Even with Victoria having moved into the den, the TSE-1 felt unnervingly empty to Jennyanydots. The corner which Mistoffelees had so lovingly occupied all those moons was unoccupied, his blanket moved into his new den in the old traveling trunk so that even his scent was gone. He was awfully young to be denning alone, but he had proved that he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

And wanted to take care of himself.

And, perhaps, needed to.

Mistoffelees' sights were focused on a bit of movement in a nearby crate, his ears twitching back and forth, listening to the pitter-patter of tiny footsteps. There was his supper. He felt a pang in his empty stomach – though he hadn't particularly gained in height, his muscles were growing stronger and thicker on the daily, and sometimes it felt like he couldn't eat enough. Jenny had phrased it as having a hole in your paw.

His magic was growing stronger, too; though he did his best to control and release it appropriately, he often found it building up faster than he could get rid of it. And it made him awfully, awfully restless sometimes.

But currently, he was hyper-focused. He was hunting.

Hunting was the one thing he could do that he felt was completely "normal". It didn't require magic, or advanced intelligence, or particularly keen eyes or swift movements. Of course, in the moons that he'd passed living alone in his traveling trunk den, he had discovered that he possessed all of those things. But for hunting, they weren't necessary. And he didn't try to drag them into it.

it was nice, for a change, to be "normal". As in, able to do something without spontaneously making something disappear at random. Or summoning lightning. Or causing an explosion.

He leaned forward, feeling the springs in his thighs coiling up. The tip of his jet-black tail flicked back and forth in circles as he readied himself to pounce, seeing the movement in the distance, hearing the pitter-patter of tiny, scratchy little feet. The noise stopped. Now was his chance. He wiggled his rear end, checking but nothing would slip under his feet when he jumped. All secure. And with a bounding, springing leap, he launched himself forward.

Got it! He felt fur in his mouth, blood spattering onto his muzzle as his sharp teeth bit down into his prey. Now came the fun part. He shook his head back and forth, his ears and whiskers flapping against his head along with the vermin's long, skinny tail. He pawed at the thing with his claws - careful not to stand on his back legs too long, considering what had happened all those moons ago in the twins' den - and finally rolled over onto his back, bringing up his back paws and kicking spiritedly to finish his task.

The expense of energy was quite nice. Refreshing, even. He stood back on all four paws and let out a yawn, then picked up his supper and his jaws and trotted off back to his den.

But he didn't get far.

"Whatch'ya doin'?"

He startled - he hated being startled. Thank Cat there was no jolt that went through him this time. A voice. A queen-kit's voice. And it wasn't a voice he recognized. He looked around, frantic, until he finally spotted a pair of bright eyes staring at him through a pouf of pearlescent white fur. "Who're you?"

"My name's Victoria."

The white queen kit stepped out of the shadows, smiling shyly. And Mistoffelees felt his heart skip a beat. She was gorgeous. Her fur was silken against the moonlight, glowing almost like the moon itself, her green eyes just like the jade jewels he'd read about in books. "Are you Mistoffelees?" she asked.

His heart skipped another beat, but not because of the white queen's beauty. She knew his name. And he was certain he'd never seen her before. "How do you know my name?"

"Jenny told me," she replied frankly, talking her head. Clearly, she didn't understand how disturbing it was to have a complete stranger know your name. "I've been here for a few moons now, living with her in the old car. She said you moved away from home."

He sighed. Leave it to Jenny to divulge all his personal details. Ideally he'd have told the Victoria to leave him alone and go back to the TSE-1. But in the pearlescent glow of the queen's beauty – or was it the terror he still felt that she knew his name and more about him than he wanted her to know? - he could hardly speak. All that came out was, "I prefer to be alone."

She giggled. "You're cute with that rat in your mouth."

He sputtered. Cute. That was the word he had heard Pouncival and Tumblebrutus used to describe some of the other queen-kits in the junkyard. Only, they had said it differently. When they had said it, they had wiggled their hips enthusiastically, and ways Mistoffelees had never attempted to wiggle his own. No, actually, it wasn't a wiggle. It was more of a sashay. (He had learned that word from the Merriam-Webster's Pocket Edition that he kept in his den, the perfect size for a cat.) And, though he was normally the last to pick up on innuendos, he knew from his talks with the older toms that the hip sashaying had something to do with being attracted to others. Namely, usually, but not limited to, queens.

And as Munkustrap (who had graciously volunteered to give the the talk, as it was called) had explained, it was a very special attraction that you were supposed to feel. Certain areas of the body were supposed to feel different when you felt this attraction. You were supposed to start having thoughts about the person and you getting together in one of your dens and...

A brief self evaluation revealed that Mistoffelees felt none of that.

Suited him fine.

"It's my dinner," he said simply. There wasn't much else to say, really.

Actually, there was plenty to say, and he wanted to say it. But he just couldn't get out the words. She was a stranger, this Victoria. And moreover, she was a beautiful stranger.

A beautiful stranger who thought he was cute.

He wasn't sure he was particularly fond of that.

But she was far too beautiful, he thought, to be wasting her time with him, in a distant area of a dirty junkyard. What was she doing there, anyway? She was a purebred, he could tell, with a jeweled collar - from her humans no doubt. Probably had show-cats for parents, with a pedigree and everything on file somewhere. Meanwhile, he was small, his short for making him look even smaller compared to her - scrawny almost - with a rat in his mouth and blood uncouthly spattered on his muzzle.

Then it dawned on him: she, too, must have found her way into the yard. Much like he had, only, he doubted it happened exactly the same way.

His stomach growled, and he hoped she couldn't hear it. "Um...well, I'm going to go eat my dinner now," he stammered. "It's...nice to meet you, Victoria."

"It's nice to meet you, too, Mistoffelees."

He shuddered internally; his name was so long. But she didn't seem to mind. And it sounded nice in her voice. With a sort of rhythm. A lilt.

He bowed his head briefly, out of politeness, before scurrying off to his den. Unbeknownst to him, Victoria watched him until he was tucked away in his traveling trunk, unable to be seen at all. She liked the way he pranced when he walked.

"So did you meet Misto?"

"I did." Victoria smiled. "He's a charming little fellow."

"Yeah, he's little alright," Pouncival agreed. "And to think, he's older than me!"

Tumblebrutus scoffed. "Charming? I hardly think so. More like, weird. And standoffish, if you ask me."

Victoria frowned; she didn't understand. But she said nothing in response, still enraptured by the way her new friend had pranced so lithe into the night.