It wasn’t because of her age, for she was close to adulthood, which should have made her fairly large. And Thistle wished she could blame it on her breed, but she wasn’t too sure what that was. Her fur was a give away at something exotic, it changed its colour in different lights. In sunlight it could almost be described as a light gold, while in fluorescent light it was a frosty blue. In ordinary light-bulb light she was a soft violet while in moonlight she was a silver colour. But Thistle had always liked the starlight, when a cloud blocked out the moon or just before it rose. Then her fur shone in all the colours, reflecting the starlight.
She could blame it on family background, but she didn’t have any. She had never had any. Her earliest memories were shrouded in mystery. The only thing she remembered clearly was the veterinary clinic. And, of course, there was then the pound. She didn’t remember her mother or father, she didn’t remember having any siblings. Nothing. But that had always been fine with her.
Because of those first few months in the pound she had lost whatever innocents she may have once had. She had not been like normal kittens. Her face always held a look of infinite sadness but her eyes were usually filled with determination, not the far away and dreamy look that many kittens had. She was always thought as ‘that strange little kitten’ and was never truly excepted by the others. At least she had always seen it that way.
Again because of her life in the pound she had always been suspicious of others, never to quick to make friendships and too stubborn, it seemed, to keep them. But still, she had always ached to be excepted, by any of them. In her mind she never had been. Maybe it was because, unlike many of the other cats, she had not been born into a family of cats that had been excepted. She was a rogue, she was no ones daughter. She had only ever been tolerated because she was the Timon’s kitten.
But now she didn’t know if she even be tolerated any more. Probably not, she wasn’t the Timon’s cat any more, she hadn’t been anyone’s cat for a very long time. Oh, there were a lot of houses where she had stayed, where she had slept or where she had eaten. But she never stayed long, she was always moving.
Her name, Thistle, wasn’t even given to her by other cats, though it could have because of her murky green eye. Oh no, a dog in the pound, as an insult had given it to her, in order to show her as something that stings, but quickly forgotten. The name had stuck. And so she wasn’t the luckiest cat on Earth. That also showed in the family who had taken her in. The Timon’s parents were neglectful and the children were mean. That was the main reason she had left, along with many others, but that was the main one.
Now she wondered if any of them would reconise her now. She wasn’t young kitten anymore, but she doubt that the older cats would have forgotten her, the young ones would have, and some would have been born after she had left. But those her around her own age surely would remember her. Rum Tug Tugger, Bombalurina and Demeter had all been a little older but they would remember her. And she wondered if the would except her at the Jellicle ball tonight. They had a lot of reasons not to, but she would see.
Carefully she padded her way through the street, pausing as people did to pat her. Thistle wasn’t beyond begging for a meal. It was sunny and she knew it would be a while before the sun set, but she would wait.
Her eyes scanned the crowd and fell on one cat that, like her, was prodding through the street. She slowed and came to an uncertain stop: he had grown since she had last seen him. He was larger, the great tuff of fur around his neck seemed to have grown twice as large. But he still walked with that confident swagger, as if the people on the street only walked there because he had allowed them to. She wondered if, like the many years before, the kittens still worshipped him.
His brown eyes suddenly caught her green ones and Thistle saw recognition and surprise run across his face.
At that point Thistle panicked. She wasn’t ready to face the bombarding of questions, not yet. While her mind panicked, her body stayed still and relaxed until Rum Tug Tugger took a step toward her. Then she stood, smiling at him she gave him a kittish wink and dashed down the nearest ally. His questions would have to wait until tonight…
Mistoffelees stretched out his fingers as he lay on his back, arching his spine and wiggling his fingertips. He rolled, bringing his head up, resting it on the palm of his hand and blinking his smoky blue eyes. "So?"
Rum Tug Tugger and Demeter glanced at each other. Demeter, a cute tabby with a spiky collar was surprised. "Don’t you think that’s interesting? We have heard a word about Thistlewait in three years, and here she is, as if nothing has happened."
Mistoffelees yawned, rubbing a paw along his white eyelids. "You woke me up to tell me something I could have found out tonight? Besides," now he rolled onto his stomach, his nimble legs kicking into the air and his cheek resting on his crossed arms. His dreamy eyes were still looking to the other two cats, "do you really think she’d stay here after the misery you made her life?"
Demeter blushed with shame, the white fur on her cheeks turning a soft pink, reflecting the colour of her skin beneath. Rum Tug Tugger looked back and forth between the two. "Did I miss something?"
"You mean," again he stretched out, purring low in his throat, "how both Bombalurina and Demeter here made life for Thistle quite terrifying. I’m surprised she stayed as long as she did."
"That was a long time ago," Demeter muttered, "don’t you think we’re sorry about it?"
"No," Mistoffelees said simply, "I never thought you were sorry about what you did to her." Mistoffelees sat up slowly, finally looking a little more awake. Mistoffelees had always been the kind of cat that you never knew exactly what was going on behind his masked face. He was a beautiful midnight that flared a deep sea blue like crushed velvet. All except his white face, stomach and two of his legs. He was small, nimble and able to get out of any situation. Mistoffelees also held a power that no one else understood, a lightening of some sort.
"But at the time what she felt wasn’t the point, was it? You two just didn’t like being up staged by a little kitten."
"She’s not a little kitten anymore," Rum Tug Tugger licked his lips and Demeter looked at him.
Mistoffelees rolled his smoky eyes. "It doesn’t matter now any way, we’ll just have to wait for tonight and see what happens…"