Glendale and the Jellicle Cats

Creatures in the Junkyard

In an unknown city in a country across the Atlantic, there stood a junkyard that was away from the homes. Sandwiched between two apartment buildings, the junkyard was occupied by abandoned refrigerators, punctured car tires, half-torn sneakers, and moth-bitten jackets. The majority of the residents in the city often avoided the junkyard, claiming that it stunk of rotten food and spilled gasoline. The residents on the street of apartment buildings, however, were unable to avoid it. They tolerated it, for the most part, only complaining when they could hear animals hissing and yowling during the dead of night. 

When the sound of animals screeching was too unbearable, a resident of one of the apartment buildings was designated as the watcher. Armed with only a flashlight and an aluminum baseball bat — you could never tell how aggressive these animals could be — the watcher would venture from their apartment, down the steps, and out of the front door. Oftentimes, whatever was making noise was soon gone from the junkyard as if they were a ghost. 

On one particular night, the designated watcher was able to get a good look at what was making the noise. In front of a pile of cereal boxes, a shadowy figure was seen prowling. When the flashlight blinked on, the figure was not a shadow but a cat with a tabby coat of golden orange with black stripes. The black collar with silver spikes means that it must have an owner, thought the watcher. The cat blinked and, before scurrying off to a broken desk, hissed at the watcher. After seeking shelter underneath the desk, the cat batted at the ear of a larger shadow. After a few mews between the two, the large shadow left the desk and entered the flashlight's beam.

The cat seemed much taller than the cat before it though not by much. It seemed to be about 40 centimeters tall, close to the watcher's knee. It had a tabby coat but with silver instead of golden orange. The watcher was unnerved by the perpetual smile on the silver cat; he could've sworn that he fell down the rabbit hole at this point. Silver, which was the watcher's nickname for the cat, looked at him with curiosity, turning its head to the side while not removing its eyes from the man. 

"Here, uh, kitty, kitty...", the watcher cautiously beckoned to Silver. He felt bad for bringing an aluminum bat to deal with a few cats. The watcher started to raise his arm to the front, laying his palm to the sky, while bending his knees and leaning slightly towards the cat. Maybe Silver will trust me, the watcher hoped. It has a collar like Goldie.

Suddenly, Silver twisted its head to the sky and let out an awful caterwaul. The watcher was so transfixed on Silver's change in behavior that he didn't notice the dozens of cats that soon popped out of the fridges, cereal boxes, tires, and ovens. A piebald cat of black and white fur rushed out of nowhere, pushing a small empty cardboard box across the junkyard's dirt floor. It was heading towards Silver, meowing to the other cats to get out of its way as the box was nearly as tall as it was. 

Finally, the piebald cat of black and white fur propped in between the watcher and Silver. The piebald cat started to pat at the dirt to one side of the box, signaling to two smaller shadows for assistance. The two cats, or rather kittens, that slowly crawled from underneath a large Garfield stuffed animal had striking colors: one was pure white while the other had a red-brown coat with black tabby stripes. The watcher was going to nickname the pure white cat "Whitey" before realizing the implications of the name and dropping the idea. The pair slowly made their way to the front of the junkyard and sat on either empty side of the box: one to the left and one to the right. 

"What is even going on?", the watcher asked himself. He could feel the eyes of dozens of cats on him, feeling a little embarrassed that he was intimidated by a group of cats. Silver started to inch closer to the cardboard box, moving its gaze away from the watcher. It started to paw at the cardboard box, trying to prop itself up. After a few minutes, Silver was now "standing", its front paws digging into the top of the box. It dragged its gaze back to the watcher, its eyes noticeably widened. 

Am I dreaming? What is even happening anymore?  was all the watcher could think during the staring match. He then heard someone clear their throat a few times. The watcher turned into an owl, turning its head in all directions before realizing that Silver was the one clearing its throat. His eyes dilated, scared that the cat would cough up a hairball in front of him. He didn't know how to take care of cats! He wasn't prepared for this! 

"Hello there," the silver cat chirped. I must've eaten too much cheese before bed or something, the watcher thought in bewilderment as he rubbed his eyes and pinched at his arm. Why did the cat have a deeper voice than him?! This is the worst dream or nightmare ever! "Sir, are you okay?" Why was it still talking?! He usually lucid dreamed after eating poorly before bed; why couldn't he change what was happening?

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Author's Note: The watcher is being used to set the story in motion. Once the story starts, the focus will shift to our title characters!