Chapter Three:
(Formerly) Private Dance Practice
Nefret smiled to herself in the dark as she wiggled out underneath the windowpane. It had taken a bit of ingenuity and plotting to get past her parents, but she didn’t mind. She delighted in mapping out strategy and plans. Hopping off the windowsill, the kitten traversed the silent and empty streets with no real destination in mind. She arrived at the junkyard after a time. It was the only place she could think of to visit. It was the hours between midnight and dawn when many cats aren’t out. She slunk through the cement pipe and to her surprise, beheld another kitten in what she had assumed to be an empty junkyard. He was almost all black; there was a thin white band around his right leg, and a rather large white V-shaped patch on his chest like Mistoffelees. His feet were also an unsullied white. He was dancing, slowly and rhythmically; practicing for the Ball, Nefret surmised. She was tempted to go out and join him, but she held back and continued watching. His movements were nothing but grace; he was more graceful than any cat she had ever seen, save perhaps Mistoffelees and Victoria. There was suddenly absolutely captivating about his dance that made Nefret forget everything else and just stare. It finally occurred to her that perhaps spying on this unknown kitten was not the smartest thing to do. What if he took offense and attacked her; or even worse, told her parents that she had snuck out? Taking a deep breath to try and calm herself, she took a few tiny steps out of the pipe. “Uh, hello?” she asked. The black kitten whirled around. His face was a collage of conflicting emotions.
“Who are you?” he asked, sounding halfway between curious and affronted. “And are you jellicle or stray?”
“My name is Nefret,” she replied, her voice strong. “And jellicle, of course,” she added puzzledly. As if there was anything besides being a jellicle! What a strange tom! “What is a stray, anyway?”
“A stray?" he repeated in disbelief. "So it is true. I had thought Father was bluffing."
“What’s true?” Nefret queried. The other kitten ignored her question and started circling her, and looking her up and down. She shifted from paw to paw, growing uncomfortable under the black kitten’s eyes.
“You look almost exactly like him,” he mused aloud.
“Him who?” cried Nefret. She was beginning to get rather frustrated.
“Macavity, of course,” he said absently.
“Macavity?” she repeated. The name sent shivers up her spine. There was something about that name… “And who is Macavity?” she pressed on. The other kitten merely grinned.
“I’m not allowed to tell you; in fact, I’ve already told you to much. Ask you parents.”
“I will!” she replied, taking it as a challenge. His grin grew wider and he started to walk away without so much as a ‘good-bye’. “Hey, wait! Who are you? What’s your name?” she called out after him. He chuckled, and Nefret got the distinct impression that he was laughing at her. With a quiet mew of anger, she ran after the kitten, pounced on him, and quite easily pinned him to the ground.
“Hey!” he exclaimed indignantly.
“Well, you laughed at me!” Nefret retorted. “And you didn’t answer my question!”
“The cat himself knows, and will never confess.” Nefret’s golden eyes flashed. She realized in that moment that she could never make him tell, and her silent resentment grew – along with a sort of admiration.
“Fine then!” She leapt off the kitten and started to walk away silently, her tail high in the air.
Then, very softly from behind her came, “My name is Xarion.”
