Post by Sigh on Oct 20, 2020 0:55:52 GMT
Desired Name: TBD
Age: 64 moons
Birth Moon: Rain Moon 2015
Appearance: Cyril is on the larger side, though any intimidation he might derive from his size is mostly diminished by his age, crotchety demeanor, and relatively short fur. In coloring he is mainly white, especially on his belly, but he has several black spots on him: a patch on each of his forelegs, small dots on his chin and nose, and one large swathe that covers his entire tail and back as well as much of his head. He is generally well-proportioned, though his feet are on the larger side and his ears on the smaller. Perhaps his most distinguishing feature is his yellow eyes—not for their color, but for their constant squinting which serves as the cornerstone of his characteristic dour expression.
Personality: Cyril is something of a quintessential grumpy old man. He likes to sit in sunbeams and open a single eye to glare at any passerby who dares interrupt his naps. In his old age he has became a rather poor conversationalist, liable to respond in grunts or single syllables rather than any particularly cohesive speech. Still, for all his gruffness, Cyril cares deeply about those around him (even if he won't admit it). He has no wish to see others suffer, particularly the younger cats who remind him of his siblings that he never got to see grow up or grow out of their adventurous and reckless phase. Perhaps he is just nostalgic—but getting him to admit any part of his softer side is like pulling teeth.
History: Cyril had something of a golden kithood, born to a loving pair in a litter of four, living his earliest days in a cozy house with doting owners. His life was idyllic for the first few moons—until the storm. In his sixth moon, he and the other kits had finally been permitted by their housefolk to leave the house. Unfortunately, one day of poor weather fairly early on in this period of newfound freedom spelled disaster. The would-be explorers were quickly overcome by powerful winds and torrential rains. Separated from his siblings, Cyril took refuge beneath a fallen tree.
He remembers little about the aftermath; he remembers that it was cold, that his knees never felt the same after, that his fur became so soaked through that he thought the water would seep into him and fill up his lungs. He remembers warm hands picking him up, the strange smells of other cats, several housefolk—but not his housefolk—crowded around him. Cyril spent about six moons in the shelter, but he only remembers the last three with any clarity. Although his knees were weak and his face was not a particularly handsome one, he eventually caught the eye of a new set of housefolk, who brought him to new home—not the one he had grown up in, but a comfortable place to live all the same.
The housefolks' garden was the highlight of Cyril's new home. All manner of plants and herbs grew in the patch of greenery beside the house, all sorts of smells and sights that Cyril had seen before only in passing. He learned each of them though, through trial and error. Looking back on these early days, Cyril is somewhat embarrassed of his single minded determination to sample every herb in the garden, but he will grudgingly admit the results were effective—after all, he knows now never to swallow any stinging nettle.
In his recent years, Cyril has become somewhat ornery, scoffing at the younger neighborhood cats who act much the same as he did in his youth and avoiding most conversation in favor of basking in sunbeams.
Family: Mother and father, 3 siblings (one older, two younger), status unknown