- Jun 14, 2024
- 26
- 8
- 3
" Just like lying in a Twoleg garden, isn't it? " . . . " I wish the rest of us could be so lazy! Unfortunately, we've got things to do, like patrol our borders and hunt for our Clan! " . . . " He's not even from here. " . . . " Come on, Twilightkit. Don't take that from a kittypet. "
The words of his so - called Clanmates echo in Coltkit's ears as he traipses on clumsy forepaws around the edge of camp, creeping under the characteristic underbrush and attempting to avoid the watchful eyes of the nursery queens. Under the generosity of the green - leaf sun, the growth blooms thick—verdant ferns and bursting wildflowers wobble gently in the wind, serving well to easily conceal the movements of a small kit. That, and the gilded purple dusk that streaks the sky casts the camp in half - light as cats begin to retire to laze about in lumps of fur, washing each others' pelts, relaxing from a day of hard work.
Hard work. A small lower lip wobbles at the very words . . . lazy, is what everyone called him . . . or if they didn't say it, they thought it, he just knew they did. Ever up in the clouds, the sugar - coated poison of Redflower and the others had dragged the blue tabby abruptly crashing to earth. Lazy kittypet. He can practically feel the invisible brand of the little blue collar the warriors had unceremoniously dragged off his neck when he'd been towed in no more than a moon ago, an impact wound raw on his thigh, now healed.
He steals a glance about in the gloaming, for any watchful queens . . . seemingly spotting none, the little tom breaks from the underbrush and into the firefly - lit darkness of the newly unoccupied gorse tunnel, its ground worn velvety smooth from the paws of the hard - working warriors. He's not . . . he's not useless—or . . . or lazy—and he's gonna prove it! He's gonna show that he's not just a . . . a kittypet! His childish resolve strengthens as he makes clumsy steps up the tunnel. He's . . . he's gonna go and hunt for his Clan! And fight anyone who'd try to stop him!
Except . . . when he's caught no more than a few pawsteps in, all the ferocity drains from his body, leaving oversized paws trembling beneath him. Whoever apprehends him can hardly get in a few words of their scolding before the corners of a white muzzle downturn, overlong milk - fangs poking into his trembling lip as big tears bubble up in off - hued eyes. No, no, no . . . ! He can't—he can't cry! That'd be all . . . weak . . . and not strong and un - lazy and un - everything. It's as though every bit of sadness Coltkit has seemed immune to for the past three moons hits him in one big wave.
" I'm suh–suh–sorry! " he practically wails. The tears, uncaring of his defiance, spill over duotone lashes and roll in fat droplets of salt down his cheeks, following blue - tabby lines. He's in trouble, and he knows it . . . but . . . but he doesn't know what to do, 'cause everyone gets mad at him for trying to go out and do things, but they get mad at him when he stays in camp too! Coltkit's hitching sobs shake his little body so much that he plops down in a sprawling puppyish sit right at the scene of the crime. " I juh–just wanted to be . . . " There's a big word, the opposite of useless, but his young mind can't grasp it. " . . . nuh–nuh–not useless! "
" I'm not a lazy k–k–kittypet . . . " he hiccups, big fat tears rolling down his cheeks and splattering the ground between his oversized forepaws. They're too big . . . they're all wrong. He's all wrong. Unable to express this in the simple syllables of youth, Coltkit repeats in another sob, " I'm nuh–nuh–not."
The words of his so - called Clanmates echo in Coltkit's ears as he traipses on clumsy forepaws around the edge of camp, creeping under the characteristic underbrush and attempting to avoid the watchful eyes of the nursery queens. Under the generosity of the green - leaf sun, the growth blooms thick—verdant ferns and bursting wildflowers wobble gently in the wind, serving well to easily conceal the movements of a small kit. That, and the gilded purple dusk that streaks the sky casts the camp in half - light as cats begin to retire to laze about in lumps of fur, washing each others' pelts, relaxing from a day of hard work.
Hard work. A small lower lip wobbles at the very words . . . lazy, is what everyone called him . . . or if they didn't say it, they thought it, he just knew they did. Ever up in the clouds, the sugar - coated poison of Redflower and the others had dragged the blue tabby abruptly crashing to earth. Lazy kittypet. He can practically feel the invisible brand of the little blue collar the warriors had unceremoniously dragged off his neck when he'd been towed in no more than a moon ago, an impact wound raw on his thigh, now healed.
He steals a glance about in the gloaming, for any watchful queens . . . seemingly spotting none, the little tom breaks from the underbrush and into the firefly - lit darkness of the newly unoccupied gorse tunnel, its ground worn velvety smooth from the paws of the hard - working warriors. He's not . . . he's not useless—or . . . or lazy—and he's gonna prove it! He's gonna show that he's not just a . . . a kittypet! His childish resolve strengthens as he makes clumsy steps up the tunnel. He's . . . he's gonna go and hunt for his Clan! And fight anyone who'd try to stop him!
Except . . . when he's caught no more than a few pawsteps in, all the ferocity drains from his body, leaving oversized paws trembling beneath him. Whoever apprehends him can hardly get in a few words of their scolding before the corners of a white muzzle downturn, overlong milk - fangs poking into his trembling lip as big tears bubble up in off - hued eyes. No, no, no . . . ! He can't—he can't cry! That'd be all . . . weak . . . and not strong and un - lazy and un - everything. It's as though every bit of sadness Coltkit has seemed immune to for the past three moons hits him in one big wave.
" I'm suh–suh–sorry! " he practically wails. The tears, uncaring of his defiance, spill over duotone lashes and roll in fat droplets of salt down his cheeks, following blue - tabby lines. He's in trouble, and he knows it . . . but . . . but he doesn't know what to do, 'cause everyone gets mad at him for trying to go out and do things, but they get mad at him when he stays in camp too! Coltkit's hitching sobs shake his little body so much that he plops down in a sprawling puppyish sit right at the scene of the crime. " I juh–just wanted to be . . . " There's a big word, the opposite of useless, but his young mind can't grasp it. " . . . nuh–nuh–not useless! "
" I'm not a lazy k–k–kittypet . . . " he hiccups, big fat tears rolling down his cheeks and splattering the ground between his oversized forepaws. They're too big . . . they're all wrong. He's all wrong. Unable to express this in the simple syllables of youth, Coltkit repeats in another sob, " I'm nuh–nuh–not."
