Username: KittyandCat
Cat Name: Sunny
Gender: tom
Rank: warrior / fighter
Clan: Turf TreadersAge: ~1 year; 26 moons
Scars: xPrompt:“A | I was only a kit then, living with my mother. we were loners, traveling away from the mountainside we’d lived at since I was born. I was naive, innocent. I could never imagine the world as a dangerous place, the place my mother had likely seen time and time again. she’d told me I had littermates, that they’d learned to fly. I knew about the hawks around our home, and had seen them grab squirrels and rabbits, carrying them off. It never clicked though.
xxxon only the second day of our travels, which, admittedly, we hadn’t gotten far due to my stubby kit legs, I found myself chasing a butterfly. it was like my whole world was that butterfly, as I blocked out the rest of the world, and my mother’s calls. I could hear her paw-steps, racing toward me, her desperate yowls for me to move, run, but I just wasn’t listening. it was bliss. until the talons of a hawk fastened into my shoulders, the sharp pain taking my breathe away. that’s when all the sound started flooding into my ears again; the flapping of the bird’s wings, my mother’s cries, my breathing, so heavy despite the feeling that no air would enter my lungs. that’s when my mother jumped, grasping the hawk’s wing, her eyes wild and afraid, different than the gentle, tired look I was used to. she got me down, but my wounds never healed.
B | even after my first taste of danger, my introduction to the real world, I wasn’t nearly as cautious as I should’ve been. I was about 12 moons old, my mother and I had made it to a small forest, resting beside a twoleg-place. we’d decided to stay temporarily; my mother, in her old age, found it more difficult to hunt, and I was only just learning. later than planned. the twoleg-place supplied us with food, though, in their silver metal bins and sometimes small, hard pellets from the kinder twolegs.
xxxit gave us more than that, though. some of the cats from the twoleg-place were around my age. a scrawny black tom, a plump tabby, and a posh siamese all became my friends. and a fluffy calico, I don’t even remember her name now, was the one I cared for the most. one night, I went out with them all, taking them into the forest. I wanted to show off, to impress the calico. so when I scented a fox, even though my mother had warned me against following foxes, I decided to take the kittypets toward it.
xxxmy plan was to bring them all up into a tree, above the fox. let them see the brute. show them the dangers of the forest, where I lived, without any actual danger at all. and at first, everything went according to plan. they “oooo”ed and “ahhhh”ed, all safely watching from the branches of a sycamore. until the calico fell. of course I jumped after her, like an idiot and like a hero. I was lucky my mother had secretly followed us, worried about my well-being. and I was lucky she could chase it off, leaving me nearly untouched, minus the scar of its teeth in my ankle. if my memory serves correctly, the calico wasn’t impressed.
C | while my first and second scars were reminders of times I’d failed to listen to my mother, and while, yes, the third was, too, it was also a medal of pride. we were in our fifth home now, three moves away from where I’d been bitten by a fox; a lush and beautiful forest. it was perfect, overgrown with ferns and ivy, enough that twolegs didn’t bother tromping though but not to much to make movement difficult for us. too good to be true.
xxxas it turned out, it was, and we weren’t the only cats who wanted to call the forest home. a big, black tabby prowled the place as well, and he wasn’t content on sharing. he told us to get out, to leave, or we’d regret it. I was ready to put up a fight, to defend our new territory, but my mother wasn’t. she was ready to leave. on our way out, she caught her back paw on a vine, twisting it to the point that she couldn’t walk.
xxxof course I stayed with her, grooming her fur and bringing her prey through the night, praying she’d be better in the morning. but she wasn’t. the tabby found us just as the just rose above the trees, growling over the fact we were still there. I tried to explain why we hadn’t left, couldn’t leave, be he didn’t want to hear it. my mother begged me to move, run, to leave because he was too big to take on. but I couldn’t leave her. I stayed. I fought. besides two short scratches, that formed scars, he turned out to be a poor fighter, more bark than bite. and as he ran off, crying like a kit, I was sure my luck had worn out. until my mother licked me on the cheek, only a gentle purr in her throat. no scolding for disobeying her, again, only her blissful presence. the presence I’d protected.
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