending an immaculately groomed Pouncival off to go play and get dirty again. “It’s not on him to decide. George, dear, if you’d be so kind to show Geralford here where he can find something to eat?”

Alonzo’s grin grew a little wider. Sending George was Jennyanydots’ version of an intimidation tactic, even if he wouldn’t dream to even hurt a fly. Geralford, however, didn’t know that, and was appropriately worried when the calf-sized mutt plodded towards him, panting with excitement and tail wagging with joy.

“We will consult on a possible… er, management change,” Jennyanydots continued nonchalantly, turning around and making her way to the empty den behind the tire, which was often used for conferences, or, in this case, for meetings of the elders’ council. Jellylorum, Asparagus, Skimbleshanks, Marsily and Bustopher Jones followed her, leaving Geralford with a very dutiful George, who grasped the big tomcat by his collar and dragged him off to one of his preferred hunting grounds.

As soon as they had turned the corner, Alonzo stood up and entered the ‘conference room’, where he was met with a heap of elderly cats falling over themselves with laughter.

“A management change,” Bustopher boomed in delight, having to hold onto his monocle while he dried his laughing tears.

Skimble had pulled up his vest halfway over his head to try and stifle his boisterous giggling in it, without any success.

Alonzo smirked and waited until they had calmed down, then he said: “Well, what does the council decide?”

“A very good question,” Skimbleshanks answered, still having to cover his mouth from time to time to not start giggling again because of Asparagus having the hiccups.

Jellylorum dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, stifling a snort of laughter in it every now and then, and Jennyanydots groomed Marsily’s back to calm herself, her purring interrupted by fits of wheezing.

“Well, he’s a stubborn one, and he won’t leave it alone and make a tantrum until we’ve come to some sort of conclusion,” Jellylorum offered, “so we’d rather think of something fast. I’m not looking forward to him making a fuss like that everyday until Munkustrap agrees to fight him to the death.”

Alonzo made a great mistake in asking: “Don’t you mean Mousetrap?”

The following fits of laughter were so severe that more than a few cats curiously poked their heads into the den, fighting grins of their own with the infectious guffawing that greeted them. Soon, the den was full of at least 30 mirthful cats, walls trembling with their laughter.

“I don’t – hic! – I don’t think Geralford will be – hic! – content if we tell him that the Everlasting Cat chooses the next Jell- hic! -le Leader, and no-one else,” Asparagus said finally, fighting against his hiccups.

“I will allow no fighting,” Jennyanydots said resolutely, “we have enough problems with Macavity’s henchcats. Cat knows what he’ll do after he finds out that defeating Munkustrap didn’t help him in his quest to become leader.”

“Then we’ll throw him out. He stands no chance against all of us, even without Munkustrap here,” Plato spoke up.

Bustopher hummed, tapping his chin in thought. “Mightn’t we have a little fun? He seems a little dull, if you get my meaning. And it would serve him right.”

“It would,” Cassandra agreed, ears perked up with curiosity. “Do you have anything in mind?”

The kittens giggled in excitement. A prank, how wonderful!

“A competition!” Etcetera suggested, bouncing up and down.

Electra grabbed Etcetera’s tail and cuddled it. “Mh-hm. A competition.”

“If this competition doesn’t contain any fighting, I’m in favour,” Jennyanydots said, proudly patting the two kittens’ heads.

Jellylorum suddenly looked unusually sly. “Out with all of you,” she commanded, manoeuvring everyone but the elders out the door.

The kittens protested, wanting to know what the competition was to be about, but Jellylorum stood her ground.

“You’ll know, don’t worry,” she promised when Jemima threatened to cry if Jellylorum didn’t tell her right now. “But it’ll be worth the wait.”

Munkustrap returned the next day, herding Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer and looking a little crinkled. He obviously hadn’t gotten much sleep, which was unfortunate, but very helpful for the competition the elder cats had planned.

It wasn’t very complicated, really, but it promised to be very entertaining.

Alonzo had brought Geralford onto the clearing, followed by an eager George who begged to keep his new friend. Said new friend didn’t seem that sure of himself anymore.

“The competition for the leadership of this tribe will begin now!” Jellylorum exclaimed, making both competitors blink in confusion.

“Competition?” Munkustrap asked, fur bristling. “For leadership? Jellylorum, what is going on?”

“Oh, darling, don’t you mind that. Go and find something to eat, now won’t you?” Jennyanydots interrupted, quickly guiding him away from the clearing.

Meanwhile, Bombalurina walked up to Geralford, a squirming Bill Bailey in her arms. “Hold this for me, will you?”

Geralford didn’t even reach out to take the kitten, instead pulling a disgusted face and stepping back. “What?”

A disappointed murmur reached their ears from the tire, where the rest of the elder cats had gathered. They whispered among themselves and seemed to confer.

Geralford’s ears flattened to his skull, lips pulling back in a confused sneer.

Bill Bailey in Bombalurina’s arms gave an impatient mew, itching to continue playing with the other kittens.

Cassandra approached them, holding Carbucketty.

“I will not hold him for you,” Geralford hissed before Cassandra could even open her mouth. He was met with unforgiving eyes, as hard as steel.

Carbucketty was thrust into his arms without precursor.

Neither Geralford nor the kitten seemed to be very convinced of this arrangement, and Bill Bailey squirmed more impatiently when Bombalurina held him in front of Geralford’s face.

Geralford took him reluctantly, holding both kittens in one hand each at an arms length.

Bill Bailey gave another annoyed mew, accidently kicking Carbucketty as he writhed in the uncomfortable hold. Carbucketty gave his best hiss and scratched at his littermate in retribution, leading to a very unusual brawl, suspended in the air as they were.

Geralford obviously hadn’t expected this to happen, and promptly let both kittens fall. Luckily, Bombalurina dove down quick enough to catch them before they fell on their heads.

The murmuring of the elders grew louder, and Skimbleshanks hurried across the clearing to see if the kittens were alright. He needn’t have worried – the shock of the sudden fall had removed all thoughts of murder and revenge from their little heads, and not five seconds later they were off, chasing after a moth.

“Me pleasure to tell you that you lost,” Skimbleshanks told Geralford unceremoniously, face stern and unforgiving.

Geraldford looked even more confused than before, but Bustopher interrupted.

“There, there, old chap, not too hasty now. The other competitor has not even had a chance to claim his victory!”

Speaking of the devil, Munkustrap re-entered the main clearing, tail dragging behind him with exhaustion. He lifted his tail in a friendly greeting when Alonzo walked up to him, Tumblebrutus throning on his shoulders. They quickly became engrossed in conversation, and the attention of the elders shifted from Geralford to them.

Alonzo went down the list of everything Munkustrap had missed during his outing with the twins, excluding their new guest. He purposefully left out a few details; he didn’t deem it fit to stress out his friend with a potential threat, not if they had it covered so far. Munkustrap nodded and listened attentively, so attentively in fact, that he barely reacted when Alonzo casually grabbed the kitten on his shoulders and set him in Munkustrap’s arms, except by readjusting his hold so that Tumblebrutus was comfortable. The kitten in question didn’t seem to have anything against being held, gleefully dangling his legs and kneading Munkustrap’s shoulder fluff with tiny paws.

An appreciative hum came from the cats on the tire. Munkustrap’s ears twitched into their direction, but since he didn’t sense anything amiss, he let them be.

Just as Alonzo came to the end of his report, Demeter and Jemima turned the corner. Jemima wasted no time to swiftly climb up Munkustrap’s left leg and settle across his shoulders like a small, purring scarf.

“Oh, hello,” Munkustrap said with a smile, giving Demeter a nod and gently bumping his head against Jemima’s. “Glad to be home?”

“Very much so,” Demeter sighed, exchanging a wave with Tumblebrutus and touching paws with Alonzo. “Our humans treat us well, but Cat above, they are ever so loud.”

Bill Bailey came plodding back to Bombalurina, having decided that he did want to be held a little. Bombalurina picked him up and presented him to Munkustrap. After a beat, Bill Bailey stuck out his arms towards Munkustrap demandingly, and the Storyteller obeyed, situating him on the arm that Tumblebrutus didn’t occupy already.

Pouncival came next, hissing at Geralford in passing for good measure and then attaching himself to Munkustrap’s shin.

“Hello, Pouncival. Are you tired?” Munkustrap asked, wiggling his leg a little. The attached kitten grumbled and clung.

“Hmpf.”

“I see.”

Geralford sat down on the saddle of a rusted bike, trying to make it look like he wasn’t pouting. At least he wasn’t screaming anymore, so this suited the Jellicles just fine.

Cassandra snatched up Carbucketty when he scampered past, and with a delighted squeal he was placed on Munkustrap’s arm next to Tumblebrutus. Munkustrap didn’t comment, still chatting with Demeter about humans and their unpredictable temper. No sooner had one presented one’s belly to them to show one’s trust, they started to attack and try to mess up one’s fur with their fingers! Humans were peculiar.

A discontented grumble came from the tire, but this time it wasn’t because of Geralford, but because of the Rum Tum Tugger, who swaggered onto the clearing, Etcetera and Electra following him like ducklings.

With a smirk and a wink, Tugger lifted Etcetera in Munkustrap’s arms, which resulted in a small ripple of movement; Jemima moving from across Munkustrap’s shoulder onto his arm next to Bill Bailey, Etcetera crawling up to dangle backwards over Munkustrap’s right shoulder. Munkustrap didn’t have enough hands free to help readjusting their positions, but they sorted it out themselves fairly well.

Munkustrap frowned as Tugger draped Electra over his other shoulder like a towel.

“Is something wrong?”

“On the contrary,” Tugger chirped, scratching Jemima’s chin. “You’re all looking very comfortable, I must say.”

Munkustrap looked down at himself, seemingly only now realizing that he was covered in kittens. His right arm, where Tumblebrutus and Carbucketty were situated, was starting to go a little numb.

A soft pitter-patter of small paws made itself heard only a few moments later, and then Mungojerrie shot out of a heap of junk and launched himself at Munkustrap, wrapping himself around his waist like a little tiger-striped monkey. Munkustrap didn’t budge a centimetre, that stance of his absorbing Mungojerrie’s impact effortlessly.

“Aren’t you sick of me for today?” he asked the cheeky kitten, and Mungojerrie beamed up at him.

“Never!”

“Where’s your sister?”

“Ahh… she must’ve been just behind me.” Mungojerrie pressed his cheek into Munkustrap’s soft belly fur and turned his head as far as it would go. Munkustrap was a little worried for his neck.

“Me legs are longer’n hers,” he said after a while when Rumpleteazer did not appear. “Might be with George, to play fetch.”

Alonzo nudged a part of Munkustrap’s shoulder that wasn’t full of kittens with his forehead. “I’ll go and look for her.”

“Thank you,” Munkustrap said, sounding a little distracted.

Walking would be an effort, as it was, since he didn’t want to lose any kittens or kick Pouncival off.

“Kitten wrangler,” Bustopher mumbled into his moustache, and none of the cats on the tire had ever thought of any designation to ring more true than this one.

“Etcetera,” Munkustrap said, careful to not move his shoulder too much, “Etcetera, would you mind sitting up a little? I wouldn’t want you to slip off.”

Etcetera chirped and held onto Munkustrap’s ear to pull herself upright, curling up and wrapping her arms around his neck. “All safe.”

“That’s good,” Munkustrap replied, discreetly wiggling his numb arm a little. The kittens that were attached to it squealed with glee.

Shuffling a few steps proved to be impossible, he was quite stuck. Not that he minded, of course, any minute with his kitten hoard was time well spent, but only now he could make out a foreign scent and an unfamiliar coat pattern, which could only mean that they had a guest. One who he wouldn’t able to greet for a while, as it seemed. Munkustrap was mature enough to admit to himself that this knowledge made him a little antsy; he was eager to meet any newcomers and try to help them feel at home, but the others had apparently managed well, so he tried his best to tamp down his restlessness.

Mungojerrie’s tail hit Pouncival in the face when he wrapped his arms a little tighter around Munkustrap’s waist. “’Scuse me. I’m a duffer at aiming.”

Pouncival bared his teeth at the tiger-striped tail, but didn’t try to bite or catch it. Munkustrap was grateful; he was a little too preoccupied (and also occupied) to prevent a brawl.

Jemima had grabbed onto the ring on Munkustrap’s collar and swung her legs, her heels colliding with Munkustrap’s ribs like little hammers. “Munkustrap, the elders are scheming,” she whispered conspiratorially.

Munkustrap flicked the ear that wasn’t being held onto. “Oh?”

“They’re reliving their young years,” Carbucketty ruminated, giggling shrilly when Tumblebrutus reached over to bap him on the head.

When he turned his head to the tire, Munkustrap was marginally unsurprised to discover that all eyes were on him. His slow blink was reciprocated by seven pairs of eyes, but nobody approached to explain anything to him, and he couldn’t exactly walk over, either.

Before he had decided if he should call out to them or not, Alonzo returned, holding Rumpleteazer upside down by the ankles. She didn’t seem to be bothered by it, instead chattering without pause about her opinion on spices she had found in her human family’s kitchen.

Alonzo swung Rumpleteazer upright with a single flex of his arms, producing a shriek of elation and catching her in the air. Then, she was held out towards Munkustrap.

The silver tabby in turn came to a devastating revelation:

He had neither an arm nor any space at all left to take her.

The long, mostly sleepless night finally took its toll as he spiralled into desperation. Poor Rumpleteazer, hopefully she wouldn’t take it personally! And worse; what if she or another kitten needed a hug, or a private talk, or wanted to play? He was severely indisposed…

(The fact that every single kitten of the junkyard bar Rumpleteazer was currently attached to him in some way didn’t occur to him in his panic.)

The elders decided to relieve him of his misery and declared the competition as concluded; Geralford retreated to a far-off corner to sulk as Skimbleshanks hurried to take the squirmy Rumpleteazer and notify Munkustrap that he had indeed won, having to stifle a hysterical snort at the absolute confusion displayed on the overtired tomcat’s face.

One after another, the kittens left the sinking ship, scurrying over each other and around and through Munkustrap’s legs like a downy anthill. Munkustrap touched offered small paws and patted little heads here and there without even trying to ask what all this had been about, which certainly said a lot about his current state.

“I have a den that’s calling your name,” Marsily told him kindly as soon as the kittens had dispersed, having clearly picked up on their Storyteller’s exhaustion. “And a story, albeit a short one. Walk with me?”

Munkustrap walked with her, eyes growing larger and larger the more Marsily talked. When they turned the corner, the cats on the tire smiled and trilled with satisfaction at his exclamation of “Kitten stacking?!” and following incredulous laughter.

Pouncival toddled to and fro, indecisive how he should spend the rest of his afternoon. He wasn’t really in the mood to try and contemplate his third name again, maybe he truly was a little too young yet. Playing was the next-best option, but he felt a little too riled up. Maybe he could go to Plato and ask him to throw him…

Without his notice, Pouncival’s legs had carried him directly in front of the spot Geralford had claimed for himself to nurse his lost pride.

With his heart in his throat, Pouncival stared at the other’s scrawny legs, trying to think of a way out without provoking an unpleasant reaction.

But then again… Geralford had lost the fight, hadn’t he? Even if it hadn’t really been a fight.

Resolutely, Pouncival lifted his head and stared directly into Geralford’s eyes.

This kind of direct staring came as close to a middle finger among cat kind as one could get, but Pouncival was sure that he could be forgiven for it this one time. He hardened his glare when Geralford stared back, huffing and puffing with anger.

Geralford unsheathed his claws and raised his hackles, teeth bared.

They stood at a stalemate for a few long seconds, tails whipping and backs arched.

And then, Geralford looked away.

Pouncival was so surprised that he choked on the hiss he’d prepared in the back of his throat and plopped on his behind. A second later he pranced off, ears and tail as perpendicular as they would go, carrying his own little victory with him and out of sight.

Geralford grumbled under his breath and hid his head under his paws. Maybe he would have to wait a few more days before he could confidently show his face again.

Being a duffer at something: to be bad at something “Marsily” is my chosen name for Exotica. :) Also, meet my OC Geralford! He fucking sucks <3 I am so, so very happy that I was finally able to use this thing ajskdjakd it was just gathering dust in my WIP folder and I thought it was a shame! Poor Munkustrap, he has only two hands and three (dozen) kittens. Thank you for reading! ♥♥♥

#cats the musical #pouncival #munkustrap #namethat-i writes #catsiversary: the sequel #oldies!!#KITTENS!!!!!#all of them. literally #or almost

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