The Jellicle Chronicles - Year Seven

Quaxo's Sermon

Staring at the title, Rumblepurr felt numb. He was nearly caught up with his notes, and his emotions had already run the gauntlet. Once again, he turned and regarded the quilt, which still had its bundled occupant. Altaica could not face him, even though he tried repeatedly to bridge the hurt and pain. And so, once again, he faced another notepad of another month, and wondered “why?” 

      A sermon. A lecture or story delivered by a Human cleric from the lectern or pulpit. Quaxo must have heard something, learned it, or even sought an answer. Whatever it was, the Sentinel came back with it. And then, Altaica returned as well… And now, Rumblepurr sat with his head reeling again. 

      He stared at the notepad, and knew that, somehow, he had written down the stories told to him. Somehow, he remembered the pain, the joy, and then the absolute numbness. He had seen Altaica weak from her injuries and exposure, sitting wrapped in the quilt she now occupied and has refused to leave. That moment when he stood before the entire Tribe to reclaim her, and she turned away from him… 

      Rumblepurr glanced at the bent cover of the notepad and the claw marks in the cardboard backing. He had done that when the story had been told of what happened. Shadowdancer had restrained him again when he wanted nothing more than to find that little murderer and tear him apart. Rumblepurr’s ears sank as he remembered losing control in front of so many of his friends. 

      The volume lay unopened on the box next to him, along with his writing supplies. Amanda had been very kind to retrieve everything he would need. He even had his bottle of “white-out” for mistakes. And so, there was no reason for him not to write the entry… And still, the volume lay there, unopened… 

      Benoni seemed torn at times as to who needed him more. His Mother needed him, but cried on him every time he curled up with her. His Father needed him. When he was with the Writer Cat, Benoni always felt the touch of a gentle paw in his mane, or on his back or face. But, the kitten also saw the silent tears on the orange-patched Tom’s face, and he truly wished he knew how to dry them… 

      “Father?” 

      Rumblepurr glanced away from the unopened book, and saw Benoni standing next to him. “Yes, Benoni?” 

      “What’s wrong?” 

      The Writer Cat regarded the volume sitting there, awaiting his skills and his work as the Chronicler. “I do not know…” 

      “Is Momma angry at us?” 

      Gathering his adopted son to him, Rumblepurr held the kitten tight against him. “No, Benoni. She is hurting very badly, and she needs to be alone.” 

      “Can’t you make it stop?” 

      Shaking his head, Rumblepurr could only hold his son. “No, Benoni. I cannot. At least not right now. When I learn how to do this, I will.” 

      “Will Momma ever come back to us?” 

      “I pray that she will, my son.” 

      “Can I do something?” 

      “Just curl up next me, Benoni. That will help me write.” 

      Rumblepurr waited, allowing the little Tom to curl against him. Again, the tiger paw reached out and combed through the thick black mane. Benoni began to purr, and Rumblepurr felt his teeth clench and his lips press into a straight line. The pain… There must be an answer to the pain… His eyes found the volume once more. Resolutely, he picked up the book and opened it to the first blank page. The Human month of November… the last month of Autumn… appropriate… The leaves were falling from the trees, leaving bare skeletons to scratch at the gray skies. The last vestiges of green fading before the lowering temperatures, and the sun straying south. Everything about this month seemed to point toward death and sterility.