That's what I am. That's what everyone thinks I am. Why can't I be different?
Why can't I sing like Jemima, or be serious like Cassandra; dance like Victoria, have fun like Etcetera? Why do I have to play the airhead? Why must everyone treat me as though I have fluff for brains?
I tried to enter a serious conversation today. They laughed at me.
Laughed at poor little Rumpleteazer, trying to use her brain for something other than stealing. All of them, those that I thought were my friends.
Mungojerrie. He laughed as well. Laughed at me and told me not to get into things I knew nothing about.
Why must I always be associated with him? Everyone always thinks, "Oh, poor Tantomile and Coricopat, always having to be grouped in with the other."
What about Rumpleteazer?
It's always me and Mungojerrie, the two of us. Those notorious cats, those burglars. I just want to be me. I don't want to be the other half of the whole.
I want to sing, I want to dance, I want to cry without having to hide first. I want to show my emotions on my face, plain as day, and not hide behind my silly, stupid façade. I want to find a love that doesn't have my colours, I want to be separate from my brother. I want to be myself, not who everyone wants me to be.
I want to be free.
I thought once about running away, but I have nowhere to go. My whole world is here, revolving around this pathetic place of human trash.
And what would they say? Silly Rumpleteazer, always running off, getting herself into things she can't get herself out of... Would they come to look for me?
Would they find me?
They think of me as bouncy and giggly, unable to keep quiet to sneak.
It has become my trademark, my prison... My freedom?
To sneak away, without a sound, they'd never know I was gone. Never have a way to find me, for they don't know that I can sneak as quietly as any feline, quieter even.
To start again, somewhere else, a place where all they know about me is my name once I tell them... To be able to be the feline I wish, without the reputation I have here.
Would it be better?
Would it be worse?
How can I tell from here, pondering over this idea, instead of going out and seeing for myself?
Is this what Grizabella felt? The need to get away, the need to see the world, the draw of the excitement of adventure? Once I left, could I come
back? Would I want to?
The world can be cold and cruel, Macavity and Grizabella are proof of that. But it holds the wealth of kings...
Now that I have tasted this forbidden fruit, I cannot go back. I cannot stay here, among those who ridicule me.
I find myself at the edge of the Junkyard, looking out at the London night. One step forward, or one step backward? To the unknown, or the known?
To the future, or live in the past?
Anyone can go to the past, it is easy and safe. You stay with what you know, and don't take a step outside the boundaries of your mind. Ahead, the future, that one step... much more difficult, but to actually live...
My paws propel me onward, with or without my consent. I now find myself a block away from the Junkyard, but I stop and turn back. Safety is there, friends and family. Ahead is the unknown. But my path has been taken, and having stepped forward, I cannot go back.
I turn back around and go into the unknown, tasting the sweet air of freedom.
