roaming cat form
CS username: SurgeFire
group co-op archive: here
roaming cat number: 3
cat's name: Thistletuft
cat's age: 20 moons
cat's gender: Male
prompt answer: (500 words max)
Now, it seems, that in some cases, the least favorite part of the job was the one you had to do every single day.
Thistletuft's eyes wandered, looking around at the assorted masses of herbs. Ah, he thought, sighing. It was that time of day again, in which I have to figure out what goes where.
He prodded the herbs, fidgeting around with them in procrastination of what he was meant to do. No, no, he didn't want one of Waspstar's death visions, but still; how fun was it to assort herbs? Not incredibly so. Organization was not Thistletuft's forté. Standing still for moments at a time was simply not his optimal thing.
And yet, he was a healer. What kind of healer was he?
Blue eyes searching, scanning, they simply seemed to be out of focus; the herbs, in an instant, they shifted into other figures; a figment of his imagination, sure, it wasn't real, sure—but something about it made the time pass better. Figures of others, waiting for his call.
"And you, you stand here," Thistletuft muttered, nudging a herb-figure; a warrior in his imagination. "You—you seem fit for the same job, so you stand there, too." He nudged another herb to the same spot, the same type; and soon, he found multiple stacks before his paws, like others waiting for his command to strike.
His creativity had run wild, at this point. He stood before the stacks with pride; with some thinking, made the job slightly easier.
His shoulders and head drooped once he came to the conclusion, though, that he would never truly be a warrior, much less a commander. As much as he enjoyed being a healer, there was still…the organization problem. Well, that was tomorrow Thistletuft to worry about, now.
For now, it was done. [301]