Trudging wearily along the dusky streets, Skimbleshanks reflected that this had not been a good day. He always felt guilty about taking days off - particularly as, lately, he'd begun to doubt his aptitude at being the Railway Cat. The smell of Diesel stung his sinuses, and the whirr of electric doors made his whiskers stand on end ever since he'd got his tail caught last December. He was still getting occasional nightmares about the huge metal monster dragging him along the platform with mechanical indifference. Perhaps that was it: train traffic was losing its personal touch. Would there be a future for a Railway Cat?
A familiar smell dragged him back to reality. His paws had taken him past the house Jennyanydots had lived in for as long as he could remember. He looked up to scan the windows, then went over to the hatch that would open into the basement. A thoughtful look briefly crossed his face. "Why not?" he grumbled, and thumped the wood five times at regular intervals.
After about half a minute of muffled squeaks and general sounds of scurrying, the hatch opened to reveal Jenny's round facing folding into a wide grin as she recognised her guest: "Skimble, dear! Come in!"
Following her down the pile of cardboard and wood onto the floor, Skimble spotted several tiny snouts peering in from cracks in the concrete walls and floor with a mix of interest and anxiety. "Ah yes," Jenny addressed them, "I'm afraid tonight's class is cancelled, my dears. Take care!" One by one, the snouts disappeared, and soon the two cats were alone.
"Off duty, are you, Skimble?" Jenny inquired as she pulled a brown paper bag from under the cardboard. "I must admit I hardly recognised you without your vest. Sponge cake, dear?" She tore open the bag and looked up inquisitively when she got no answer. "Is something wrong?" Realisation flitted across her face like mice across concrete. "Time of the year, dear?"
Skimbleshanks felt only mildly embarrassed. Talking to Jenny about this particular aspect of felinity felt safe enough. It kept her involved (involvement being the story of her life), despite the operation. Furthermore, she was right. It was late February, and an early bout of spring weather was making many a Jellicle experience jitters they hadn't expected for at least another fortnight. Jenny knew Skimble well enough to know how much he hated irregularities. He was and would always be the one who maintained order, not a troubleshooter like herself. It must have been gruesome for him to have to accept an utter loss of self-control twice a year.
"Well... I know a Real Tom is no suppoased tae be saying this, but these days et hardly seems worth the fuss anymore." Skimble sighed. He thanked the humans at the railway station for respecting his physical integrity. But he also remembered long agonising nights spent in frustration under lock and key because they wouldn't let him go unsupervised, afraid to lose him somewhere along the route. And they had, occasionally. But he'd always come back, sooner or later, and their lack of trust stung him.
The Gumbie cat looked sideways at the long brown tail drooping depressedly onto the concrete. She was a good listener, no matter how little was actually said. "Go on."
"I just... Sometimes et seems nothing is really worth the fuss anymore." His brow crinkled into a furry ridge as he tried to stem the flow of emotions, words bobbing to the surface like shipwreck debris. "I feel like I no longer belong at the Station." He swallowed. "But ef I'd leave, what would I be left with? Who am I ef noat the Railway Cat?"
Jennyanydots felt she should speak up and contradict this, but she realised that she herself was not convinced that Skimble could be anything other than what he did. It had struck her to what extent his identity seemed to be determined by his vest - worn almost constantly despite comments from fellow Jellicles about the inappropriateness of something as human as clothing to any Real feline. He'd always claimed he had a function in human society, and that in human society, image was everything. It now struck her how forlorn he looked without it.
After another minute or two of awkward silence, Skimble apologised for having disturbed her class and started to climb the cardboard mound that led up to the hatch. "I'll manage," he mumbled as she started after him. Sitting down heavily on a piece of hardboard, watching the hatch slide shut, she heard the mice return one by one to nibble the half-eaten sponge cake.
"Could somebody please tell me who we are waiting for?" Alonzo moaned.
"I think we're missing Skimble," Demeter yawned.
"Well that shouldn't be too much of a problem," Tumblebrutus said from under a piece of brown packaging paper. "I'll stand in for him." He put his front paws through two of the holes in the paper. "I can be pedantic." He put his head through a third. "I've even got the vest!"
"Ach, Brutus - that's noat a very nice thang tae dae!" Alonzo nearly choked as he tried to mimic Skimbleshanks' northern accent.
"I wouldn't blame him if he decided not to come after what you did to him last year," Demeter said accusingly.
"Hey, how was I to know I'd given him that much? It's not as if you can overdose on catnip."
"I think you messed up for good with Bombularina, though," Demeter added. "She said she hadn't felt so embarrassed in years."
Tumblebrutus was roaring with laughter. "He just kept telling her how brightly she sparkled..."
Alonzo gave a shrug. "Not as if Rina's gonna try for anyone but Tugger. Oh, sorry, Cetra..."
Etcetera bit her lip. She didn't care what anyone said. Tugger was hers. She got up haughtily and sauntered off. Of course, like everybody else she'd seen Bombalurina and Tugger disappear among the rubbish earlier that evening. But the night was young, she told herself, and so was she - hah!
Someone nudged her left flank. She turned to find Demeter smiling at her. "Wanna take a stroll? Anything to get away from those kittens."
Etcetera nodded. "They're hopeless."
As the carriages rumbled past, their draught ruffling his fur, he thought he saw a grey shape being flung past him. His nose told him in a quick evaluation that the shape must've been alive, and feline at that. He turned around in shock.
"H-helloa?" he ventured.
The grey shape in question detached itself from the dark of the verge and sat beside him, breathing heavily.
Skimbleshanks mustered her. He vaguely recognised her as a non-Jellicle house cat named Carmelea. He'd never really approached her, assuming her to be like most of the other young females he knew - those who made up the Rum Tum Tugger's fan club, and who spent most of their free time giggling. Looking at her this closely, though, he got the impression she was different. She was looking back at him with a kind of general interest he hadn't encountered with any other queen before. She wasn't as young as he'd thought her, either.
"Did I startle you? Sorry, stupid question." She smiled at him. "I do apologise. It's just that if I'd waited any longer, it would've been too dangerous to get off." She looked at him expectantly. "Well, Mr Railway Cat, aren't you supposed to be reprimanding me for displaying such irresponsible conduct?"
Skimbleshanks' baffled features shifted back into the stern expression that had clouded his face all day. Carmelea tilted her head in concern. "Did I say something wrong?"
Skimble wanted to tell her how much more of a Railway Cat she'd already shown herself to be in the past minute than he had ever been, or could ever hope to become. He felt like telling her about all those fears and doubt that had come along to haunt him over the past two months. And he did. As they sat there by the railroad, clad in a hush of darkness and mist, Skimbleshanks poured out everything that had been building up inside of him, the smells, the sights, the sounds, all of it, onto this young queen he hardly knew.
When he fell silent, she didn't laugh. She didn't shrug, and she didn't walk off. Instead, she took a deep breath and said thoughtfully, "I think I know what you mean." She gave him a sincere look, then continued, "I think it's like being more than halfway through with something." She settled into a more comfortable position on the grass before expanding on this. "Like, you know it's too late to go back and start over, but you can't carry on either. Right?" Skimble, lying next to her, nodded in intrigue. She turned her head to face him. "I think you can break the deadlock, though." She rolled over and stared at the sky. "If you don't know who you are, you can perhaps ask yourself who you should be. And in your case I can't think of anything but the Railway Cat."
Skimble frowned. "But then what have I goat tae dae? Got to do," he added self-consciously as Carmelea smiled at his brogue.
"Well, first of all, leave the accent for what it is. It's part of you. Besides, there's nothing wrong with sounding like you're purring with every "r" you utter." Skimble's eyes screwed shut in a shy feline smile.
"Then you try to convince yourself that you can be who you should be. Conquer your fears if you feel it'll be worth it."
Skimble was about to ask her how when Carmelea pricked up her ears and scrambled to her feet, staring into the night. Somewhere in the distance, bright yellow headlights pierced the fog. "The 11.59 tae Dumfries," Skimbleshanks announced with professional certainty. "Hey, where are ye oaf to?" He bounded after the slender grey silhouette as it darted towards the headlights.
"What in the name ae Heaviside are ye daeing?" he panted as he caught up with her.
"We need to catch up with it before it gathers too much speed" she yelled back at him, "Or else we'll never make it!"
"Make what?" His eyes grew wide with disbelief. "You're joaking! Ye kin no be suggesting that..."
"The best way would be to run along, then haul yourself onto a foot-board. I'll let you go first," she stated, ignoring his protests and slowing her pace.
"Why, thank you," Skimbleshanks muttered weakly. The train was now clearly visible, and closing fast. "OK, come on," Carmelea shouted as she started to run along.
Skimble swallowed. The rumble of the railway monster filled his ears, his fur, his mind. He dashed alongside it, Carmelea closely following. "Now!" she shrieked.
Hissing, claws extended as he made for the floor-board, he leapt...
"This isn't like Skimble."
Jenny nodded. "Can I speak to you in private, Munkus?"
When they'd settled behind a stack of trash cans at the far end of the junkyard, Jenny told Munkustrap about that evening's visit. "He seemed so... depressed. I just hope he hasn't done anything silly..."
Munkustrap shook his head. "Not Skimble. He's far too sensible to even think about something like that."
Jenny sighed. "Well, this isn't exactly the most stable time of the year, Munkus." She shot him another worried glance. "He..."
She was interrupted by a commotion from the more central part of the junkyard. Chattering voices were drowned out by a persistent sobbing and a hissing voice telling everyone to "Leave the poor kitty alone! Where's Munkustrap?"
Stepping out from behind the trash cans, he only had a few seconds to take in the scene before the entire Jellicle community was onto him.
Demeter, standing at the centre of the crowd, was folding her paws protectively around a shivering, sobbing Etcetera. The crowd dispersed partially, but some lingered, even under Munkustrap's infamous glare. He turned to Demeter, who was still attempting to calm the horrified kitten. "Munkus, we have to talk. It might be about Skimble..."
Etcetera broke out in hysteric wailing. "Not him! Not him! No vest! Not him!" She clung on to Demeter's fur.
Jellylorum gently loosened her grip and took the shocked little creature aside. Demeter walked up to Munkustrap. "I'm sorry, I had no idea. I saw something lie there, but I hadn't expected..." She fell silent, then gestured towards Etcetera. "She found it - him, I mean. Whoever it was."
"What did you find?" Munkustrap dreaded the answer.
"I think you'd better come along."
"Cetra was right about the vest," Demeter mumbled as Munkustrap pulled a sheet of plastic over the corpse and pinned it down with a brick. His eyes sought Jenny's. The Gumbie cat shook her head. "He wasn't wearing..." Her voice trailed off.
"Whoever it was, we should give him a decent burial. We can't just leave him to the crows." The matter-of-factness with which these words were said succeeded only partially in hiding his doubt and the strain of holding on to the whisper that hung unspoken over their heads: This isn't Skimble.
A suitable site was found at the roots of a nearby shrub. As Alonzo, Demeter and the Rum Tum Tugger, whom nobody had been able to persuade to stay at the junkyard, started digging, Jennyanydots settled down next to Munkustrap, who was staring at the plastic shroud as it billowed in the breeze. She broke the silence and expressed what she knew they were both thinking. "What would you say? An accident?"
An accident? It would seem unlikely for a cat whose life consisted of trains. Murder? There was Macavity to be reckoned with, but what direct motive could he have?
Munkustrap's frown grew deeper. If it was indeed murder, there would have to be an investigation of the site's surroundings; it shouldn't be too late to scan for smells. Who would have the right nose to...
Skimble, of course. He sighed and turned to Jenny. Like him, she appeared to be trying to edge around the only other possibility worth considering. He hated to admit that, given the circumstances, it was the most plausible one, in addition to seeming wryly appropriate. He put a paw around Jenny. "It's just not like him."
Behind them, someone cleared her throat. "I think we've just about finished. Will you come and check?" Munkustrap nodded gravely and followed Demeter to the shrub.
"Shall we put him in yet?" asked an uncharacteristically timid Alonzo.
"I think we should keep him from anyone who doesn't have to see him. You all saw what it did to Etcetera." Munkustrap thought the matter over for a while, then continued, "Neither should we close the grave before we've rounded up the others. They should be part of this - although, of course, we can't be sure the victim is the fellow Jellicle we've assumed him to be." He looked at the corpse and the plastic sheet hiding it from view. "Demeter, I think you and Tugger should go and fetch the Jellicles at the junkyard. They'll listen to you. Alonzo and I will take care of the victim." He turned around. "Jenny?"
The Gumbie cat tried to smile. "I'll stay with you. It's the least I can do."
As Munkustrap and Alonzo walked over to the form that lay motionless under its plastic shroud, Jennyanydots watched the other two feline figures disappear into the night.
"Trainhopping." Carmelea settled down next to him, on a foot-board of a carriage which, Skimble had indicated, would take them back. "Fun, huh?"
Skimble smiled. He remembered the feeling of control that had come over him as he had steadied his grip on the metal. He'd stood his ground. A mechanical monster, and he had realised he could tame it.
Control. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, he had felt like a Railway Cat. What he should be. He looked sideways at Carmelea. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it." A quiet purr escaped the grey queen's throat. "Where shall we hop off? Your station?"
"Well we be noaticed?" Visions of doors locking and kitty baskets closing sprung to his mind.
"You could hop off when it starts to slow down. That should leave you about half a mile. I think you'll manage." She looked at him expectantly.
Skimble took his cue as the train's engines sprung to life. "I'm sure I'll manage."
"Munk?"
Under normal conditions, he would not have allowed any of the younger cats to address him in any way other than by his full name, especially not Alonzo. Under any conditions other than these. "What?"
The young, black-and-white tom seemed to have recovered some of his defiance as he positioned himself firmly in front of Munkustrap. He cocked his head. "What are you planning to say? What are you going to say to all those Jellicles when they get here?" He gestured towards the grave. "Who will it be, in there?"
Munkustrap looked at the white tail flitting agitatedly to and fro and tried to discern whether this was in anger or in anxiety. Alonzo and Skimble had been like fire and ice ever since the former had been weaned, more of a rebel than even Tugger had ever shown himself to be.
Alonzo turned away, shaking his head. "I can just picture him there, in that stupid vest of his, grumbling at the world in general..." He pivoted around. "What is he trying to teach me now? What am I supposed to be learning here? That I should be more considerate of my fellow feline? That I should just let people be?"
His voice became a whisper. "Well, I admit that this time, he seems to have made himself perfectly clear."
Carmelea looked at him through eyes watering in the wind. "Oh, I'm sure you will." Skimbleshanks wanted to reply, but she silenced him with a quick flick of her tail. "I'll know where to find you. Won't I?" Skimble could only nod as the rumble of the rail became deafening.
Watching the night glide past beneath his paws, whiskers and ears pressed flat against his head, once more he felt in charge of matters. It was all perfectly clear to him now: technology had been challenging him, he'd taken it up, and he'd made it. All thanks to Carrie. He cast her a glance of approval. Such a wonderful specimen of feline womanhood, he caught himself thinking. We should definitely keep in touch.
They were beginning to slow down, and in the distance, the lights of the city grew many and bright. "Ready?" He gave her a nod and got to his feet. Looking ahead, he estimated the stretch of site-hut strewn sand at about a quarter of a mile. A sudden whiff of a scent as familiar as his own fur made him hesitate. Jellicles?
"Go!" Carmelea prodded his flank. Pulling himself together, he took off, then rolled into a ball as he hit the ground and came to a halt against a heap of sand. Dusting himself off and trying to orientate himself, he remembered the scent. What would a Jellicle be doing here? He'd have to go and investigate...
Munkustrap looked around the circle of feline faces. They were all there, the ones he'd grown up with, and the ones he'd seen grow up. He knew that at least some of them were doing the same, scanning the circle. And he knew that they knew who was missing.
"My fellow Jellicles," he said, the usual words to start a speech of general interest, "By now you must have heard of the unfortunate incident that has brought you together here. I realise how difficult this must be for all of you, and I appreciate that you have all decided to join us."
He looked around once more before continuing. "We have gathered here to pay our last respects to a fellow feline…" Again he stopped. Two words echoed in his mind: …fellow Jellicle… "…A cat who was in the wrong place at the wrong time." As if to underline this, a train thundered past. The Jellicles winced collectively. "Though nameless, he will not be forgotten." Munkustrap gestured to Alonzo and the Rum Tum Tugger, who began to scrape dug-out heaps of sand into the grave. Etcetera started crying, and some of the other kittens did likewise. When the grave had been closed and the earth had been smoothed, Demeter rolled a small boulder onto its mid. "To the Unknown Tomcat," she declared.
"If there's anything I kin dae?" a voice behind them spoke. It sounded like carriages halting; like a guard's whistle and the Sleeping Car Express.
"Skimble!" Etcetera darted from under her friends' comforting paws onto the Railway Cat's back, clutching his fur and nipping his ears. "I knew it wasn't you! I told 'em!"
"Bastard! I knew it!" grumbled Alonzo under his breath, inaudible to anyone but Munkustrap who, through a tremendous surge of relief, could feel question marks surfacing. If that wasn't Skimble, then who was it? And why? He forced himself to focus on the now.
"I'm so glad we found you, Skimble!" Etcetera purred as she finally let go. Skimbleshanks looked thoughtful for a while.
"Yes… I'm glad I foond me too…"
– End of Episode I –
Lynnskittle says:
My apologies to all Scottish people out there. I have no idea of my own how to present Scottish accents in writing, so I just used Irvine Welsh' "Trainspotting" novel – guess where I got the title from? – as a general basis for Skimble's manner of speech. If you have any suggestions, thanks.
