The Loveable Miscreant

The Memory of a Kiss

Munkustrap was so angry he could barely think straight, making no effort to hide it as he passed through the junkyard gates, fixing the two sentries Pouncival and Tumblebrutus with a glare that silently dared them to say something.

Very familiar with Munkustrap's "don't fucking ask" expression, the two males moved dutifully aside, knowing better than to ask how his dip in the canal had gone, especially since neither of them had felt obliged to help, since neither were keen on getting their feet wet.

Munkustrap could tell by their innocently perplexed faces that they'd overheard the entire commotion, but he couldn't care less what they thought about it, or even if they sniggered about him and Rumpleteazer in private. The first one to so much as mention the incident would get a severe cuff across the head and a month of sentry duty, so they were wise to keep their mouths shut in his presence.

As Munkustrap headed towards the infirmary complex, he kept being plagued by the memory of Rumpleteazer's tongue in his throat; and it made him even angrier. He wasn't sure why, or even where the anger was coming from. He just knew he was going to have trouble thinking about anything else from now on. If that was the little game she wanted to play, she'd better hope she liked the taste of losing, because he'd see to it that her mischief was paid for... somehow or another.

Deep down, he knew he should have acted sooner; way back at last year's Ball. Perhaps, if he had taken Rumpleteazer aside and explained why rubbing her bottom against his hip was neither big nor clever, nor was it appropriate for a yearling to do that with her superior, then maybe she wouldn't have carried on?

But he'd been too preoccupied with the play and the Jellicle Ball and everything else, dismissing her actions as nothing more than a kitten crush that would be very short lived once she'd gotten over all the excitement of experiencing her first ever celebration.

But unfortunately, her 'flirting' continued to escalate during the course of the year, to the point where he wasn't sure how to deal with it. He tried being firm. She laughed in his face, knowing he couldn't do anything about it. If it were a young male, Munkustrap would have no problem using fear and the force of his bare paws to get the respect he demanded; but this was a female. There was no law protecting her from violence, just his own code of chivalry: "never hit a lady, no matter how much she asks for it."

But the more it went on, the more she left imprints in his mind. He would find himself agonising over her; telling himself she was nothing more than a silly little trouble maker, yet wondering how she was able to push all his buttons simultaneously. Just hearing the sound of her shrill laughter was enough to ruin his day.

A year on from the ball, he could still feel the sensation of her firm buttocks rubbing against his hip, adding to the new sensation of her soft, slightly plump lips. Could it be, he secretly ENJOYED their encounters? Could it be, he was actually curious about her; fascinated by her devil-may-care attitude to life that was unlike any female he knew.

Somehow, he just KNEW she liked it rough and dirty and was secretly begging for him to make a proper decent queen out of her, and that was why he didn't put a firm stop to her shenanigans... because he could if he wanted to. It was a distressing thought. And one that now wouldn't go away.

............................

Jellylorum tut-tutted as she placed the shirt in the basket for washing. "No words... no words at all... stealing Mr Jones' shirt and mucking it up like this? They've overstepped the mark this time, that's for sure... I remember when they left dear old Skimbleshanks' pocket watch in the middle of the road. You almost got your tail flattened-"