Escape

She looked at the poster through her tears. That poster that had hung on her wall for years now, faithful and endearing, never having fallen once or tilted to an angle. It was the poster she stared at now as she crouched in the corner of her room: this small brown box that caged her entire world, compressing it into one small area, all her thoughts and feelings. Slowly she reached out to touch the poster, run one finger down the strong outline of the man's jaw who was portrayed there...a man dressed as a silver tabby cat, extending his arms in welcome. How she longed to fall into those arms and let herself go, forget everything in exchange for the profound level of contentment of feeling his hand around hers, hearing that music, singing those songs, dancing those dances...

Her hand touched the poster, and once again she was forced to feel only paper. Her tears were renewed as she withdrew her hand to tuck it back into the small curl her body had formed itself into, that burning in her throat and the nausea in the pit of her gut. The passionate gleam in that tabby's eyes, his outstretched hands, had for so often brought her comfort. But not now. Not when a mother hated her, peers rejected her, and teachers alienated her. Not when her world was falling apart, day by day, starting at the home until it filled her entire life: a life crammed into these four brown paneled walls. A life comprised and summed up by one simple four-letter word. CATS.

Furthermore, she knew she was alone. Alone with her sorrow, her grief. Alone with the music which had once filled her with such passion. Her only comfort: the thought of those graceful cats that filled her life with such meaning yet no one else understood. No one could. She was alone in this place. A place of hate and sorrow to which she did not belong. It was becoming harder and harder to lose herself in the magical grace of Andrew Lloyd Webber and his Jellicles, harder to escape the real world which plagued her like a living Hell. As much as she wanted to forget her life and problems, emerge herself in the thing she loved and was more devoted to than anything else in life, even that was being taken from her.

She reached out for the poster now, her weeping unchecked as it fell into the silvery material of her home-made costume modeled after that same show. Those same characters. Lindsay, a young blonde girl of fourteen years, knew her only escape from this sorrow was in those eyes, that striped face.

"Don't leave me here," she whispered in a choked voice. "Please..."

Lindsay had been a CATS fan since she was eight. Obsessed, they said, and she admitted it to herself. Yes, she was hopelessly devoted to a Broadway musical which made no sense to anyone but her. There was nothing wrong with loving something that much, no matter how redundant. CATS was her sole passion, her comfort, her life. So often before when she looked to the music, the dance, the characters, she would find her way again. She had always put her faith in that one beautiful work of theatrical art to pull her through tough times. When it seemed that this time would fail, that she would be left alone with only this all-consuming grief, her weeping began anew.

But her devotion would not be in vain. CATS would answer her.

Lindsay's sorrow lightened when she felt a warm entity suddenly surrounding her, pulsing with radiant life. Her eyes shut, she rested her head against the wall, feeling the gentle warmth caress her cheek. Her arms extended, and she could feel the pulsating electricity flow down her arms, around her back and face, and with it came a music. A sweet, familiar music. The comfort the unknown energy brought was so complete, so fulfilling, that she didn't bother to question its origin, what it was. She simply welcomed it, fully and openly.

"Lindsay," sighed a voice in her ear. It was faint, but brought a smile to her lips. In the darkness of her closed eyelids, she could barely make out the dim form of a cat. A tall, muscular cat who stood erect on two legs. A silver cat with black stripes. Slowly he strode towards her, grace flowing with that music, eyes blazing with fire. "Lindsay," it hissed again. Louder, yet blending with that unheard music. Its voice was like a red hot iron dipped into cool water. The young girl could almost feel the brush of silky fur against her hand.

"Who are you?" she whispered aloud.

"A friend." She could feel someone's breath against her cheek, warm and gentle. She turned her face towards it, her eyes remaining closed so as not to lose that image. "I know you don't belong here."

Lindsay choked back another sob, but she knew the truth those words held. She knew it herself, just as she had always known it. Still, she asked: "What do you mean?"

"Open your eyes."

Slowly, Lindsay opened her eyes, fearing to lose the image that brought her such comfort amid her sorrow, her pain. But those fiery eyes and majestic silver form stayed with her, burned into her mind as she looked at her outstretched arms. Arms that reached for that energy surrounding her, for that music, were now covered in soft, silver fur. When she extended her fingers, sharp ivory claws unsheathed from their tips. Eyes traveling slowly to the rest of her, she saw her silver and gray costume had attached itself to her body, turning from stretchy nylon material into genuine, thick cat fur. Her tail twitched as though it were alive.

"This is how you were meant to be, Lindsay," the cat hissed again. "What you really are."

Slowly Lindsay felt her hands grasped by that unseen, vital force and she was pulled up to her feet without the least amount of effort. Everything in her old, ordinary room seemed new. In the dim light, her cat eyes could see the things she had never before noticed. Her triangular ears picked up the sounds of a million tiny pitches about the house, beyond its walls. And the smells; they wafted in only to be mixed into a whirlpool of scents, unable to be separated yet telling a story of their own when comprehended. Her claws and whiskers picked up each and every tiny vibration in the delicate, powerful web of energy that surrounded every living thing. Her fur bristled at the intensity of the energy before her, from the cat.

"Now you see," it hissed. "You don't belong here."

"Then take me where I belong." Lindsay closed her eyes to see the cat again. He shook his head.

"Not yet. There is something that must be done first."

He vanished. Suddenly. Abruptly. The warm, comforting energy of the entity dissolved, leaving Lindsay with her overwhelming grief once again. In one solid moment all her sorrow came rushing back to her, and she collapsed to the floor from the sheer intensity of the impact. She buried her face into her arms and wept piteously into her fur as the memories returned. Memories of performances, of friends and feelings, of forgetting...of not being understood and loved....tearing at her, gouging a gaping hole in her soul, in the deepest section of her heart. It tore at her like a ravishing disease: from the inside out, wounding her in places where it was impossible to heal. An all-consuming fire was this grief.

Then she stopped. There was a new noise rising up in her ears, one that drowned out the sound of the crashes, the screams and yelling in the other room. It wiped out all other sound, her very thoughts and memories, stifling her senses with its rich fullness. That music she knew by heart...every beat, every note, every dance step that accompanied it. It pulled at her, calling, beckoning, lifting her eyes up to the poster of that silver tabby whose arms were outstretched. Opening to her... Lindsay wiped away the dampness of her cheek fur, breath coming in short gasps. She knew what needed to be done. Somehow she knew.

Again she reached for the image.