The tom leaned forward on his shaky tower, reaching toward the steaming pie on the windowsill behind the bakery. His mouth watered hungrily as his paw inched closer slowly, his eyes and ears flicking constantly to keep watch for any humans. He licked his lips as he thought of the savory morsels within the flaky crust. But just as he was about to nab the object of his desire, a flash of fur sped through his left eye’s peripheral vision, ending with a large crash at the base of his perch.
He wobbled unsteadily, finally loosing his balance and crashing onto the hard ground below. Unable to land on his feet successfully, the tom felt his shoulder smash onto the pavement and used the momentum to roll himself through. Staggering to his feet, he shook his head, trying to regain his bearings. Once the world stopped spinning, he turned around, toward the fur ball he had only briefly seen.
The small queen’s coat was calico in color and had markings much like his own, but with far fewer black. He limped toward her, his shoulder screaming in pain. Just beyond her dazed form, the tom smelt a still-warm piece of battered fish from a nearby fish-n-chips shop. He stepped forward gingerly as the queen lifted her head and blinked a few times.
“‘Ey now,” he whispered. But before he could continue, the queen’s brown eyes widened in fear to an object behind him. Whirling on instinct, the tom saw a large Pollicle enter the alleyway. He stepped between her and the beast as he sensed the queen rising to her feet behind him. Placing a protective arm out and effectively ushering her behind him, the tom laid back his ears and waited for the dog to come nearer.
“Back off, Bows’a,” he hissed, his voice laden with a rich Cockney accent.
The Pollicle snarled. “Leave this alone, Jerrie. This wench stole from my pet.”
“One li’l mo’sel won’ make a bit ‘a diff’rence ta yo’r own’as.”
“She STOLE!” the dog barked, almost snapping off “Jerrie’s” head in the process. To the queen’s utter amazement, the tom didn’t flinch.
“Iffin' you woz paid, w'u'dja leave 'er alone…?”
The dog took a step back as if the concept of being paid had never occurred to him. He chuckled suddenly. “And what, might I ask, do you have to offer me, cat?” he sneered, spitting the title of “cat” hatefully upon the two felines before him. The queen watched as Jerrie calmly took the collar off his own neck and tossed it toward the brute. The canine stared at it, then returned his attention to the tom. “What do you expect me to do with this?”
Jerrie shrugged despite the situation. “Give it ta Macavi’dy… oi’m shor ‘e’ll pay ya fo’ it… ‘E’s been lookin’ fo’ one lately…”
The Pol stared at it, deciding whether the small gift was payment enough. With a sudden snarl, it grabbed the spiked collar and took off down the alley.
Jerrie heaved a sigh of relief and turned to the female behind him. “‘Ere now. Ar’ you a’roight…?”
The queen nodded, not focusing on him, but staring in the direction the Pollicle had disappeared. “Ya didn’ ‘affta give ‘im yo’r colla’…”
Jerrie grinned at the heavy accent in her voice. Finally, there was someone else who talked like him. Covering his surprise and delight, he shrugged. “No problem a’tall. Oi go’ plen’y of ‘em.” Studying her more carefully, he decided to use a different approach. “Now, wot’s a pre’y gal loike you doin’ in these pa’ts…”
The queen suddenly snapped in remembrance. “Cor…” she trailed, racing to grab the piece of fish between her paws. Dusting it off, she turned to the tom. “Oi’m ‘un’in’ fo’ food, oi am. Wot’s it t’you?”
Jerrie chuckled. “You ‘ave a name t’go wif’ ‘at a’ditude…?”
The queen paused as she considered the fact that this tom had just put life and limb on the line to help her, a cat he didn’t even know. She sighed. “Rumpleteaz’a. Wot’s yor’s?”
“Jerrie.”
Her forehead immediately furrowed. “Jus’ Jerrie?” She couldn’t believe that his true name was so short and insignificant.
“No. Bu’ ‘at’s wot oi loike t’be colled.”
She pouted, thinking about it, then decided to let the matter drop. She grinned. “Well, Jerrie, thanks fo’ yo’r ‘elp, bu’ oi’ve gotta go b’ck t’th’ Junkya’d…” she said, purposefully implying that she was a Jellicle. Perhaps he would understand what she meant and tell her that he was too. She grimaced inwardly when she thought of what Munkustrap would say if she was found talking to a stray. “Th’ kits ar’ wai’in fo’ this ‘ere grub…”
He grinned, ignoring her Jellicle implication. “If ya don’ moind, oi’ll wa’k ya ‘ome. Nev’a know when those Pollicles’ll both’a ya.”
Rumpleteazer smiled at the thought. She, Rumpleteazer, walking into the Junkyard with an extremely handsome tom who had just saved her life? Now, that would give Victoria something to chew on. She nodded and tried to come up with an excuse so she didn’t sound too eager. “A’cou’se. Besoides, oi’ve made ya miss yo’r dinn’a, ‘aven’ oi?”
Jerrie turned back to the delicious pie that he had forgotten about in all the commotion. Finding it had been removed from the window ledge, he grinned. “So ya ‘ave.”
Teazer felt a strange new warmth travel down her back and tail as she turned in the direction of her home, this new tom at her side.
As they began the journey to the Jellicle Junkyard, the two felines chatted easily. Rumpleteazer was surprised by how much she was willing to share with the tom that called himself just “Jerrie.” Walking and talking with him, Teazer slowly became aware of the fact that she was definitely attracted to Jerrie. His blue eyes held a warmth that she was drawn to and betrayed a playful exuberant side that perfectly mirrored her own.
“So…?” he began during one of their rare lapses in conversation. “‘Ow’d you ge’ star’ded in thiev’ry?”
She grinned. “Munkustrap needed someone ta ge’ food fo’ th’ kits.” Teazer shrugged. “Oi jus’ wen’ from the’e.”
“Ev’a been caught?”
The queen chuckled. “Bloimey! ‘Ave oi ev’a!”
Jerrie grinned in return. “Wot ‘appen’d?”
“Oi giggle,” she mumbled, so low that the tom strained to hear her.
“Wot?”
She sighed, but smiled. “Oi giggle. Oi dunno… oi guess the’e’s sum’in’ ‘bout it… th’ ‘drenalin… wond’rin’ wot Munku’ll say… th’ thrill ‘a it…” Teazer shivered feeling the excitement course through her. Unable to control it, she giggled one of her famous giggles. Slapping a paw over her mouth, she tried to apologize.
Jerrie immediately quieted her, shushing her for the first of many times. Unfortunately, the stern look evaporated from his face when she smiled at him from behind her paw. He chuckled quietly and resumed their walk.
“A li’l loud, bu’ oi koin’a loike it…” he whispered, leaning in closer to her so that his shoulder brushed against hers ever so slightly.
Rumpleteazer felt her claw extend and retract slightly at the small contact with the tom’s fur. So ‘at’s wot Bomba colls a toe-curl’a…
The tom smiled quietly to himself, knowing exactly the affect he was having on the queen at his side. He had figured out she had a crush on him, but he wasn’t sure if it was because of his timely rescue or simply because of him. Truth be told, the feeling was mutual. He had never believed some of the other toms when they spoke of “love at first sight,” but he was slowly beginning to think it just might have some credence. Either way, he was grateful for the fact that she was acting mature about it. He groaned inwardly when he thought of the Rum Tum Tugger’s band of groupies.
They continued in silence, past the grimy road of Tottenham Court, the neon sign of No Man’s Land, and the lonely doors of the Rising Sun and the Friend at Hand. Rumpleteazer shivered as they passed them. Cocking her ear to the right, she snapped to attention. “Wot woz ‘at?”
Jerrie shook his head and stepped in front of her. Another cat was coming towards them. The tom sniffed the air, catching the scent of another queen approaching, age and filth radiating from her being. The elderly queen was tattered, her coat torn in patches along her body. And yet, Teazer swore that she saw a certain degree of a once youthful beauty in her face and eyes.
The new feline reached her paw toward the pair, pleading with her eyes. Rumpleteazer reached toward her from behind Jerrie’s shoulder. Just as their paws were about to touch, the worn female spoke.
“Do you know me?” she asked, begging silently. “Do you recognize me?”
Teazer withdrew her paw and rested it on Jerrie’s shoulder. “No…” she whispered. “Sh’uld oi?”
The older cat kept her paw out hopefully, searching for recognition in Teazer’s youthful face. After a few tense moments, her paw dropped defeated, pain and sadness twisting the corners of her eyes. She turned and left them, going the way she had come.
Jerrie turned to the remaining queen. “You a’roight?” he asked gently, laying a paw along Teazer’s neck.
She nodded and stared over his shoulder at the queen as she disappeared into the night. “It’s so sad…” she mumbled to herself. “The’e’s stories ‘bout a queen ‘oo lives ‘round ‘ere… Demet’a olways sings th’ song t’me…”
Jerrie smiled in the remembrance of an old friend. “’At soun’s loike Demi.”
Rumpleteazer stopped short. “You know Demet’a?”
“A'cou'se oi do.”
“Doz ‘at mean yo’r a Jellicle?”
The tom considered silently for a moment. “Yes, an’ no.” At the confused look on the queen’s face, he smiled. “It’s ‘ard ta explayne… trus’ me.”
Rumpleteazer nodded, not wanting to push him any farther into an explanation he wasn’t ready to give. She sighed, grinning slightly. “Well ‘ere we are… Ya ready?”
Jerrie grinned unsurely as he passed through the gates of the Jellicle Junkyard for the first time in six months.