MaryCrow
Inactive Members
8 Posts
Very busy, sorry for late replies!
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Post by MaryCrow on Oct 28, 2020 16:40:09 GMT
Sweetie - Tom - 18 moons - Solitary
Tags: @ Words: 254 Notes: Feel free to throw any character at him!
The white cat dragged his paws towards the twolegplace. The cold wind had scared off most of the prey, causing his hunts to end with less and less success. At this point, he was considering spending leaf-bare in the twolegplace. Sweetie let out an uncomfortable groan as the wind blew cold air through his fur. Being cold and hungry were his two least favorite feelings that he had experienced as a wild cat.
As he passed through the twolegplace, sometimes being cooed at by some twolegs, he searched for food. The tom recognized a scent he had smelt around a year ago. It was meat, but it was different from fresh-kill. Sweetie quickened his pace.
The scent brought him to one of those odd grey stumps that he still didn't have a name for. "Maybe I should ask someone what they call those," Sweetie murmured to himself. He leaped on top of it, carefully balancing so that he didn't fall in. Below him was the source of the scent - a pink worm or tail shaped piece of meat. The tomcat didn't know what exactly it was, but it tasted like meat and twolegs ate it.
Just as he leaned down to grab it with his mouth, he saw a cat out of the corner of his eye. Surprised, he tried to stand back up, but lost his balance and fell, letting out a strangled noise. Sweetie quickly got back up, still in the odd stump-like contraption, and let out a greeting: "Hello! I'm Sweetie."
Date: Wind Moon, Day 17
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Post by Sigh on Oct 30, 2020 23:00:03 GMT
cyril Cyril eyed the white tom skeptically. He didn't look particularly underfed, so what reason could he have for scrounging in twolegs' throwaways? Sure, twolegs acted in many strange ways, but that didn't mean Cyril—or any of the other neighborhood cats he knew of—was happy to eat something that twolegs refused to. Cyril then realized that he didn't recognize the cat a few paces from him. He didn't claim to know every cat in the twoleg place; indeed, he had only had what might be generously called a conversation with a select few of the neighboring cats, but he was under the impression that he recognized most of his neighbors. And he didn't recognize this cat. As the stranger toppled raucously from edge of the bin, Cyril's skeptical expression morphed into one of grumpy resignation. What is it with youngsters and falling off of strange twoleg creations? he grumbled internally, tail swishing in mild irritation along the close-cropped grass of the yard. Although, upon closer inspection, this particular tom was not so young. Younger than Cyril, surely, but that was not such a great feat at his age. Still young enough to get into plenty of trouble, though, Cyril thought. The other tom's greeting and introduction hung in the air between them. With a yawn—and subsequent wrinkle of his nose at the foul smell of the nearby bin—Cyril finally deigned to reply. "Cyril," he meowed, his name a low grumble grating against his throat. "You new around here, Sweetie?" He paused briefly before saying the stranger's name; it sounded more like something a queen would refer to her kit as rather than anything a self-respecting cat would choose to be called, but Cyril held his opinion to himself. 287 | MaryCrow hope you don't mind me throwing in this grumpy old man!
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MaryCrow
Inactive Members
8 Posts
Very busy, sorry for late replies!
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Post by MaryCrow on Nov 15, 2020 11:09:21 GMT
Sweetie - Tom - 18 moons - Solitary Tags: Sigh Words: 171 Notes: I'm sorry for the late reply, I suddenly got very busy.
Sweetie stumbled towards the other cat. "Hello, Cyril!" he repeated. The white cat knew that he had probably made a bad first impression on the other tom. He quickly gave a few licks to his fur, tidying it up before engaging in the conversation.
Cyril's question made it quite clear that the other lived around here, which might be useful later on. "Not exactly," he mewed, "I used to live around here... somewhere, but I don't anymore. It's been a while since I've last been here." He let his eyes wander around his surroundings before looking back at Cyril.
Sweetie took a moment to look over the other tom. He seemed to be older than him. Maybe he has some knowledge he could share. "I take it that you live around here. Do you know any good spots to find food?" he asked, trying to act as if he wasn't starving. Sweetie sat down and wrapped his tail around his paws, looking at the older cat with a bright, innocent-looking smile.
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Post by Sigh on Nov 17, 2020 0:53:25 GMT
cyril Well it must have been quite a long while if he's this out of sorts, mused Cyril, noting Sweetie's general confusion and wandering eyes. Not to mention his choice of meal, but judging from the other tom's question, he was rather desperate. Either that or he didn't know better, but hadn't he just said he used to live around here? Somewhere? The answer to what Cyril had considered a relatively straightforward question had been, by his estimation, decidely not straightforward, and he was having some difficulty parsing it in his mind. But who was Cyril to get in the way of another cat's quest for food? He certainly wouldn't want to deal with the aftermath of a cat sick from throwaways, and he was sure that most of his neighbors would agree that a sick cat was rather disagreeable for everyone. Really, Cyril's decision to intervene in Sweetie's feast (if it could be called such a thing—the thought turned Cyril's stomach) was quite altruistic, all things considered. His morality, bolstered, Cyril finally deigned to reply. "I can tell you what is not a good spot to find food." He eyed the bin pointedly, ears flattened slightly to signal his distaste. "And that is a pile of scraps that even twolegs refuse to eat. It's discarded for a reason, Sweetie."Cyril's voice creaked from disuse, coming out gravelly and dry in turns. He cleared his throat briefly, then decided against blathering on for any longer than necessary; not only was it starting to grate on his woefully inadequate social skills, but most conversations, he had found, could in fact be handled with a bare minimum of actual conversing. Assured by this reasoning, Cyril swept past Sweetie and slipped through the fence on his wobbly legs, gesturing for the other tom to follow.
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