It was only about a week into summer vacation. Mistoffelees was ten, his sister was eight, and the two of them were playing in the backyard of their tiny suburban home. Their mother was inside making them lemonade and Victoria had been haranguing him to show her what he had learned in dance class all day.

He was standing outside in his old leotard—his mother had forbidden him from wearing his nice new one except during dance class, in case he got it dirty or tore it—and Victoria was sitting on the edge of their old sandbox, tail swishing excitedly and staring at him as she waited for him to start. He could remember feeling self-conscious, because Victoria had never seen him dance before and he had just started his lessons—she wanted so badly to be in dance class too, but the class for her age group had been full, so their mother had stroked her ears and said 'next year, Vicki'.

(Mistoffelees wouldn't learn until years later that the real reason was because they hadn't been able to afford lessons for both of them. Since he'd been older, he'd gotten to start first, with the hopes that they would be able to afford lessons for both of them the next year. But kittens were easy to lie to, particularly when they didn't really understand what you were lying about.)

The first few moves were hesitant and faltering, not used to having an audience that wasn't his teacher or the other students. But soon he was twirling and balancing and not even thinking about it, imagining the soothing music his teacher would play while teaching them their stretches and moves.

He was so absorbed in the dancing that he didn't even notice he had an even bigger audience until he stopped to take a break, the summer heat starting to tire him out, and he heard the applause coming from the back door of the house. His father was there, leaning against the doorframe with a fresh glass of lemonade tucked in the crook of his arm, his face full of pride.

"Daddy!" Victoria was on her feet and running to their father with her arms outstretched.

"How is my little princess doing?" Macavity handed his drink off to their mother so he could pluck her up and sit her in the same crook of his arm. Mistoffelees felt like he was too old to run at his father like that, so he simply hung back, blushing under his fur about the fact that his parents had been watching him dancing and her hadn't known about it.

"Daddy, did you see Mistoffelees dance? Isn't he so good?" Victoria was bouncing on Macavity's arm, and he laughed and tickled her under her chin the way he always did.

"Of course I did," he answered, looking directly at him which only made him blush harder. "You must be the best dancer in your class. Now come over here; I need my welcome home hug."

Maybe that was why he still remembered it so clearly to this day; it was one of the last genuinely happy memories he had of his father. He remembered trotting obediently over to his side, enjoying the scent of his father's cologne as he was enveloped in a tight hug, feeling accomplished because of the praise he had been given.

And that was when he always woke up.

He was on the floor, which was always the case when he dreamed about dancing. That old saying about a cat always landing on his feet wasn't meant to apply to a sleeping cat, after all.

Mistoffelees rose from the uncomfortable old laminate floor of his bedroom. It wasn't an easy task; his every muscle creaked and groaned, and his muscles were knotted in ways he didn't even know was possible. That might have been from sleeping on the floor, but it equally might have been from the three shows he had done last week. His fellow dancers and his stage manager were always harping on him to stretch properly before he went on stage, but amidst the chaos of an impending show it was always hard to remember to do little things like that.

When he finally managed to get himself mostly upright, he staggered his way out into the apartment. It was a weekend morning so he was expecting the sound of Victoria bustling around in the kitchen, but to his surprise she was already gone, though she'd been kind enough to leave a full pot of coffee for him—which he desperately needed. A note pinned to the coffee machine told him that she had gone out with Jemima, though he very much expected that Jemima wasn't the only person she was out with that day.

It was two cups of coffee and a plate piled in toast later that Munkustrap called. He always seemed to have a knack for that kind of timing. He fumbled to answer his phone without dropping his coffee or the spoon he was using to stir in the cream, putting his tomfriend on speakerphone.

"Mm. Morning."

"Just barely." Munkustrap laughed. Mistoffelees glanced at the clock on the microwave and realized it was nearly noon. He made a vague grumbling noise.

"You know I always sleep in after a last show." He mumbled vaguely and sipped at his coffee as he leaned over his phone. "Do you have a lot of work today?"

"Not really." There was a long, awkward silence, the sort that Mistoffelees wasn't really used to dealing with when talking to Munkustrap. But he was far too tired to think about filling in the gap himself, and he knew that when Munkustrap got quiet it usually meant he had something to say, and was just trying to think of a way to say it. "You know… I tried, but I couldn't really find anyone who was interested in those tickets."

"No, Munk." He sighed. Thankfully Munkustrap hadn't really bothered him about the whole situation while he was busy with his show. "I already feel stupid enough for accepting the things in the first place. I don't want my father thinking he can just… buy me."

Mistoffelees all but spat the final few words. Macavity was almost completely transparent in what he was doing, which would have been more annoying than anything except for the fact that he had pulled it at such a stressful time and after such an unpleasant surprise. And then the fact that Victoria had been talking to him all along… it was just all too much for him to be dealing with at one time.

"I'm sure that isn't his intention." Munkustrap was using his best 'teacher' voice, the one that always seemed to stop his kids from squabbling. Which was pretty impressive when you were dealing with two dozen hyperactive teenagers, but a little condescending when you were speaking with your adult tomfriend. Mistoffelees knew he didn't mean anything by it but it still made his fur bristle anyway.

"You don't know his intentions, Munk. You don't know him. You've met him once, and I told you what he did to us." Mistoffelees didn't want to snap at Munkustrap, but it came out without much regard to what he did or didn't want.

"But Demeter seems to trust him." He didn't sound very certain about what he was saying, but the implication that he trusted Demeter's judgement more than his when it came to his own father made his fur bristle even more. He would need to brush it later.

"Maybe Demeter doesn't know his intentions, either. My mother certainly didn't." He was almost tempted to hang up right there, but he stopped himself. He didn't want to be fighting with Munkustrap about this. Instead he sighed, filling the deep in-and-out with all of the exasperation he was feeling. "Look, keep the tickets if you want. Take Alonzo, maybe? I don't want to go, but I'm not going to be mad if you want to. They're good tickets."

There was a heavy silence, quiet enough to make Mistoffelees wonder if he'd somehow accidentally muted his phone. Then, quietly, "I'll ask Alonzo if he wants to go."

"You do that." He drained the rest of his coffee in one go, ignoring the fact that it was still a little too hot to be doing that kind of thing safely. "Look, Munk, I need to go take a very long shower. I'll call you later, okay?" It was a lame excuse, but at least it was a true one. Those built-up knots in his back and shoulders needed some hot water and some serious TLC.

He was sure he murmured some kind of goodbye to Munkustrap, and Munkustrap said something back, but he wouldn't be able to remember that part of the conversation five minutes after it happened. He didn't want to think about much else, so he forced himself to just focus on the shower. The hot water was on the fritz, but even a lukewarm trickle was better than nothing. He spent extra time massaging the sorest parts of his body and extra time after that brushing out his bristling fur. It was more time than he usually spent on his appearance, but he felt like he deserved it. Maybe even needed it.

Cassandra texted him just as he was finished brushing out his fur. Hey big guy, show was a hit, cast director vry excited. Cast&crew party night after tomorrow Junkyard Club, you in?

The night after tomorrow was the night the tickets were for and for a moment Mistoffelees felt bad about the idea of accepting Cassandra's invitation when Munkustrap still clearly wanted him to go, but since he had no intention of going that guilt disappeared quickly enough. Munkustrap would take Alonzo with him and have a great time, he was sure. He might as well enjoy himself just as much.

Im in, just tell me when, he texted back quickly as he pulled on comfortable lounging around clothes. He had no intentions of going anywhere that day, at least. Maybe that would change, but at the moment—well, it was the furthest thing from his mind.

Usually Munkustrap took his lunch hour in the teacher's lounge, or even at his desk with a stack of homework in desperate need of being graded before his next class, but today he found himself sitting at a table in the fanciest restaurant this side of the city. It definitely wasn't like anything like the restaurant from what seemed like ages ago, but it was still out of his pay grade as anything more than an occasional treat or anniversary date.

He sat at the corner table with it's elegant pretty little chairs that weren't even remotely comfortable to sit on, fidgeting with his tie and hoping he didn't look too out of place. He didn't always dress so formally for work, but since he had known he would be having this meeting well in advance, he had made an exception.

Munkustrap was watching the door so intently that when Macavity walked in, he sat straight up and felt his tail bristle nervously. Did his fur look okay? Had he dressed appropriately? All of those questions came rushing to him. After having met Macavity, he had gotten the distinct impression that appearances and impressions were very important to him.

The wild-furred tom sat down in silence across from him and immediately made Munkustrap feel underdressed, in his expensive suit and proper hat which he removed and set aside as soon as he had settled. It was such a contrast to his almost feral appearance that it bordered on shocking, but Munkustrap knew exactly what kind of money Macavity apparently had to throw around, after that night at dinner…

"You should know I don't feel comfortable sneaking around behind Mistoffelees' back like this." Although he found himself intimidated by the air of wealth and status Macavity gave off, that was still the most important part of this meeting in Munkustrap's mind. When Macavity had called to ask him to report on whether Mistoffelees had any intentions of accepting his gift… well, it had made Munkustrap more than a little unsettled. He certainly didn't want to step on Mistoffelees' tail or make him feel like he didn't value his feelings.

"Good. That's how you should feel. You're a good tom, Munkustrap. I wouldn't want anything less for my son." Macavity fixed his gaze solidly and Munkustrap started bristling more. Macavity had the same intensity of gaze that he always remembered his father having. His eyes were an intense sort of blazing orange-yellow that Munkustrap hadn't seen in very many cats before and now that he didn't have either Mistoffelees or Demeter there to distract him it was much easier to notice. "But rest assured, this is the only thing I have to ask of you. I promised myself I would accept Mistoffelees' choice, whatever it was, and I stand by that. I just want to know what that choice is. Can you blame me?"

Munkustrap nodded, though he didn't think he understood quite as well as Macavity was hoping. Or maybe Macavity didn't really care whether or not he understood, only that he was willing to accept what he was saying, since he continued without waiting for an answer.

"But I'll go out on a limb and assume everything is as I thought. Mistoffelees won't be going."

Well, at the very least Munkustrap couldn't fault him for not understanding the situation. He didn't even seem disappointed, simply… resigned. He didn't strike Munkustrap as the sort of cat who didn't know what he had done wrong, he simply didn't know how to make it better—if making it better was even possible. It comforted him to know he was at least trying, though Mistoffelees didn't seem to think of it that way.

"He won't be, no. He doesn't want to give you… that kind of impression." He all but squirmed while saying that, but Munkustrap had a lot of experience in hiding his discomfort in situations like that. "He's still uncomfortable with you. I don't blame him, either."

Macavity nodded with that same sense of resignation. "It's understandable. I thought it was a worthwhile effort, at least."

The waitress came over in her well-pressed uniform and expensive-looking shoes, her tail gently swaying back and forth and her smile as professional as her appearance. "Good afternoon, gentleman. What can I get for you today?"

"Do you have any kind of sandwich of the day? I'll just take one of those."

"Just coffee for me, thank you."

The waitress wandered off quickly and quietly. This seemed like the kind of place where a lot of business lunches happened, which meant that she was probably used to being brushed off.

"If it's not too personal—" Munkustrap knew that was the wrong way to start since he knew it was a question that it was too personal to be asking, but he needed to ask it anyway and he didn't know a better way to phrase things. "What happened between you and Mistoffelees' mother?"

"Situations beyond our control," Macavity replied immediately. He didn't even have to think about the answer, which Munkustrap felt meant he had given that answer a number of times before. "I could have handled how I left better, of course. Kept in contact over the years, that sort of thing. But not leaving was never an option."

That he certainly couldn't understand, but he nodded anyway and pretended he did. He was sure it made sense to Macavity, and he was sure it would never make sense to Mistoffelees. That was all that mattered to him.

There was a hum in her voice and a spring in her step when Victoria returned home. It was nearly supper time—she had been out all day, though that was pretty usual for her as of late.

"Mistoffelees? Are you home?" Considering the front door was unlocked, she didn't really feel like that was a question she needed to ask—she couldn't imagine Mistoffelees leaving the flat unlocked if he was going out. She still liked to give him warning she was home in case he was up to anything… questionable.

She didn't get a response, but she did spot his head poking out over the top of the couch. The radio was on low in the background, but he didn't seem to be paying much attention to it; their apartment was always full of music. Feeling mischievous she crept up behind him and suddenly placed her paws on his shoulders.

"Hey Misto! What are you up to?" she said as Mistoffelees jumped. All of his fur was standing on end and she giggled like a school queen at the sight of it. He always was so easy to get worked up.

"For the love of the Everlasting Cat, Victoria! What are you doing skulking around like that?" He quickly slammed shut the cover of a heavy book he'd been flipping through and shoved it under one of the couch cushions. The way he acted was like she had caught him pawing through porn, but the book was certainly too big and heavy and fancy looking for that.

(Besides, who looked at porn in print form anymore? That was what the internet was for, and it was much easier to hide the evidence that way.)

Ignoring his protests—because she was a little sister, and that was what she did best—she hopped over the back of the couch and slid into the seat next to him.

"I would hardly say I was skulking. I called out as soon as I walked in the door. You're just bad at paying attention." She slung her arm over her brother's shoulders and cocked her head. "Did you just get up? Your fur is still damp."

"Nnn. Of course not. It was still morning when I got up," he said in a grumpy murmur.

"Morning morning, or technically still morning?" Victoria asked in a knowing voice. Mistoffelees' ears flattened in displeasure.

"…technically morning, if you're going to be so anal about it," he replied. "I just had to take a couple of extra showers. For my muscles."

"Ah. I see." She was playing with his head fur now, twirling bits of it around her finger and watching the resulting curl spring into shape when she removed it. "Munkustrap could probably help with that, you know…"

She meant for it to be teasing, but where Misto normally would have just rolled his eyes at her or given her a shoulder shove or told her to quit it, this time he gave her a completely unamused look and hunched his shoulders up around his chin. She pursed her lips, making a humming noise of consideration.

"Does this have to do with dad?" she asked in a quiet voice. When Mistoffelees wouldn't look at her and made a little noise in the back of his throat, she took that as a yes. "Come on, Misto. I know you're still mad at him, and that's totally okay, but what good is it going to do you to just sit around moping like this?"

She guided her older brother to lay his head against her shoulder so she could stroke his head fur, the way their mum had used to for both of them. They were each the only family the other had anymore, more or less, so they had to be all of the typical family things for each other.

"He was just a lot easier to forget about and ignore back when I could forget he even existed. Now it's like he's everywhere," Mistoffelees sighed.

"Look, you just need to take your mind off of things. Now that the show's over with, you just don't know what to do with yourself. Get out there, do something! Enjoy yourself."

Mistoffelees sighed, fidgeting with the edge of the well-worn shirt he was wearing. "Well, I got invited to a cast party for the show. I told Cassandra I would go."

"See?" Victoria smiled at Mistoffelees. "Like that. You'll forget about Macavity soon enough. Are you bringing Munkustrap with you?"

"He has other plans for that night." Mistoffelees lifted his head from Victoria's shoulder and stretched. Judging by the way he was moving and the way his back popped, those few showers weren't quite enough to deal with all of the stress (physical and otherwise) that had come with the week-long show his dance company had put on. "I'm going to put some water on for tea. Want some?"

"If you're offering." She watched him walk to the kitchen and waited until she heard the faucet running to fill the electric kettle before she lifted the cushion that Mistoffelees had shoved what he was looking at under. Her fingers closed on a thick spine and she pulled the book from its hiding place.

She was holding a photo album. An old one, judging by the faded cover and the cracked spine. She recognized it. She could remember her mother sitting over it after every major holiday, after making a visit to the local photo developing place, totally focused on getting it just perfect under that little desk lamp she kept on her vanity. It was their old photo album, starting from when Mistoffelees was born.

Victoria flipped to the last page heavy enough to have photos in it. The last picture on the last page was from the day Mistoffelees graduated to a higher level of dance class—which one, she couldn't remember. Their mother had dressed them both up and had handed the camera to another one of the proud parents. She was crouched behind the two of them, smiling as wide as her tiny face could manage. Mistoffelees stood in front of her, holding the certificate that said he was going to be elevated to the next level of the class, beaming just as widely and brightly. Victoria was on her mother's other side, young enough that her attention was clearly wandering after the long ceremony, because she was too busy looking up at their father. He was crouched behind their mother, one paw on her shoulder, the other on the top of Victoria's head.

Victoria sighed, dragging the pads of her fingers over the laminate that covered the picture. The sigh was part in mourning for those days that they have been together as a family, and part in concern for her brother.

"Victoria!"

The queen jumped like she'd been shocked and dropped the photo album, shoving it back under the cushion. "Yes, Mistoffelees?"

"What kind of tea did you want?"

Victoria sighed in relief. "Whatever you're having; I'm not picky."

She spared one last look at the photo album under the cushion and rose from her seat to help Mistoffelees in the kitchen.