- Apr 16, 2023
- 62
- 12
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When asked a few months ago, 'Hey, would you like to join the creep colony of cats in the forest?', it would've been the easiest decision of Momo's life to say no. There had been no simpler life than that surrounded by free food and adorned in pillows that would make even a queen jealous, but there wasn't much beauty in the mundane. The windows had grown too familiar after a while, the garden free of any new scents to spice up their life. Out in the wilderness, there was something new every day (and they still had the safety blanket of a nightly home should things go wrong). It would be asinine to deny its challenges, but through each bloody battle and twoleg threat, there was love. He'd never met cats that would die for one another before, their loyalty warmed his heart better than any homely hearth could. To remain a partial kittypet was to remain an outsider, but Momowhisker wasn't sure he minded - observing the strong bonds was fulfillment enough. The oriental's movements had grown more stifled since the meeting passed, his conversations more strained with lies as they ever had been before. It was hard to proclaim he hated Twolegs when his neck was adorned with a shiny collar, and his fur was forever preened by their intervention in his life.
A scrawny mouse was placed upon the freshkill pile by the blue-eyed Daylight Warrior, his eyes forlorn as they wandered upon the dwindling camp. They flashed a grin at a cat that gave them less than stellar reception and began to strut toward the center of the camp where a few warriors and apprentices had congregated. 'It's fine. I still have a home, nothing will go wrong if I get captured. I am safe.' Selfish words were often the easiest to think. Momowhisker stood at his full height as he tried to get the group's attention with a series of tail whishes and clearing of a throat, his eyes refusing to settle on just one of a great many cats that stood before him. "Oh we're so gloomy. Is it gloomy? It feels really gloomy." StarClan's flaming pelt, of course it was gloomy. As their heartbeat quickened their grin stretched wider to try and counter it, "I can help! Ooh, I know a good few stories about the greaaaaat beyond. Please, gather around!"
'On second thought, maybe don't' To be a performer with performance anxiety was to be like a cat that couldn't count its whiskers, his heart raced but his expression beamed with a confidence he truly did not feel. Perhaps it would get easy, should his storytelling become easier a hit amidst the small crowd.