This is a little songfic based on Before He Cheats by Carrie Underwood. I heard this song and instantly thought of this couple. Well, okay, maybe I had heard the song already, and maybe I had been scrolling through my iPod looking for a good song for these two, and maybe this was kind of playing... Well, anyways. Hope you enjoy. Bombalurina's POV. Prepare for a little Tugger rejection. But in all seriousness, the ego statement is entirely true. I'm thinking of doing a Tugger songfic based off of LMFAO's Sexy and I Know It. Don't even TRY to tell me that isn't 100% Rum Tum Tugger. Email me about what your thoughts! Read on!

Disclaimer: If I owned Cats, it wouldn't be FANfiction. This would be AUTHORfiction.

"And don't come back!" I yell into the night, wishing dearly that there was some kind of door that I could slam. But there isn't, so I have to make do with running back into the shadows of my den, tears in my eyes. Something catches my eye. A portrait of him sits on a once-four-legged (now three-legged) stool, taunting me...

I hiss, unsheathing my claws. One swipe, and four neat slashes appear, disfiguring his face. I rampage around the den, tearing everything that reminds me of him to pieces.

Right now

He's probably slow dancing

With a bleached-blonde tramp

And she's probably getting frisky

Right now

He's probably buying her some

Fruity little drink 'cause

She can't shoot whiskey

My best collar, the one he gave me on my birthday. In shreds. A little toy mouse, leftover from Christmas. Unrecognizable. A small blue ceramic bowl, that he gave me on our first anniversary. Smashed. I particularly like destroying that one, half because of the satisfying smash that it makes, and half because I feel like I'm dealing a particularly hard blow to his inflated ego. Not as beautiful as me, huh.

Right not

He's probably up behind her

With a pool stick

Showing her how to shoot a combo

And he don't know...

I collapsed on my bed, sobbing hysterically.

That I dug my key into the side

Of his pretty little souped-up four wheel drive

Carved my name into his leather seat

Took a Louisville slugger to both headlights

Smashed a hole in all four tires

Maybe next time he'll think

Before he cheats

Maybe he was right. Maybe I care too much. Am I too sensitive? No, I can't be. Impossible. If I were sensitive, I would be able to feel the bed beneath me, the world around me. Instead, there's nothing. Only darkness. My body is numb.

I'm not sensitive.

I might've saved a little trouble for the next girl

'Cause the next time that he cheats

You know it won't be on me

Oh, not on me

I drag myself up slowly, knowing that my fur is messed up and my collar twisted around and my tail kinked. Demeter's there, stroking my fur, shushing me. When did she get here?

It's too bright outside; too happy. No one, no one deserves to be happy. Not when I'm miserable.

He's there, fluffing up his mane, talking to Alonzo. Jemima and Etcetera are there, too. Hanging off his every word. Typical.

'Cause I dug my key into the side

Of his pretty little souped-up four wheel drive

Carved my name into his leather seat

Took a Louisville slugger to both headlights

Smashed a hole in all four tires

Maybe next time he'll think

Before he cheats

I brush past casually, swinging my tail like usual. Like nothing's wrong. The conversation stops abruptly as they all stare. Not in the usual, longing way. Not in the want-to-either-kiss-you-or-be-you way, but in a way that's strange, unfamiliar to me. Disgusted. Pitying. Astonished.

I imagine how I must look-scarlet fur sticking out in all directions, eyes red and bloodshot from crying, one of the spikes on my collar broken in half from sleeping with it on.

He's talking now. "Bombalurina, babe-"

I ignore him. No more. I am not getting dragged into another life like that, where I have to beg for my own boyfriend's attention, drag him away from mere kittens.

The Rum Tum Tugger isn't worth my time.

Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats, oh