Munkustrap – Part Seventeen

Author's Note = Just to reiterate so I don't get sued or anything here, all of this is entirely fake. Hunter Blakeney does not exist, let alone own the Winter Garden Theatre or is really the one who wrote CATS. As far as I know neither Andrew Lloyd Webber or any one of the original creative team is a werecat. Nor are any of its actors. This is simply my interpretation of CATS and all that surrounds it through the eyes of one of its characters, slightly altered, and how it fictionally has influenced the real world.

Had I my own way I would have kept the Jellicles in Maine for a much longer time than what had passed already. Just to be safe, until everything was ready. But the Jellicle Ball was quickly approaching, we could all feel it, and the universal frame of mind was that we should never miss such an occasion. The Ball was to be held in our junkyard, and the others made it certain to let me know they intended to do the same this year. I suppose I couldn't blame them. We had been at the estate for nearly six months now, and had initially left with very little warning to anyone. I may not have had such a problem with this, but the other Jellicles had lives that needed tending to: those who did not live as solitary felines, but humans. So it was, after the months had flown by and the news from Manhattan continued that Macavity was nowhere to be seen, heard, or smelled—not only from Skimbleshanks but from a certain vampire of authority—I provided the means to send the Jellicles back to their lives on the island, myself being the last to leave that rich old house in Maine. It was certainly delightful to be going back, but nothing would ever be the same. Not for me, and certainly never for Demeter.

After everything that had happened, Desere decided it was best if she did not live with me any longer. I will not blame her for such measures, as it seemed the more logical thing to do. I was the constant target for Macavity, for rival werewolves and vampires, and Heaviside knew what other enemies we had among the island, so in keeping her there would only increase the chances of these kind of things repeating themselves. I suppose I had gotten used to being alone over the time by then, but I would never cease to miss her. I saw her as often as I could where she moved in with Bombalurina, but with the kind of life I led, the kind she did, that was not a frequent schedule. No amount of Purring could blind an entire nosy human public to my actions, and it had been bad enough with her living with me as it was. I won't deny she at least seemed happier, some nights when I would travel down to their residential apartment and watch through the brightly-lit windows. The memories of Macavity would no doubt haunt her the rest of her life. Never again would any male touch her without serious consequences. She refused to be alone, especially at night when her paranoia exceeded my own. But she had Bombalurina, who could offer such strength and support that I could not, and it was through their close friendship that Demeter somehow found the will to carry on, to not let Macavity win by turning into what he wanted her to be. Words can't portray how happy I was for her.

The loneliness was not so terrible as I thought it might have been. I had lived alone when I was younger, without maids or butlers or servants, but that was years ago: when I liked to be alone. I was older now, Manhattan's Jellicle Leader, and though in my solitude I found the time I needed to take care of certain things that needed to be taken care of, it was still painful. The absolute emptiness of that penthouse, the knowledge I had no one to at least talk to over meals or evenings by the fire, unable to check on Desere in her room before going up to my own...it was the little things that got to me, but the concept of loneliness itself was just a part of the section of my life I had now entered. At least it prompted me to do one good thing: hire a new maid.

I had forgotten how long ago I had promised to do that very thing, probably right after losing the last one, but the problems that would occur upon doing so seemed to outweigh the advantages. But I managed to handle both by hiring another Jellicle. Improper, perhaps, as the idea of employing a friend on a set pay was indeed awkward, but then money had always been a strange subject on my mind. I cared little for it, often thinking it an outright curse, yet it had more often than once proved invaluable in some of the more important Jellicle-minded activities about the island. Money is power. I don't care what anyone says.

Her name was Jellylorum. A very homely-colored queen of yellow and beige fur with darker-shaded markings who had come to Manhattan in hopes to escape the werewolf packs that were so prevalent in Chicago (known more notoriously as gangsters). I must say I couldn't offer her much joy in getting away from the Dogs, but a new life among a tight group of Jellicles was tenfold more appealing to her. She accepted my offer readily after becoming mates with Skimble (incredible, the old philanderer) and was indeed a wonderful housekeeper; as motherly as Jennyanydots. We got along well, which was worth endlessly more than what I paid her for simply work. She often insisted that they pay wasn't necessary, that just the knowledge and safety of being in a Jellicle Tribe was enough, but I wouldn't hear it. Very often I slipped her that increased amount. She also took up odd jobs helping an incredibly old Gus with his theatre work, impeccably clean and neat in everything she did. That on top of being a mother to her and Skimble's three children, once can only wonder how she manages.

Victoria, the oldest of the three, has fur of solid white and is an aspiring dancer in anyone's opinion, proving it time and again on Gus's beloved stage. The second, a male called Carbucketty, had fur of off-white and brown markings, most notably being a slash over his left eye. He rivals his younger sister, Etcetera, when it comes to energy and a rebellious nature. Etcetera, the youngest, is most certainly named for that same hyperactive energy that goes on and on, troublesome and yet the sweetest kitten I've ever seen. Her idolization of Tugger matches perfectly his ego. All around me I saw new kittens being born, other Jellicles transplanting themselves to the island from all over the country—all over the world—with the sayings that they had heard about our tribe and the strength of it, wanting to be a part of some piece of modern Jellicle society that was worthy of being known. How this came about, I haven't the slightest idea.

At least our tribe was expanding.

My daughter was back among us. My mother was freed and forgiven. Macavity was destroyed, if not dead. Sillabub was only one of the few Jellicles who found happiness and safety among out Manhattan Tribe. I was the leader of more than a rapidly growing score of loyal, healthy werecats and a territory that expanded most of Manhattan Island. Everything was going well, much brighter than the previous darker times. A perfect place to stop the narration.

But it doesn't end here. I wish it did.

To say the least, and this is really putting it lightly, the show was a hit with the human public. As a whole. On an individual level the opinions were as varied among humans as they were among werecats. I received probably as many death threats as I did praising of the musical stage show from other Jellicles once it had gone public to the world, but that was...what? Twenty-some years ago? It's still running today in some places, and nothing has ever come of any of the threats yet.

I must admit that I was quite pleased with actually burning the original copy of the thing. Not in that I forgot the majority of what work had gone into it initially, but it gave me a chance to redo and make the entire production that much more deserving to be remembered. Indeed, the original was probably decent enough in itself, but there were so many things I had wanted to do but couldn't until the years had passed. In rewriting the show, its songs and characters and plot, it was like gaining a second chance at doing something right among all the mistakes of my existence. I found a way to work in my beloved Memory, not only with a character but with a plot. Not only that, but on a personal level it meant so much more to me. My mother. Grizabella. Her redemption with me and with the entire tribe (a whole other story in itself) felt as though it were the only thing righteous enough to deserve a permanant attachment to that one song. I wrote my mother into the production as the withered old glamour cat she was, her involvement with the actual show very little but its meaning for those who know enough to find it so much more. Nor was she the only one.

Macavity found his way into the score as well. Again, his actual involvement was little save for his song and a fight between his character and...well, mine...but the meaning was endless in impact. I find it amazing the way it was written, as well. Not by careful thought and technique, but directly from the heart. In one night, a furious burst of inspiration beneath the light of a full moon, I poured myself out and recreated everything that had been there before the burning: characters, choreography, music, plot... Everything that had once been came back in a flurry of memories and emotion, driving me from everything between tears and burning hatred to laughter and the most intense passion before I was done. I can't say what possessed me to do such a physically exhausting thing. Perhaps, if nothing else, it was the thought that Gus had reported he found a producer when I had burned away the entire show without his knowing, and now felt the responsibility to repair that. Perhaps it was divine intervention...Bastet's will, I don't know. Heaviside knows she had used me thoroughly up to that point. Why stop? But this kind of use I welcomed. A chance to do something great. Perhaps in a way it might have answered the questions I'd been asking all along in my youth: about our purpose in this world, how a Jellicle could be great when he did not have a mate or kittens. Perhaps I was still trying to find some form of salvation by gaining her favor. Either way, it was done, and CATS is one of the very few things in my life I have not regretted.

The title was simple enough, suggesting all over of Jellicle influence to those who knew we existed, but to the unknowing humans a topic as innocent as could be. I constantly delight in the way this particular production offers so much to those of inside knowledge, but to anyone else it can only be as precise as they make it. To humans: a simple entertainment, skilled dancers and singers cavorting about as cats in a very clever and original conception with lovely, memorable tunes and whimsical characters, no real plot save for what is directly told to them. To other beings of a higher knowledge: an adaptation of Jellicle beliefs and culture immortalized on a stage, an attempt by one Jellicle to show forth the passions and emotions of the werecats in a way cleverly disguised to humans, somewhere within the text and plot a hidden meaning that one would have to be a Jellicle to discover. To myself and the Jellicle around me: our lives, put together as compactly and beautifully as possible to show the good with the bad, all that we have suffered and endured, the plot not only a metaphor for the daily struggle we fight but an astounding example of what we were originally created to be: creatures of passion and creativity, glorifying our Heaviside and Everlasting Cat and in an even deeper way that is in no manner hidden glorifying ourselves. There are so many levels on which this single show can be interpreted. How it is done, how deeply, what relations of the vague characters can be drawn and of the plot, depend on the individual. To me, I can only describe it as a mere fraction of my understanding of all Jellicle nature, in my own mind able to be delved into the deepest of levels for those willing to search that far. Whether or not this will ever be known by anyone else, I can only hope. Hope is all I can do. I hope that someone out there will understand and realize what we have all gone through: myself, my mother, Demeter, Bombalurina, Macavity, everyone, just by watching this theatrical show. I hope that the meaning behind it all can be grasped despite its being translated and revised into over a dozen languages and moved to a dozen different countries that has basically butchered the original settings. I can only hope.

In no way can I write now about this show so devotedly and not bring up the centerpoint of the entire thing. The Jellicle Ball, the show's highlight, the embodiment of everything Jellicle, was probably the most dangerous and daring thing I could have ever done. Greater than facing Macavity, defying Bastet, writing down a set form of music for the Jellicle Ball, a set choreography, was to put into stone the most defining point of werecat life. Just as they say the meaning of life cannot be written in any number of volumes or any number of words, the same holds true for the Jellicle Ball that can never be captured in any amount of notes or sheetmusic, no matter what the inspiration or creativity that goes into the effort.

Still, I tried.

It was an insane task to take on from the very beginning I had thought of the idea. While the numerous Jellicle Songs and those for individual cats had a defined melody and rhythm, a set music, the great annual dance did not. In every sense of the phrase the music of the Jellicle Ball was all in our heads. How does one write that kind of thing down? The ascension to Heaviside? The fight between myself and Macavity? The strain was agonizing to try and think back to those long nights of sensation, trying to capture the meaning of the things I felt as I danced and sang those nights and convey them across to others in the form of actual music. How does one do that, exactly? For a long while I didn't think it could be done. No amount of notes or melodies would suffice to fit those indescribable feelings and emotions that coursed through the very blood in my veins. I think now that such music was never meant to be written down, but by Heaviside I tried. Going back, listening to the version of the Jellicle Ball that did eventually come out in the show itself as permanant, I can find points where the music is so heartfelt to me I can feel those sensations, disturbingly close to what was experienced those nights of rapture. Close, but not entirely. There is music there, but I am now firmly convinced that no music can ever capture the full meaning and essence of the Jellicle Ball, and there is a contentment in that knowledge that no one will ever be able to. I can say that now, knowing as little as I do about the future, and be correct. One cannot write music that embodies us Jellicles: absolutely free, wild and mysterious, passion personified. It simply can't be done. Still, I tried. For better or for worse, it's there.

Though there had been no debate about it initially, afterwards I did find it within myself to regret having put Macavity himself into the production. It seemed against all things morally correct to leave him out, as much of an influence as he was in our lives and all that he came into contact with. Yet at the same time the putting in of his song, sung by the Bombalurina and Demeter characters themselves, dancing out a metaphorical version of our "cat fight" that had occurred in the depths of his lair, only immortalized him as well. I shiver every time I hear his song, low and slinking, as it comes up within the course of the show. No way in this simple production could I show a fraction of the evil he really was in life, but it seemed the right thing to do. Perhaps in some twisted, perverse way I was the one to carry out the wishes he had so unsuccessfully tried on a number of queens. I was the one who passed on his song to endless generations to come, whether they admired or hated him as much as I do both. I was the one who ensured the image and personality of that vampiric werecat would live on once the immortal life of his true self had faded. Again, no matter how much I wanted to avoid it, Macavity's legacy was insured. I could kill his son, but I couldn't kill him.

I say again, whether any of this I feel so deeply was ever realized by any of its audiences, that CATS was an incredible hit. It raked in the expected profits, the awards, the record-breaking runs, but in light of actually knowing what went on behind all of this, those seem some of the less important aspects of the process. Originally it opened in London, where Gus's producers had taken it, and though the written setting was to be a junkyard in Manhattan the British Jellicles felt the need to alter at least that, if nothing else. Perhaps in some small way it was a protection. No one would know then, human or non, that the conception had originally come from New York, thus perhaps my tribe would be spared the dangers of putting out such a show. Our English friends seemed not at all deterred by the actual danger in all of this, bless their brave souls. It ran in London for over a year before the production was set up in America.

I provided the means for having the show played at the Winter Garden, using every legal or Jellicle trick I knew to keep my name from any official paper, and on opening night sat back in the balcony to see what it was that had come of our efforts. In no way was I disappointed. Even those parts who were played by humans were incredibly done. I do admit, more often than not the players of CATS shows are werecats themselves. Quite amusing when one thinks about it. Perhaps that is an attribute to its success: that Jellicles who have song and dance literally bred into them should dance and sing in this show that was meant for them. I have read it, on the most trusted of accounts, that even sometimes the sight of this production opens a Jellicle kitten's eyes to what and who they really are, helping them to find their way. Of that, I only wish I could do more.

There was a moment in my life when I was told I was about to die, and I was told to think about everything that I had missed, everything that I had never done. Those thoughts lingered with me long after. Macavity had said that had I lived after that he would be doing me the greatest of favors. I think now that he may have been right. He also told me to listen to the cat inside me instead of being so human, and soon after I had done just that. It had saved my life. Now I took full advantage of that knowledge.

It wasn't the same as a Jellicle discovering their Third Name—which I had yet to even come close—but still I think that a delicate balance is needed in all Jellicle lives between the part of us that is human and the part of us that is feline, perhaps even the part of us that is werecat. I don't mean just a physical balance, getting enough sleep and rest to maintain an active human life while at night prowling the streets on paws, but a balance in all other aspects of life: emotions, mentalities, desires and needs. After that fateful night when I began to truly listen to the cat side of myself and not be so human, I can say there was a definite change. I can't say what the change was. Perhaps I felt overall more certain of myself, not dwelling on the dreary path through my soulessness as I had done back in Maine. There seemed to be a distance now between myself and the life I knew: the rich glamour of Manhattan that most never see. For so long Hunter Blakeney had been a central figure in the politics and social economy of the time...it was a relief when he finally receded, letting the younger and more vital generation take over things from there. Munkustrap for now concentrated on the tribe, although, in his own ways, the fop never really did leave.

Life in general seemed so much better than it had in ages. The truce with the local Ticks was holding out remarkably well, the Dogs of the isle were near decimated, and the Jellicles were entering their period of dominance in Manhattan. I suppose that and my own inner discoveries led me to believe things had finally settled down. The nights I spent now prowling the interiors of my own territory in that same striped fur, exploring with these renewed feline feelings, less worried about keeping close watch of the borders and dangerous neighborhoods. It was almost remarkable, the feeling of release. Normal things, which had for so long seemed impossible, were now common and unmatched in the simple luxury and meaning. Sitting up in the garden again on the building's rooftop, rebuilt and remodeled, in the warm summer nights that followed I could be in human form thinking purely cat thoughts, or vice versa. More often the former, but it was such a pleasant thing to lie back and just think: venturing over both deep and shallow thoughts. I realized that all my life I had placed such a high value on knowledge, thought, analysis, description of every little thing to make sure I didn't miss what was really important. Others might say I was just overly critical and picky on some matters. Perhaps... There came a point when I ceased to care what others really thought of me. At least in the spare time I found I was able to take care of some things. I was able to visit Demeter and Bombalurina more often, at the least, alongside Jenny and most of the others. Listening to the gentle soprano singing of Jellylorum inside as she finished up her day's work, staring up into the dim outline of a moon that hung over the city, it was such a night when I realized there was something else I had to do...

I had a knot to untie.

Legally Adelle and I were still married. She having never stuck around long enough for any petty human system to take care of legal matters, the marriage could not be nullified. Not without her consent. Thus even after the years passed she was still Mrs. Blakeney. She was letting me know it, too.

They were little things at first, teasing tormentors that served as constant, painful reminders she was still on the island. Still thinking about me. A fresh rose left on the doorstep, her scent lingering on the windowsills of the penthouse, a rustle in the leaves of Central Park where I walked at night, or even something as simple as a thought. A thought from nowhere, more than likely projected there by those strange vampiric powers that varied from Tick to Tick. I have said before that I did not think of her often while Desere was living with me, and it was true. But now Desere was gone, and I had more time on my hands. They always said idleness was where the devil lurked...or in this case, the vampire. Summer was well under way before I decided to do something about it.

It was a new moon that night. I had picked that night especially. The energy of the Jellicle Ball had passed earlier at the end of spring, thus when there was no moon in the sky I had little to worry about emotions or any sort of madness getting in the way. Young kittens initiated into our tribe at the Ball now celebrated themselves with their new comrades and family, their joy and rapture rising up in a warm glow over the city though there was no possible way I could have actually heard them all. The thought was at least relaxing, which would serve me well. I couldn't afford distractions that night. I had to keep a clear head for what I was going to do. There was no going back for me, either. I knew it had to happen. I'd put it off for this long...

I was standing out in the rooftop garden after having my catnap for the night, almost four in the morning. The warm summer air blew in a refreshing breeze through my hair and light clothes, that wind I so loved as a youth. Of the only times I can ever think to call Manhattan beautiful, it's either in the winter or at night. The winter nights on the island, when glistening white snow, freshly fallen, covered the dark and dreary ugliness of the city there is no sight more beautiful. The golden streetlamps reflecting off of damp streets lined in piled slush shimmered on the frost-covered windows of tall skyscrapers and small apartment buildings alike, creating a special glow of mixed gold and off-white. Gold and pearl. Man-made jewelry amid a surrounding of nature's crystal blue bay. But even on a summer night like this, when the air was warm, the sweet scent of the garden in full bloom mixed with the light spices of the city below to create a hauntingly romantic serenity beneath a dark sky full of only stars. I remember that night vividly... sparse clouds drifted in ghostly gray wisps up above, and in the golden haze that covered the brightly-lit buildings from such a height I leaned against the cement and steel lining of the penthouse's rooftop, gazing over what was my home. Like the snow, the falling of night hid what ugliness could be revealed in the day: countless people in poverty or without homes, trash-filled streets, petty crimes that were a fact of every day life, even the stench of the pollution, the fires and fumes and blood, seemed to disperse. For now and until the sun rose, which would bring with it that heat that rekindled humanity and brought up through the atmosphere those vile scents and noises, the city was cleansed. It belonged to those who weren't human.

I don't know if I have mentioned it before, though how I could not have seems remarkable, but I loved this city. Not only was it my home, the home of my tribe, where I had been raised, but it was a sanctuary for us all. Within the walls of this steel and concrete city we cats were safe from the elements our ancestors faced. Safe from the masses of enemies who so often gathered in past ages but could no longer for the risk of being noticed by humans. We could live in secret among Manhattan's population as we wished to, avoiding the same wars that filled the past, the tragedy we had known to make way for another generation. Our blood had been shed to secure this city for Jellicles alone, and though the petty remnants of werewolves still annoyed us and the vampire lord kept his domain, this city belonged to us. It was one of only a few cities throughout the world that could be called so. What was it that almost defined a city as being Jellicle-dominated? While vampires preferred their age-old lives and places of history as much as there was legend, and the werewolves had their rural territories and traveling packs, Jellicle cities were predominantly cultural and artistic. We lived for the present, not the past. I'm more certain than ever that Manhattan was a place specifically chosen by Heaviside for us, and it was times like this, staring out now at the city that never slept, when I could feel the place's rhythmic heartbeat. Its life pulsed as a living energy in time with my own when I extended my hands into the air to feel its current, or touched a building solidly residing in the streets, or walked down a sidewalk simply gazing about. The city was beautiful. It was ours. It was home.

All the more reason to grow angry when vampires and werewolves, among other creatures, make themselves known. As though humans—who really do not know the extent to which they are destroying their planet—had not done a good enough job of dirtying a place of such potential, the werewolves only succeed in making the place that more filthy: leaving their bloody fights among the alleys, spreading their diseases and seeds everywhere they go, what they do not contaminate left by the vampires to fill with their putrid scent of decay or some other shapeshifter to inhabit. In no way am I saying that the Dogs and Ticks do not serve their purpose, or that all shifters like us Jellicles are vile, but they are as varied as the human race. Nevertheless, all philosophies and analysis set aside, she came that night. Just as I had called her to.

Adelle Riley: no longer a Blakeney in my own mind if she ever had been in true life. She appeared as most vampires prefer to travel, suddenly stepping from the shadows after having lingered as a part of them for Heaviside knows how long. It was not with a sudden start or even much of a reaction that I turned to look upon her, having sensed her presence a moment or two before she decided to make herself visible. Silence reigned for a long while in which we only stared, having not laid eyes upon one another with open recognition and mutual exchange for almost thirty years. Indeed, Adelle did not look a day over the twenty-some years as when we had been married, her body frozen in time as though captured in the one solitary picture I kept of her. She wore a slim, comforming dress of black, of course. Such dark and dismal attire Adelle would never have worn had she still been human. She had always loved bright colors. I had to remind myself more than once that she wasn't human any longer. She was a creature of the night, having given herself over to the vampiric embrace what seemed an endless age ago, when I was young myself. So much time had passed since then...

She stepped further into the penetrating streetlight towards me, her pale, ivory-skinned arms a cold contrast to the velvety black she wore, her hair hanging long and curled as a child's as it had been the last time I'd seen her, its beautiful blonde thickness a testament to just how much vampires kept hold of their youthful appearance. Of her physical beauty there was no doubt, for it was her simply standing there, her eyes meeting mine, that this woman—be it a powerful influence or merely my old flames—was without a doubt the most seductive thing I had ever witnessed. I could have said the same before about others...about Bombalurina or such...but it would not have meant the same thing. This was not only a seduction of the senses, as Jellicles seem very prone to, but of the mind; an entirely different thing. Love is a seduction of the heart, which holds all emotions. I was in love with Adelle once, perhaps still was with the Adelle I had known, anyway. Now my mind was open to that seduction because I wanted to feel it again, thoughts whirling back to my fantasy mate and the wish that Adelle would be her. I wanted so much to believe we could still have something, even after the events of those nights so long ago, but it could never be. Seduction of the senses? Heh, I like to believe I was getting too old for that.

"Jhenna said you wanted to see me," she said in a voice of whispers, her movement making absolutely no sound as she stepped forward, the hissing rustle of her voice supplying the necessary sounds. Under a fringe of blonde hair her eyes met mine. Her eyes... If nothing else betrayed the conversion from human to vampire it was looking into the windows of all souls and seeing nothing there. What was once alive and so vital was dead and gone, leaving only this thing that was no more human than I was and twice as dead as I felt myself to be. Dead and decaying. It hurt me deeply to look into those eyes and not see the woman I loved there, but holding a breath I kept my emotions in check. She couldn't know.

"I'm glad you came," I answered with a customary nod, as though to any other member of my social class. "I wanted to see you."

Even as I watched her silently move on past me to gaze out over the city as I had done only a moment ago, a hand reached into the deep pocket of my slacks. I did not withdraw the small black box immediately, instead watching to see what it was she would do. She had come as per my request, which was a better start than I had expected. I had no way of contacting Adelle myself, and even with the majority of vampires gone from the island a select few remained. I would not try to find her via the Lord whose truce was still in play, though there would be no doubt as to his finding out my actions once this night was over. I could deal with it then. I had my reasons. Jhenna Talon had been my only messenger. A "young" female vampire herself, it was she I had requested to give Adelle my invitation: a request that had been seemingly carried out even though our acquaintance was...less than cordial.

"Why now?" Adelle broke my thoughts. Her back turned toward me, she still leaned out against the rooftop's railing, her voice quiet but having no trouble being heard among the soft rustle of the garden and city sounds below. "After so long, Hunter, you finally wish to see me again?"

There was a note of contempt in her voice as she spoke, but I paid it no heed. Instead, I closed the distance between us, slowly and surely, making the intention known that I meant no harm though I felt her tense when I was standing behind her, almost brushing the soft material of her dress. But she remained still, her eyes facing out and down, the rest of her vampire senses watching my every move.

"Yes," I said in reply, just as quiet and soft as her own. My eyes wandered over the profile of her face that I could see, her golden hair, the curves that formed the rest of her features, fine-toned and bred through years upon years of aristocratic living. Such beauty and power combined with lingering emotions which should have well stayed out of it, Adelle could have easily overpowered my own will with hers and had my at her entire mercy. But she did not. Everything happens for a reason. "I wanted to apologize."

"Apologize?" she laughed in scorn. "For what?"

Rather than seeming awkward to me that we should finally be speaking again after so many years, I took advantage of what was happening now. My aim was to distract her from knowing my thoughts for as long as possible while still carrying out my task. What that might entail, I could easily guess. For now, I simply reached my free hand up to lay against the flat of her back. She tensed immediately at the touch, but did not reel. My fingers traced the silky-smooth fabric of her dress, the way it was cut in the back allowing my palm to brush over her smooth, ivory-white skin. Warm and soft. She had fed already. A small comfort. "For everything," I said as she turned to look at me, finally, the glare in her eyes an animalistic accusation for daring to lay a hand upon her. It made me want to weep, seeing such things from her. The woman I'd known would have done no such thing... Still, I remained resolutely, and withdrew the narrow black box from my pocket to place into her lithe, glass-like hands. "I've missed you."

When her glare at me only remained, I opened the velvet-lined black box for her, removing the long, shiny metallic-colored belt of light chain and designs that was held within. Immediately her eyes were drawn to it, a gasp escaping her lips as she reached out to touch it, but I pulled the decorated belt back before she could. Slowly, with deliberate delicacy, I slipped my hands around the supple curves of her hips and gently attached the belt, where it hung with a loose conformity, its sheen brightly reflecting each and every light that played off its surface in dazzling brilliance. She sighed my name before lifting her eyes back up to me, lightly tracing her fingers over the dress material just above the belt.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, only confirming that vampires were never beyond their material wealth. "So bright..."

"Moonstone," I told her, taking her hands with utmost care and gentleness. Hands which had once pinned me against a wall with the strength of two werewolves. "It catches the moonlight itself, even when there is none." There was no stopping it now. What had led Adelle to such a course of action with such a lack of reluctance I could only guess, but I did not question it. Everything happened for a reason. Perhaps it was my willingness, knowing what it would eventually lead to.

We fell into an embrace. Adelle and Hunter. As though no such things as vampires or Jellicles existed, it was rapture to think for just a brief moment that we were still married and in love, caring nothing about the world beyond the two of us. It was a very brief moment. The scent of her hair, the sound of her breathing, the feel of her in my arms was like filling up the void left inside me. Unable to stop myself I held her close, wishing things were as they once had been, knowing fully well the danger of what I was doing and what I was risking. But it had to be done.

"Oh Hunter," she whispered after a long moment, pulling back only enough to gaze half-lidded up into my face. Our lips hovered perilously close, the scent of her so achingly familiar it only succeeding in increasing that desperate want. She said exactly what we had both been thinking all this time. "Come back with me, Hunter. I still love you...I want you with me..." Lies. All of it. I had to tell myself that to keep from believing it, for Heaviside knows I wanted to. I couldn't allow myself to be distracted by feelings. What Adelie proposed in those few words, all that they contained, was a temptation beyond belief. She so seductive, her words exactly what I wanted to hear, that alone was enough to make me falter. But Adelle went a step further. She read my thoughts. Perhaps not then, but at some point in time...there was no other way she could have known. She read my mind. "I can give it to you, Hunter," her hiss sent tingles down my side, her measured breath falling against my throat. "I know how. Eternal youth. You won't have to be afraid..."

I will not deny it any longer. There are few things in this world that frighten me more than the concept of growing old. I knew I was, as well. Standing there as I was with the thing who had once been my wife, I was well over fifty by human standards. Admittedly, Jellicles age only slightly slower than humans, but even then I could feel the years wearing upon my body, see it in a mirror, knew it in my mind. Upon thinking of a reason to justify such fear I can only suggest that for so long I had been strong and independent in order to protect the other Jellicles, only to find now that the ideas of feebleness, dependency, weakness were terrifying. It would mean I would have to renounce this leadership more sooner than later. I would become Gus: rarely going out except in a thin, ragged coat of fur and even then hardly able to dance at all. Yet now I gazed upon Adelle who looked not a day over twenty in body, in mind her knowledge spanning the vast years that had passed and were yet to come. She was offering me this chance at regaining my youth, no doubt by embracing me into what she was, and to live forever in darkness without at least the fear of growing old. Shall I be struck down for it, the temptation to consider it was unbearable. I might have very well said yes. I did only what I could to resist.

The kiss that followed was deep and burning, drawn from a combination of a vampire's never-ending demand and my own yearning to be with her. I could have reeled and vomited, imagining myself doing any such thing with this corpse, the taste of her as rancid and vile as the scent of decay that lingered about her form. Such grim facts of reality forced me back to myself, but even so I could not pull away. Whether she knew it or not—if I knew it or not—her power had its sway over me. I wanted her like nothing else. I felt the fangs within her mouth, pricking and touching as her lips moved down, over my cheek and to the vulnerable softness of an exposed throat, and it was then that I knew I had to act. I could hear her hissing in evil delight, her pleasure at just taking me there for the act alone and not because she needed the nourishment unhidden. For a moment I would have gladly submitted, allowed myself to die this way and bring an end to it all: the sufferings carried over from Maine, the years of pain and toil and worry, my fear of death and old age. Still, I didn't. Instead I felt my way down, unable to see through this haze of desire, until both my hands found the cold metal of her decorated belt. Clasping it on either side, I twisted the light chain around each fist until the metal was pressed tightly to her. Tightly enough to gain her attention.

She drew back with a sharp intake of air, glaring first at the belt and then at me with a blazing light in her dead eyes. "What are you...?!" she managed to snarl before reaching down to try and remove the constraining belt herself. Her hand had not but brushed it when she reeled back with a scream, the flesh of her palms scalded upon mere contact with the metallic surface. The belt wasn't moonstone. It was silver. Only silver could hold a vampire.

"Hunter!" she shrieked, struggling to get away. "Let go!" But I didn't let go. I held fast, with all the strength I could muster, as I saw in the direction I was facing, over her shoulder, the brightening sky of an oncoming dawn. Sensing this as well with a rising panic, Adelle screamed and struggled to break free, her nails pummeling at me like claws and her body writhing as a snake would in agony. But unable to touch the silver, unable to vanish from its bond, she could do nothing. All I had to do was hold on as the sun rose, nearer, nearer, until the bright golden light began to peek over the tops of the city buildings.

"NOOOOOO!!!" Adelle screamed, a sound not unlike Demeter's cry of absolute horror upon seeing Macavity. The dying scream of a vampire. A wail of absolute despair and defeat. I would not allow myself to look upon her face, and released what was no longer my wife a mere moment before the sunlight poured over us and she burst into flames. The distraction had worked. Everything happens for a reason. Her piercing screech rang out over the stirring city, echoing off the tall buildings before it faded into the distance: a sound that died as quickly as she did. The flames consumed and scorched, making short work of Adelle's relatively petite form as she collapsed to the floor, writhing and jerking until she moved no more. A matter of moments later, and she was gone. All that remained was a pile of ashes.

It was remarkable, the lack of feeling with which I stood back and stared, watching her die. I would have expected myself to be overwhelmed with a similar sorrow as when she had first been dead to me, to fall to my knees and cry out to Heaviside to join her in death, where there was no pain, no suffering. But there was no sorrow to be held for me now. Perhaps it was the thought of killing just another vampire, that Adelle had indeed been put out of her misery, that comforted whatever grief may be had. Nor was I ungrateful for it, this lightheartedness, after the lingering sufferings of Maine. I felt as though I had gained something back from that Heaviside-forsaken night when so much was lost. With traces of a smile pulling at my features I knelt down beside the ashes and reached one hand out, cupping a palmful of gray dust which crumbled at the mere touch of my hand. I stood up, arm still extended, and opened them to the breeze. The ashes blew away from me, carried by the wind across the city I loved to find their final resting place wherever nature saw fit. With them went the entire world: a world of dissipating ashes. Someday I would be ashes as well. But that thought did not trouble me. I faced the new dawn as it rose over Manhattan, its warmth and light touching first the tops of the tall buildings as where I stood, not yet illuminating the common streets and alleys to reveal their ugliness and filth. I couldn't help it, and laughed, turning my eyes up to the sky in complete and utter thanks.

"Goodbye, Adelle."

I guess there never had been room for the women in my life. The women in my life...now there was a thing to be laughed at. Who would they be, exactly? Adelle? She was gone, and had only ever even been there very briefly. Demeter? I could not and would never lay a hand on her in that manner. Bombalurina? Perhaps...there was no doubt I'd been attracted to her since the first day we'd met, and indeed I had my fantasies, but I think the same can be said for almost every tom within the tribe. Bombalurina was just that kind of queen. Bastet? No, for although she remained dutiful to us as we were to her, myself as an individual was lost in her sight. We understood each other, at least. That could be enough. My mother I had only just begun to know and understand. Jenny herself was a friend, nothing more. And of Cassandra...we had no more encounters. I have found it to be true that it's lonely at the top, though I will not complain. I understand that I must be alone for several reasons, but never will I cease to hope. My hope lives on because I can see the others around me growing and living their lives, happier now, those who had just recently come into our tribe unknowing of all that has happened in the past. My hope is that they will learn to live, laugh, and love...that all my efforts and the others' sufferings would not be in vain. The good of the many does outweigh the good of the one, and I've done my piece. Perhaps more. I understand that now. Perhaps now I can rest...find my place and come to peace with everything that has happened. Perhaps. I'll never stop hoping.

There are so many things in this world that I thought I would learn to understand as I matured in my feline self, explored this cat side of me as Macavity had suggested. As of now I have yet to meet my expectations. One night mid-winter, a night not particularly special for any reason, I lay curled close to a dying fire, thinking these things. Such were my desires to know and find out that I was driven to my feet, shifting up to human form to stand in the darkness of the study, gazing round at the room bathed in moonlight. The bookshelves lining the walls columned the room, full of volumes and countless information; the laptop I had bought to replace my journal sat in silent wait upon the desk, one small green light indicating its power source. I wanted to understand these things and more, just to know. To know... Heaviside, I can't justify myself. I didn't know what it was I wanted, but I wanted something.

Perhaps there was only one way to understand it...

I sat down at my father's old desk, still polished with a sheen that made it look brand new, opened the laptop, and started writing.

I was only seventeen when I found out I was a werecat...

THE END