The next day Munkustrap was up bright and early and hurried to Vyktorea's home to check on his two errant tribe mates. He met Groultyghur in the front room. The brown, red, and black striped male was stretched out across the sofa performing his morning ablutions. His wounds were looking better and the smell of healing salve was heavy in the air around him, almost masking out his own scent. He paused in the act of lifting his leg over his head to lick the underside, and shot a one-eyed glare at his half-brother.
"Good morning," Munkustrap nodded at him tensely.
Groultyghur gave a wordless snarl and went back to grooming himself. He licked one paw and gingerly rubbed it over the ragged bits that remained where his left ear had been. The absence of the ear coupled with his blind eye gave him a very lopsided look.
Vyktorea came in from the hallway about then, closely followed by Moya who also smelled strongly of healing salve. "I was hoping you'd come," Vyktorea greeted her chief. "Groultyghur will survive, but I gave him a painkiller that will make him groggy, so he shouldn't go on the hunt today."
"I can still hunt," Groultyghur protested, quickly standing up. "I'm not a bit--" he swayed a little and had to steady himself against the sofa, "groggy."
Munkustrap shook his head. "If Vyktorea says you can't go then you can't," he said firmly. "Besides, the way you smell, any khaska would know you were coming before you got anywhere near."
Groultyghur muttered something under his breath and sat down sulkily. Munkustrap turned back to the healer and queried, "What about Moya?"
"She can't hunt either, and for the same reason," Vyktorea told him. "Though I'm really more concerned about her ability to nurse after the slash Groultyghur gave her across her right breast."
"That was self defense," Groultyghur grumbled.
"Self defense?" Moya snorted. "I wasn't trying to kill you, rat, just teach you a lesson."
"And how was I supposed to tell that, bitch?" Groultyghur said menacingly, rising (slowly this time) from the sofa.
"Don't you call me that!" Moya snapped, bristling with indignation. "I'm not a pollicle!"
"And I'm not a rat!" Groultyghur shot back.
"That's enough!" Munkustrap roared, and the two actually looked apprehensive for a minute. "This argument is just as pointless as last night's fight was. Groultyghur, you need to learn to control your temper better. And you, Moya, shouldn't be trying to pick a fight so quickly. I'd think my second would know better."
"I didn't start the fight," Moya cried, infuriated, and stabbed a clawed digit in the direction of her adversary. "He did!"
"I did not!" Groultyghur retorted, moving threateningly toward the Siamese-colored female.
Munkustrap swiftly stepped between them. "We're not going to argue about who started it," he said testily. "As far as I'm concerned, you're both at fault and you can both apologize to each other."
"When ghatsas fly!" Groultyghur burst out, and Moya nodded vigorously in agreement.
"Let's put it this way," Munkustrap snarled as his patience wore thin. "Until you have apologized and promised to keep your petty disputes to yourselves, you will not be allowed to hunt because you disrupt the rest of the group."
The two rivals stared at him and he held his breath, hoping he had said the right thing. They looked at each other and Moya started to open her mouth, but Groultyghur bolted out the front door before she could say anything. She shrugged at her chief and left at a more sedate pace.
Munkustrap let out his breath slowly and turned to Vyktorea. The healer had wisely retreated to the hallway when the bickering started.
"What a mess!" the chief groaned, sitting down on the sofa. "How on Coricum does Macavity control the tribe with this kind of conflict going on all the time?"
Vyktorea shrugged and came over to sit down next to him. "He manages somehow," she said.
"But why do those two hate each other so much?" Munkustrap wanted to know.
"Aha ha," Vyktorea laughed nervously. "That's…a little complicated. I'm not sure I can explain."
"Try," Munkustrap commanded, turning his penetrating gaze on her.
"Well," Vyktorea began haltingly, "I think…what it all boils down to is, ah, that Groultyghur is jealous of Moya."
"Jealous?" Munkustrap prompted when she stopped.
"Er, yes," Vyktorea continued. "I think that Groultyghur thought that he should be your second."
"I see," Munkustrap said blandly. "And is Macavity aware of these circumstances?"
"I really don't know, Munkustrap," Vyktorea admitted. "He probably is, but he's a very private cat, like I said before. He doesn't discuss his problems or worries with me or anyone else."
Munkustrap sighed and shook his head. "Well, I can't be sure about Moya," he said quietly, "but I think I can guess why Macavity didn't choose Groultyghur as his second. By the Heaviside, I have got to get back to my tribe. Let Macavity deal with his own problems."
Macavity's current problem was Grizabella, who was berating him for his actions of the previous evening. "Mama, if I had refused Demeetar, she would have suspected something," he rationalized. "Then either I would be exposed, or else she might fall out of love with her precious Munkustrap. On the whole, I think it would be the latter, so really I'm doing my brother a favor."
"Ha!" Grizabella barked scornfully. "I'd like to see you try to explain that to him."
"With any luck, you won't be around when we have our confrontation," Macavity growled.
"And when will that be?" Grizabella demanded.
Macavity eyed her thoughtfully before answering, "I don't know, but I think I know how to correct our problem."
"Really?" Grizabella said with interest. "Tell me."
Obediently Macavity explained how he thought the transfer had occurred and how he could reverse it. "How clever!" Grizabella said appreciatively. "But how and when will you carry this out?"
Macavity shrugged, "I haven't decided yet." An evil grin flashed across his grey and white face. "I thought I might wait until Demeetar's season is over…"
Without warning, Grizabella smacked him hard across the face. "Ow! Mama, what was that for?"
"You are a rat!" she answered. "How would you feel if Munkustrap were taking advantage of your mate?"
"You're forgetting, Mama," Macavity said tonelessly, "that I don't have a mate."
"Well, why in the Heaviside's name don't you?" Grizabella cried in exasperation. "You're the chief of the Tyghurss!"
"Not so loud, Mama!" Macavity hissed through his teeth, looking around anxiously.
"Why haven't you mated with Gritelboen?" Grizabella demanded in a softer tone. "You were always flirting with her and it was obvious that she liked you."
"Number one reason," Macavity said evenly, ticking them off on his claws, "is that Gritelboen is a featherhead. Number two, she hasn't come into season yet, anyway. Number three, and most important, I don't want to give Groultyghur another reason to hate me."
Grizabella had to concede him this last point. "Well, why not Moya then?"
"Because Moya already has a mate," Macavity flared. "I am the chief, as you pointed out; I shouldn't have to share!"
"Neither should Munkustrap," Grizabella retorted.
Macavity had no answer for that, much to his annoyance. Grizabella took advantage of his speechlessness and added, "Macavity, you don't belong in this tribe. I suggest you leave it as soon as possible."
©1999 Delilah