Jemi - she/her
Just my CATS sideblog, nothing to see here folks. Part of the fandom for more than a decade - fan of CATS for even longer. I love Asparagus and that's all you need to know about me. (Main blog @ride-a-dromedary)
Please tell us more about baby Sillabub (when you have the time, of course)! :)
Sillabub was born tiny and frail - almost concerningly tiny. She was what Jellylorum refers to as an “day lark” - a touch too eager to open her eyes, dark like her father’s, to greet the dawn. And Sillabub is very much the morning where her sister is the night - awake before everyone else, but an easy night sleeper, compared to Jemima who is a night owl but cranky and difficult to wake in the morning.
She shot up very *very* quickly though, with her legs growing before the rest of her body could catch up. So you just had this kitten giraffe toddling around, tripping over her own paws, falling face first into the dirt, taller than Pounce even though he was older than her (and he *did not* appreciate that). She also had difficulty gaining weight, though she ate well enough, and was sick often.
Munkustrap was the one who came up with her name, after Jemima parroted that her baby sister was a "silly little devil" (guess which elder cat she heard that one from?) for constantly trying to crawl out of her bedding and escape (she ran her parents ragged - they had to be on rotation duty because Silly was *fast*).
(He had to clarify to Alonzo that it was a playful thing because his response was very much in line with: “I’m sorry - you named my kid after the devil?” - as Demeter laughed).
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Sillabub sees the cloudy colours around others' ears, just like 'mima can, but she can make no sense of them yet. She pulls her ears, trying to catch the clouds in her claws to look at, but they disappear before she can grasp them. Her sister tells her that she can use that to help cats - but that not every cat could or wanted to be helped.
Her mama gently rubs the flesh of her black ear between her paw pads, and Sillabub widens her eyes the same way she does when she talks with her. She tells her secrets, in not so many words, that Sillabub does not quite understand yet, but remembers. She spends most of her days curled at her side, in the dark, but she wants for nothing. She is fed, she is content; the world outside is a story and a game her mama likes to play with her - the world is far smaller than she thinks; mama tells her she holds it all between her paws, and kisses Sillabub, then Jemima.
Sillabub loves birds. Her papa takes her to watch them early in the morning when the world is still asleep, even though mama tells him he shouldn't, pointing to them and telling her to look in his rapid singsong way, with words he saves special for her and Jemima. Mir, mir, mir, she mewls back in clumsy imitation and he smiles at her. The word for little bird is long for such a tiny thing, Sillabub thinks, and the name he softly coos at her when she rubs her sleepy eyes sounds like "puppet". Papa promises her that when she gets big and stronger that he'll teach her to catch the birds, like a grown up cat. He'll teach her everything she needs to know, and somethings, he hopes, she won't. She’ll have everything she needs. She sits in the circle of his arms and listens and purrs, dozing back to sleep. When she wakes again, she's back home.
Sillabub is curious and "mischievous" , whatever that means. Dada sings to her while he keeps time on his morning watches, ensuring she doesn't fall from his back. He takes her to the pond in the afternoon, letting her dip her little paw in the sun warmed water to touch the rays of sunshine. He tells her about how something he calls "salmon" swims upstream (she's never seen one), and how there are millions and millions and millions of creatures that live in the water. But Sillabub is not one of them, he clarifies, licking her ears until they aren't clogged with pond water anymore. She gets her first collar after that - something to grab onto when two seconds is just enough, because she *is* still as slippery as a fish.
For those of you who like a good Former-Munkustrap-goes-on-to-play-Gus scenario, may I provide you with Shoichi Fukui (former Japanese Munkustrap and Rum Tum Tugger) singing “Gus the Theatre Cat” and “In Una Tepida Notte” alongside Natsumi Kon?
Some promotional images from Cats at the CPAC Musical Theatre.
Production description undercut (x)
Cats is based on T.S.Eliots 1939 poetry Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats, the songs in the musical consists of Eliot's verse set to music by Andrew Lloyd Webber.
On September 3, 1939, Australian Prime Minister Robert Menzies announced that the country was at war with Germany, a sombre moment for a nation still reeling from the losses of World War I. Despite this, the war still felt remote to those on the home front – that is, until December 1941, when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor and began advancing through Southeast Asia. Suddenly, the threat of invasion placed Australia directly in the line of fire, as was evidenced by the bombing of Darwin on February 19. Enter Melbourne, where only a quarter of street lamps were lit and even electric trains had reduced lighting. The city's "brown out" period was a response to the danger of air raids, and it had a profound impact on daily life. In this production, amidst this tumultuous time, one unique story stands out – the inhabitants of Melbourne’s Jellicle Cats and the threat of war upon them. This assemblage of cats must decide who will journey to the ‘heavyside layer’ in a process of selection for each nominated cat to be considered to be reborn into a new life. In this newly reimagined production, our "Cats" tell this tale, set against the backdrop of wartime Melbourne in 1942, with a nod to the social changes brought on by the war effort, post-war reconstruction, migration, and the reintegration of returned servicemen into the local economy. The musical features no dialogue, only music, and provides a unique perspective on a pivotal moment in Australian history.
14. Is there a character/ship you were so sure you would never write/draw but now you've changed your mind?
I wouldn't say "changed my mind" so much as was initially prompted which then spun off into one or two others and some brainworms, but tuggoffelees was definitely one of those things where I just figured "most of the fandom has this handled in a variety of different ways, and I don't really have anything valuable to add nor is it really where my attention usually is at" and never gave it much thought otherwise, but I've since written a couple of things with them and had a lot of fun doing so! So never say never, I suppose.
16. Do people irl know you participate in fandom?
Yes they do! In fact, I very often have fandom conversations with my core group of friends irl (some of our fandoms overlap, and some have nothing to do with one another, but I love listening and getting in fandom by osmosis). I never particularly saw it as anything shameful; if I got made fun of, I got made fun of, it wasn't anything new under the sun anyway.
19. What's your favourite thing about [fandom]?
A. That it's another one of those long sustaining fandoms that continuously revives itself every once in a while, so there will be waves of new things
and
B. Particularly in regards to costuming of ye-olde (see early 2000s), the *creativity* of individuals in this fandom has never ceased to amaze me, considering how cosplay information was so meticulously pieced together based on replica information, blurry photos, guesswork and analysis of pieces, and put on fansites and forums in tutorials (RIP CCDB) so people could replicate pieces and make their own. Incredible stuff and excellent backwards engineering is always insanely impressive.
[jigsaw voice] hello, cats the musical fan on youtube. i've put before you a random performance of the rum tum tugger. if you dare mention john partridge and compare the actor to him, i will behead you.
“I never thanked you,” Alonzo mutters to the wind, pushing the cool damp of his nose between the spaces of Munkustrap's ribs. The larger tomcat has not moved since sprawling beside him a half hour ago; more's the pity, Munkustrap thinks, amused, as his self imposed "break" which he had been hoping would turn into a nap (but the never ending turning cogs of his mind had very quickly vetoed that idea) was only meant to be ten minutes or so.
Munkustrap is hesitant to touch without permission, but he finds an opportunity such as this rare enough as is, and Alonzo hardly seems to mind the gentle pull of claws through the fur of his back. If anything, he is rewarded with a firmer pressure against his side, the softest beginnings of a purr rattling the cage of his heart. He is tempted to say nothing - to allow Alonzo to conclude the drifting of his thought until he reached shore - but if he had learned anything from their short time in one another's company, it's that oftentimes Alonzo needed a buoy thrown his way to keep the rare emotional displays from drowning. “Thanked me? For what?”
“I’m not sure," he answers, muffled and quiet. "If it weren't for you, well...for saving me, I guess.” Alonzo pretends to yawn, punctuating the statement with an attempt at frivolity; as though the promptness of his answer did not suggest he hadn't been working the courage up to say it for perhaps longer than they had been laying there.
He sits up, balanced on the cross of his forearms so they are near nose to nose. Munkustrap pauses, claw catching in the beginnings of a mat. Alonzo doesn't even flinch.
"So...thank you."
Suddenly, his heart is full. It is full and near bursting; he can hardly breathe. Dozens upon dozens of things he could say - should say - gather at the tip of his tongue, but none seem right. None seem to convey exactly the feeling bubbling within him, hotter and hotter until adoration threatens to pour from him like a whistling steam cloud. It only burns steady in his chest.
“Nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility,” Munkustrap teases instead, settling on his stories and poets in that odd, shy way of his. Strange how often he seemed so much larger than life, yet in moments like these he shrunk and wilted. The larger tomcat wrinkles his nose, confused, but before he can open his mouth to object, Munkustrap hastily continues: “I think you did that all on your own.”
They are quiet a moment, staring back and forth in a single, unbroken loop. Munkustrap counts the stars - blinking and shifting in their shapes - reflected in the black of Alonzo's eyes.
The same eyes he eventually rolls, sclera glowing pale in the steady dropping of the moon instead.
“You’re so weird, Munk," he sighs, but Munkustrap can hear how pleased he is - how embarrassed; and when he kisses him, whiskers, teeth and all, the kettle boils over.