The Jellicle Chronicles - Year Two

The Color of the Rose

A cold breeze blew through the Yard, ruffling the fur on Quaxo’s back. No matter where he lay or sat, the chill air harried him around his perch atop the hood of the top car. His winter coat was beginning to grow in, and his control could tolerate a certain degree of cold, but winter was trying to hurry this year. Shivering, he decided to seek shelter from the wind. Carefully, he eased himself down the pile of cars, and headed toward the old bachelor flat. Since Victoria had bourn Adonis, she and Mistoffelees had vacated the box. So, for now, the box was his again. 

    Sliding gratefully into a dry blanket, Quaxo lay down to face the opening. From under the hood of the cloth, he was definitely more comfortable. For a change, the Yard was quiet. Quaxo just wished his mind and heart would follow suit. 

    Because of the cold, the Festival would probably go “indoors” - that is, inside the Nursery. The old overturned bathtub was the closest the Jellicles had to a weatherproof room. The broken section near the drain served as a doorway, which had a curtain of heavy tarp nailed up inside. A rubber stopper kept rain and snow from coming through the open drain hole, or it was removed to allow some breeze to enter the interior. The construction of the tub kept the room inside warm in the winter (with a little help from Jellicle bodies) and cool in the summer. To make everyone comfortable, a good selection of pillows and blankets were always available. In one part of the farthest end, Jellylorum made her “home” and office as the Yard Nurse. 

    If the Festival went indoors tonight, Quaxo realized that meant he would see Her. His head sunk down onto his paws, and he sighed. One part of him dearly wanted to see Her again. Another part felt ashamed and wanted to stay right where he was. But, his post was too important to stay away from the Festival. The Sentinel had to attend. Honor also compelled him to attend to Her. Honor was something Quaxo could not dismiss readily. 

    A shadow fell suddenly across the entryway, bringing the Sentinel out of his funk and into a defensive crouch. The blanket was already on the floor and Quaxo free when he heard someone rapidly sniffing the air. This Tribe only had one Jellicle who used this trait - Skimbleshanks. 

    “Quaxo?” 

    “In here, Sir Skimble.” 

    “Ah, there ye are,” the orange tabby said, ducking inside and greeting the big Sentinel. “Brutus said ye would either be up on the cars or in here. I thought I would check here first, being cold out there. Brrr! I wouldnae care tae be up there in the wind!” 

    “Please make yourself comfortable, Sir Skimble.” 

    The Railway Cat instantly found himself another set of blankets, and burrowed into them. As Skimble worked the blankets around his head and shoulders, Quaxo slid back into his, and faced in a way to watch both the opening and the Railway Cat. 

    “Ach, Lad, I really need this,” the orange tabby said, shivering inside the blankets. “It’s cold out there, and the train ran a wee bit late. There were containers tae be unloaded, passengers tae escort, and the crew tae supervise. By the time I finished, there wasnae time tae stop for me flowers. The ladies are going tae be disappointed tonight.” 

    “Sir Skimble, I am sure your presence will be enough.” 

    The orange tabby brightened at that. “What a nice thing tae say, Quaxo. Thank ye very much. But still, a flower definitely helps.” 

    Quaxo shifted uncomfortably. “Sir Skimble. What brings you to see me, if I may ask of you?” 

    “Sir Skimble,” the Railway Cat repeated. “Quaxo, ye dinae know how grand that sounds. I know that ye give everybody a respectful title, but it still makes me feel very special indeed.”