A Family Affair - Part 1

"... and after that, I would definitely love to see Paris," Jemima happily sighed. The lithe queen idly picked at her salad with a dreamy look in her eye. "I mean, it's just so romantic, isn't it? Haven't you ever wanted to see Paris?"

Mistoffelees shifted uncomfortably in his seat and glanced around the pub. Where was that waiter with his iced tea? He'd been waiting for it for at least ten minutes. It took him a moment to realize Jemima was done chattering and was waiting for a response.

"Paris?" he said. "You'd have to learn French first, wouldn't you?"

Jemima giggled and speared some of the Caesar salad into her mouth. "But that's easy. So? Wouldn't you want to go to Paris one day?"

The tux shrugged lightly, staring down at the grilled fish on his plate. "Not particularly. If I travel, I'd rather go to Germany."

"Germany? Why? What's there to see in Germany?"

"The Black Forest, for one."

"What's that?" Jemima asked. "Like the cake?"

Mistoffelees sighed, making a lengthy production of scraping off some of the sauce from his fish. He liked Jemima just fine-- well, he certainly wanted to like her. She was a beautiful queen, and she'd obviously gone to a lot of trouble to get ready for their lunch date. She wore a pretty (and awfully curve-hugging) green dress and artful accents of makeup to bring out the colouring in her face, likely designed to give her an older look. Mistoffelees already had a few years on her; he realized how lucky any tom would be to have scored the interest of such a gorgeous younger queen.

He just didn't feel lucky, however. Nor did he feel particularly attracted to her himself. There was no reason why he shouldn't be, though; so he finished scraping the grilled salmon with the tine of his fork, picked off a bite, and forced a smile.

"No, silly. The real Black Forest. It's an actual place with a lot of history. Do you know Grimm's fairy tales?"

"Not really," Jemima said, loudly chewing on a crouton. "My dad tried to read them to me when I was younger but I never liked that stuff. I think he was disappointed I never went for it."
"Well, there's supposedly a lot of magical history in the Black Forest," Mistoffelees said. "The brothers Grimm used it as inspiration for a lot of the fairy tales. All the trolls and witches and sorcerers and magical creatures- they all come from the Black Forest. And that's why I want to visit it."

"You like that weird magic stuff?"

"I love it, actually."

Jemima shrugged daintily. "I guess we can visit the Black Forest then. If I do, will you go to Paris with me?"

The tux forced a laugh that turned into an awkward cough. Damn it, where was that iced tea? "I guess we'll see. We'll need to save up first. I don't think my part-time job as a dance teacher will get me very far into Germany."

"Oh, my dad will help out," Jemima said. "You know he's been great helping me with my tuition! And speaking of my dad..."

"I know..." Mistoffelees cringed, stuffing a large forkful of salmon into his mouth.

"You still haven't met him yet!"

"I know," the tux gulped. "I will. Soon. I promise."

Jemima shook her head with a smirk, reaching across the table to poke him on the arm. "No more 'soons'. He's dying to meet my tomfriend and I'm dying for him to meet you. What are you, scared?"

"No," Mistoffelees mumbled. Instead of pulling her arm back, Jemima kept it draped across the table, and was now seductively teasing the hem of his sleeve with her delicate fingertips.

"Come on," she purred. "Just one little dinner with him. I'll make it worth your while."

Her finger crept into his sleeve and teased the fur of his arm. Any hot-blooded tom would have been salivating over the caress and the sultry look, and probably using the tablecloth to hide some restaurant-inappropriate reactions, but all Mistoffelees really felt was slight annoyance, a tickling sensation, and yearning for his glass of iced tea. What the hell was wrong with him? Sure, Jemima wasn't the sharpest claw on the paw, but she seemed practically ready to lay herself out on the remains of her Caesar salad. Couldn't he at least be having a courtesy erection?

"You win," he said, struggling to sound airy and not despondent. "I get to meet your dad."

Jemima giggled kittenishly, retrieving her wandering fingers to clap briefly. "Oh, I'm so glad! It'll be so much fun, won't it Misto? I just know my dad's going to love you!"

"I'm sure," Mistoffelees said, forcing yet another grin. He tucked into his fish, and when the waiter finally arrived to deliver his iced tea, he barely had it in him to mumble a thank-you.

***

Sticking a finger into the collar of his tight shirt, Mistoffelees tried to distract himself from his discomfort by studying the house around him. Jemima hadn’t wasted any time in planning a dinner with her father; the very next day after their lunch date, she’d called Mistoffelees bright and early to tell him to come over for dinner tonight, her father couldn’t wait to meet him, oh and could he wear that nice blue shirt Jemima loved so much? Thank you, love you!

He had to admit, the house Jemima shared with her father was exceptionally nice. It was a long, sprawling bungalow with rick oak furniture, including, he noted appreciatively, a very extensive collection of bookcases. And he’d only seen the living room so far.

Behind an expensive-looking yet comfortable couch, Mistoffelees spotted a wide patio door covered with bamboo blinds. Curious, he stepped behind the couch and parted the slats, wondering if the backyard looked as impressive as the inside. It was hard to see the full expanse of the yard, thanks to the slowly dying sunlight (it was already early December, he remembered glumly, and the days were getting shorter), but he could make out a nice and large deck, and the tux’s eyes widened appreciatively as he noticed---

“There we go!” Jemima beamed, stepping out of the kitchen and holding two glasses of red wine. “I’m sure my dad won’t mind if I opened a bottle of Shiraz.” She joined him by the patio door and handed him a glass, smiling sheepishly. “Um, I’m sorry my dad’s not here yet. He doesn’t usually work this late. He is excited to meet you, I swear.”

“That’s fine,” Mistoffelees said with a slight smile.

He took a sip of the wine, hoping a bit of alcohol would make him feel more agreeable about this whole situation. There was also a second motive; he hoped a bit of wine would help him appreciate the cute queen’s assets. Jemima was wearing a rather short and slinky black dress (would her father really consent to her wearing such a garment?) with a dangerously plunging neckline that surely would have made any tom drool. The fact that Mistoffelees was more scandalized than aroused by her outfit was worrisome.

“Dinner’s in the oven,” Jemima said. She put her own wine glass down on a nearby side table and none-too-subtly cuddled up to Mistoffelees, wrapping her hand around his arm and laying her head against his shoulder. “I hope you like stewed chicken.”

“Love it,” the tux quickly said, tail twitching nervously at Jemima’s advance. He could clearly smell the rose perfume she’d dabbed onto her fur.

She didn’t seem to noticed his anxiety; in fact, her other hand boldly went to explore the edge of his shirt collar, teasing at the fur beneath. “You wore the blue shirt,” she purred. “I love this shirt. Really brings out your gorgeous eyes…”

Mistoffelees shifted nervously. Everlasting, why was her close presence making him so uncomfortable? Maybe they were just moving too fast. Eager for a distraction, he quickly parted the bamboo slats and said, “Oh hey! You guys have a hot tub?”

"A wha... oh," Jemima said, obliviously a little frustrated by her tomfriend's short attention span. "Yeah, it's my dad's. I don't use it much."

"Too bad. I love them."

Jemima parted the slats and frowned. "I think it gets too hot in the water." She turned back towards Mistoffelees, but he'd taken advantage of her brief moment of inattentiveness to shimmy over to a nearby bookcase, intent on avoiding anything resembling an awkward silence. Silence meant an opportunity for her to make a move. And he just wasn't ready for that yet.

"I have to say, I love your library here," the tux said. It was a sincere statement; he had no idea Jemima was so interested in literature and there was an impressive selection on the shelf.

He made round eyes at a shelf full from end to end with Victorian literature, and stopped to gaze at three framed photographs on the next shelf. He recognized Jemima, in a recent photo taken sometime in the summer. Another was of a beautiful golden queen with a tight smile, and the third was of a young, handsome tabby wearing a light green dress shirt. Siblings? Jemima had never mentioned anything about brothers or sisters, and she did like to talk about everything.

"Tennyson," Mistoffelees murmured, sliding a book off the poetry shelf. "I didn't know you liked Tennyson!"

"Hm... I don't, really," Jemima shrugged. She still had her wine glass and took a long gulp. "I don't even think I've opened that book. My dad reads that stuff, not me."

Speaking of dads, Mistoffelees mused with an inward sigh, where was the old tom? He secretly hoped to deal with an aging, conservative father who wouldn't let him place a hand on his daughter. Maybe that would get Jemima to slow down a bit.

"My books are all in my room," Jemima purred. "I'll show you later tonight, maybe."

"Sure, could be fun," Mistoffelees coughed. "Er... you know, you never mentioned anything about having brothers or sisters."

Jemima gave him a funny look. "Because I don't have any."

"Are these your cousins?" He indicated the photos of the golden queen and the handsome tabby.

Jemima blinked at him for a few seconds before breaking out into a giggle. "Oh no, silly! That's my mom and dad."

"Your..." Mistoffelees' eyes widened and he leaned in for a closer look. He especially couldn't take his eyes off the photograph of her father. He'd been so sure that was her brother. He just looked so, well... so young! Not to mention handsome. This was the 'old' tom they were waiting for? Surely this picture had been taken years ago?

"I know, I know," Jemima said. "Everyone says the same thing. They look too young to have me as a daughter. They did have me awfully young. I happened to be a... well, a bit of a surprise. It wasn’t easy for them to take care of a kitten at their age."

Mistoffelees nodded in sympathy. "Is that why they separated?"

"Well, no, there was something else too, but that's--"

The click of the front door put an end to the story, and the first thing Mistoffelees saw was that nope, the tom's picture was not several years out of date. A handsome, tall tabby walked inside, wearing a crisp white dress shirt and working to loosen a dark green tie. He peeked around the room and smiled a greeting as he spotted the two.

"Dad!" Jemima giggled, bounding across the room like a kitten to greet the new cat. The tabby’s smile widened warmly as Jemima wrapped herself around his neck.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he said, hugging her back until she loosened herself from around him. “I’m sorry I’m late, one of my clients needed an emergency meeting--”

“Don’t worry about it!” Jemima beamed. She turned and reached for Mistoffelees, who still stood dumbly at the other end of the room. “Dad’s a lawyer, you know. Dad, this is my tomfriend, Mistoffelees!”

The tux took a few cautious steps forward to shake the other cat’s offered hand. “Munkustrap,” he said, clasping Mistoffelees’ hand in a warm grip.

Mistoffelees gulped, unable to take his eyes off his girlfriend’s father. This was definitely not the tom he was expecting. “M-Mistoffelees,” he said, even though Jemima had already introduced him.

He started when Jemima gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, sending a cloud of rose perfume in his face. “I’ll go check on dinner,” she said. “You two can talk!”

She disappeared into the kitchen. Her father—Munkustrap—went back to loosening and removing his tie and nodded towards the couch. “Well, Mistoffelees, have a seat.”

“Oh—thank you.”

The scent of artificial roses faded by the time they sat on the couch. Now, all Mistoffelees could smell was warmth and spice and a rather irresistible musk that sent his pulse racing. Munkustrap didn’t smell anything like this daughter. This was much better, and it was all Mistoffelees could do to keep from inching closer to get more of the scent. What the hell was wrong with him?

“Jemima tells me you teach dance?”

Mistoffelees blinked a few times before remembering how to speak. “Yes… yes, I do. I studied ballet a lot when I was younger. I just do it part-time, at least until I find something in my field.”

“Oh yes?” Munkustrap said. He shifted on the couch so he could prop his arm against the backrest. There was something awfully alluring about the way he moved; the unbuttoned top of his shirt parted open a few inches, revealing striped fur just under the hollow of his throat. “That’s right, you’re a bit older than Jemima. Already graduated. What did you study?”

“English literature.”

The sudden, bright look on Munkustrap’s face made the tux’s pulse race quicker. “Really! I’ve always had an interest in English lit.”

“I know, I mean, I noticed your collection,” Mistoffelees said. He got to his feet and went to the oak bookcase he’d been admiring earlier. “You have some Tennyson—my favourite poet.”

He ran his fingers over the thick spine of the book, hearing the couch rustle as Munkustrap also got to his feet.

“Happens to be one of my favourites as well,” the tabby said. “Have you read--?”

“’In Memoriam’?” Mistoffelees ventured, turning just in time to see a bright smile on Munkustrap’s face.

“I was just about to say that. My favourite of his.”

“Mine too!”

It was Mistoffelees’ turn to smile brightly. This was a new feeling, something he hadn’t experienced with Jemima yet. They had nothing much in common, at least nothing that made him excited to share with her. For someone to share his love of poetry was, while geeky, also thrilling.

“If you’ve only studied English, you may not know about this author,” Munkustrap was saying, scanning the shelf above. “But if you’re interested in poetry—ah, here it is.”

He pulled a slim book from the shelf, a dark blue hardcover with a title and author Mistoffelees didn’t recognize.

“Charles Baudelaire,” Munkustrap said, handing him the book. “French poet, but this one has the translations. Beautiful poems. You can borrow it, if you’d like.”

Mistoffelees swallowed hard, delicately taking the book and cradling it to his chest. “I… I would love to borrow it, thank you.”

“I think dinner’s ready!” Jemima suddenly shouted, sticking her head out from the kitchen. “Who’s hungry? Hey, were you guys talking about me?”

Munkustrap smiled slightly and joined his daughter in the kitchen. “Only good things, sweetheart.”

Still clutching the book, Mistoffelees watched the tabby disappear through the door of the kitchen, leaving a slight tinge of his scent behind. He smelled as good as the book did—warm, spicy, comforting. He couldn’t help but wish that the book wasn’t the only thing he was holding in his arms; he quickly shook his head, aghast at the strange thought, and hurried to join his queenfriend at the dinner table.

***

Dinner, unfortunately, was a decidedly awkward affair. While Mistoffelees would have loved to continue the discussion about poetry, it was clearly something Jemima had no interest in, and so the conversation turned to more inane matters such as gossip about Jemima’s classes, what her mother was up to (whom she spoke to on the phone once a day), and how she and Mistoffelees were just so in love. Mistoffelees avoided having to support the assertion by stuffing a huge forkful of stewed chicken in his mouth.

Munkustrap listened to his chatterbox daughter with a patient smile, asking Mistoffelees the standard questions about his job, his plans for the future. Once or twice, the tux spotted an opportunity to discuss something else they had in common but Jemima would quickly take control of the conversation, amorously leaning onto her tomfriend as she did so.

To Mistoffelees’ further confusion, he felt less interested in Jemima’s plunging neckline than he did in the fluff of silver-white fur that peeked from the undone collar of Munkustrap’s shirt. He wondered what the tabby’s bare chest looked like. Did those stripes go all the way down…?

“Oh! Hey! You know what we should do?” Jemima suddenly blurted, excitedly grasping Mistoffelees’ sleeve. “It’s nice and cold these days and it’s so beautiful… why don’t we go ice skating? The three of us together!”

Munkustrap dabbed at his mouth with a napkin before politely saying, “It’s been a very long time since I’ve gone ice skating.”

“I’m not a very good skater,” Mistoffelees said. He was slightly amused at the tabby’s answer; it seemed like the most subtle ‘no’ he could have managed. It sailed straight over Jemima’s head.

“Oh Misto, I’ve seen you dance! You’d be such a good skater! And dad, it’ll come right back to you as soon as you get out on the ice. Come on, what do you say? It would be so much fun!”

“Well…” the tux said, non-committal.

Jemima giggled and hugged his arm. “I knew you’d be up for it! See, dad? It’ll be fun! Why don’t we meet at the rink in the park this weekend?”

“Sure, Jemima. If you really want to, I suppose we can try it.”

Well, Mistoffelees mused, at least having Munkustrap around would make the afternoon a bit easier to bear.

Once dinner was over, Mistoffelees claimed an early dance class as a reason to leave early. He gave Jemima a chaste kiss as a good-bye, and felt a little flush as Munkustrap handed him Baudelaire’s book and asking to hear his opinion once he was done reading it.