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There’s disembodied music in the air making her heart pound, her tail whip and her body dance without ever getting tired, a wild, exhilarated grin on her face that she can’t and doesn’t want to control.
In the truest sense of the word, Demeter is going with the flow.
She also has a cramp in her left calf.
Damn it.
Plato whirls by and around her, dripping with the overconfidence that is so typical for young tomcats, and she lets herself be lifted, professionally and carefully, as is Plato’s style. (Victoria has chosen well.)
When he sets her down at the outer edge of the clearing to not stumble over other cats Demeter stretches up and up, playfully bops him on the ear with a paw and then proceeds to collapse on the lowest step in front of the tire.
She feels Skimbleshanks’ eyes on her immediately, good old Skimbleshanks, ever so hyper-aware and ready to step in in case of a failed lift, and she squints her eyes at him, too out of breath to tell him out loud that she’s alright.
Massaging her calf she snorts a laugh as Tugger prances past, carrying Bombalurina like a hard-won trophy, or perhaps a cat-shaped umbrella.
She hears Jellylorum and Asparagus applaud and whoop when Tumblebrutus and Mistoffelees use the temporarily empty clearing to, colloquially speaking, show what they’ve got. Demeter has never really considered jumping strength one of her talents, and right now she almost wishes she could. It’s enviable.
With a small half-breathless giggle and an inelegant flail of long limbs, Munkustrap plops down beside her, and Demeter couldn’t care less about potential sweatiness or otherwise dirty fur and pulls him close, determined to use the short time alone that has been granted to them, as a tired-out kitten or three will certainly follow quickly as soon as Munkustrap sits out for a short while.
Demeter can’t fault them for it, as inviting and comfortable to rest on as he always looks, but having it all to herself for a bit is at the same time unusual and very nice.
She tells him so. Munkustrap wraps his arms around her waist and nods. She can’t quite see it, but she can feel him smile against the back of her head.
They watch the small hurricane that is Tumblebrutus and Mistoffelees trying to out-perform each other for a while, catching their breaths and keeping each other warm as the cool night air meets their sweat-damp pelts.
Old Deuteronomy holds vigil a few steps above them, paws reaching up towards the moon, swaying from side to side, dancing in his own way.
The melody hanging in the air thrums in all of their bodies and even now pulls at her limbs, coaxing and teasing, calling to her – dance! Dance, Jellicle Cat, dance! – but she resists, because she knows it will not leave, and she can answer it later. She can take a moment to rest.
What a luxury that is.
She could very well rest until the ball is over, until the Jellicle Choice has been made, even until the day has awoken and the sun goes up to greet them, and still the melody would be there, waiting patiently until she takes the time to listen.
A little dizzy from watching the whirl of black and white of Alonzo hard at work, trying to impress Cassandra, Demeter closes her eyes and listens to Munkustrap humming, right leg bouncing in time to the rhythm. She will not be able to keep him sitting here for long, she knows, he could never resist the call of movement in any form for as long as others.
It makes the time he takes to sit with her all the sweeter.
She starts to rock them from side to side, dancing while sitting down, and his leg bounces less, but now she has to deal with him poking her flanks until she is gasping with laughter. Feeling revengeful, Demeter takes careful aim and jabs backwards at his belly, earning a squeal and ticklish giggling, and her flanks are left in peace.
Munkustrap leans down to rest his chin on her shoulder, and his ear flicks against hers as he speaks. He only says three words, but they both hear what lies beneath, sentences, paragraphs, several well-filled libraries worth of words passing between them.
Usually, he would make the most of it, coming up with a song on the spot just to package all those endless words into something that he thinks wouldn’t bore her to listen to (she could never be bored) but their time alone is limited tonight, so they leave it at that.
Demeter flicks her ear right back and gives in, surrendering fully to her feelings, reciprocating those three too-short, too-big, exhilarating words, rocking them side-to-side to the music; together they are not so much the eye of the storm but more a part of it, intimately rotating around each other, colliding with others ever so often. Their shared gravitation is too strong, she never loses sight of him and he never loses sight of her.
Bliss just might be almost being run over by Tantomile and Coricopat on their way down the tire, might be having to lean back to avoid being hit by Mistoffelees’ foot while he shows off with his trademark fouettés.
Demeter asks for Munkustrap’s opinion on bliss as Victoria shoos Mistoffelees away from the centre of the stage to make more room for Rumpleteazer in the row.
Munkustrap ducks to allow Tugger to jump over them and swagger his way to the front, thinks for a moment and then whispers something so scandalous into her ear that she cackles and smacks his arm. The serious answer follows quickly, and its enough to calm her down and make her eyes feel a bit misty.
She nudges him. He nudges her back.
Because Munkustrap’s lap is already occupied, Jemima plops down on Demeter’s with a little grunt of exertion. By the light of the Jellicle Moon, her fur has lost its red undertone and taken on a more golden hue; sunshine-golden, Demeter-golden.
Demeter hugs her kitten to her chest, leans into Munkustrap’s strong, safe arms and laughs.