The Beginning

Rating: K+

Let us consider the scene that is about to take place from the point of view of the river...

The river flows along, quickly in spring but slower now that it is almost summer. It flows past villages and towns, past small cities, and through The city. It slows down here, as if it is in no hurry to rush by and wants to see the sights on the way. It flows past large, fancy houses and slums, past churches and jails. It passes under a bridge, and another. It flows past a dock.

There is a splash as something is thrown into the river. The waters close over it.

Let us follow the sack as it sinks... it is a small sack, made of burlap, and tied around the neck with a piece of old string. It moves as it sinks, as if things inside it were struggling, and emits muffled mewling noises. It behaves, in fact, exactly as if the contents of the bag were a litter of kittens and a brick, which is an amazing coincidence since, actually, this is exactly what they are.

When the sack is ten feet down, the struggling causes the flimsy string to break...

Let us return to the surface of the river. It continues to flow lazily on, uninterrupted, for a few seconds, and then a kitten's head breaks the surface, yowling and spitting out water. Few people know this, but cats can swim. They just hate to do it.

This kitten, however, seemed to realize that she had no alternative. So she catpaddled, until a slightly larger head came up next to her. "Mow?" she asked.

"Rroww," the larger head said sadly. They waited for a little while, just in case he was wrong, but no other kittens appeared. So they struck out for shore. The man who had thrown the sack in was gone by now, but all the river was at least five feet down from the top of the river wall, which was vertical stone. And the river flowed, perhaps lazily, but quickly enough to carry two small kittens along. The two heads yowled at the top of their little heads.

Eventually, a bridge came into view, with a small accretion of gravel around the sides. The kittens swam toward it, and pulled themselves out onto the tiny "riverbank". The smaller kitten shook herself like a dog, and ten say down and began to wash herself - she knew how to do that, though her eyes had only opened a few days before. But her brother had something else in mind. He nudged her. "Mrr."

There was a set of stairs by the bridge, leading up to the street. They were big for kittens to climb, but these two managed. They stood at the top of the stairs, looking out at the busy street, and the larger kitten said: "Meek."

So they walked along the edge of the river wall, not sure where they were going but definitely being very definite about it. Occasionally some bored newsboy threw a stone at them, or a child chased them squealing "Kitty!", but they were lucky and eluded these threats. They were less lucky when a big mongrel dog crossed their path, and began barking and jumping up at them. They hissed at it and fluffed themselves up, looking like pompoms with tails and legs. Then the dog jumped at them again, snapping, and they jumped off the river wall and ran, dodging the traffic, through the legs of pedestrians, across the road. The dog tried to follow them, and was knocked over by a car. Yelping, it retreated.

"Mr?" said the larger kitten, which means "What now?" in kitten-speak. But his sister wasn't listening, distracted by the sparrows fluttering and pecking on the sidewalk. She tucked herself into a hunting crouch, tiny tail lashing back and forth, and began to stalk forward. But she grew impatient and pounced too soon, and the birds scattered, untouched. The kitten flattened her ears, kitten-speak for "Drat."

"Next time," her brother assured her. She switched her tail and stalked off, kitten-speak for "Humph."

The larger kitten yawned. "Mrrh?" he suggested. His sister cat-shrugged. The conversation would have gone farther, but a four-year-old passing by saw them and shouted "Kitty!", grabbing for them. So they ran again, and didn't stop until they found an alley, were they took refuge. There were piles of garbage there, and a few trash bins, and mice. The smaller kitten's tail switched again. Her brother was sniffing around a pile of refuse, and it looked like he'd found something to eat. She joined him, and together they had leftover fish and stale bread. It wasn't bad.

They spent the rest of the day in that alley, and when night came, they curled up with each other and slept on top of a pile of painting rags. And if it hadn't been for the drunk, the suitcase, and the railway station, they might never have left. And if that had happened, things would have turned out very differently indeed for Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer.

A/N: This was originally going to be the start of a longer story, but I'll let you in on something: I abandon stories halfway through more often than not. So this is all you get of this.

Yes, reference to Skimbleshanks at the end there. It's my belief that Mungo and Rumple are either his and Jennyanydots' kittens or were adopted by them.