Post by Taxx on Aug 21, 2020 19:14:56 GMT
Name: Last
Desired Name: To be decided
Allegiance: Loner
Rank: None
Age: 18 moons
Birth Moon: Feather Moon (2019)
Sex: Tom
Appearance: Last is a short-legged and stocky cat- or he would be. His thick coat doesn’t quite hide the fact that he’s rather thin. He would be more impressive at full growth, but as it is… His coat is brown, his pattern that of a tabby- and the most eye-catching thing is actually a lack: his tail is hardly more than a nub, barely two inches in length. This he inherited from his mother, while his pelt comes from his father. Bright green eyes gleam from a round face, and his ears sport small tufts at the tip.
Last tends to creep along, preferring not to be noticed, but if he is then he shifts in a heartbeat, using all his height and coat in an effort to intimidate: the lesson he learned is that cats, even if they seem friendly, are only out to make sure you’re not a threat to them, and the bluff is one he uses to try to dissuade them from considering him an easy target.
Personality: Last is a loner in the truest sense of the word. He keeps to himself, rarely inviting company, and will do his best to drive off anyone with rude comments- or leave himself, if that doesn't work. Some part of him craves company, but he was brought up under the idea that cats want nothing but what you can have- food, shelter, whatever- and to keep it, you were better off staying on your own.
He's defensive, relying too much on those teachings growing up, and living as best he can by them. As such, he really doesn't have friends. The only ones he relies on- and this from a period of trial and error- are the few Twolegs who feed him when his hunting attempts have failed more than usual.
History: “Your name,” the tortoiseshell she-cat announced, looking into the hazy blue of her only surviving kit’s eyes, “is Last.”
“Why?” was the answering squeak- curious, rather than questioning out of understanding.
Green eyes looked away, and the reply was distracted, her gaze far away. “Because you’re the only one left.”
It wasn’t a nice name, but the kit had little understanding of the torment his mother had gone through: moons of struggle all leading to this one moment, where she gave her last kit his name.
Lynx had been born and raised a loner, ever-willful and with quite the mind of her own. She was, in every sense of the word, a loner. As soon as she felt she was able, she struck out on her own, leaving behind her own mother and siblings, and eked out a life among the dens of Twolegs. She fought more often than she shared words, marked out a small place of her own that she defended with tooth and claw, and sneered with cold disdain at the kittypets who stared from behind panes of glass or who quivered within the small lawns of each den.
She had possibly intended kits, some day, but not as soon as it happened: the tom, a smooth-talker who promised her grand things and showed her affection no matter how rude she was, eventually won her over. He gave her kits… and then he vanished. No amount of searching was enough for Lynx to find him, and as she grew heavier she began to struggle. She couldn’t hunt when she could barely crouch, and suddenly the life she’d lived and the cats she’d snarled at was coming back to bite her hard.
It was a Twoleg who saved her from losing the kits from starvation, and though it left a bitter taste on her tongue to have to rely on them, she had no other choice. And, in time, she birthed her litter of three. Her relief at being fit again was short-lived. She had three lives to look after now, and still no cat to trust to look after them- and she had to keep herself fed in order to keep them fed.
Life as a loner was tough, when you had kits to care for- and nothing was ever certain. The young Twolegs probably thought they were helping, when they heard the kits mewling in their nest under the metal can, and they managed to get their hands on two of the young ones- only the third was tucked too far away for them to get hold of, and the can, while on wheels, was too heavy for them to shift. Eventually, they gave up and carried the two kits away- Lynx, returning a short time later, never found out what happened to them.
She could only fetch her remaining kit and move, settling herself in a new spot where she hoped they would be safe.
Last, as he was named, had a rather lacking kithood. He played by himself, was warned constantly never to stray, was witness to many instances of his mother engaged in fearful fights with other cats for prey, and gradually understood that other cats only wanted what you had: they weren’t friends, they were competition.
His relationship with Lynx wasn’t much better. She was demanding, pushy and prone to scathing comments if he failed to do something right the first time, and it made him antsy- wanting to please but second-guessing himself to the point of making foolish mistakes regardless. Hunting was a chore to master, and Lynx gave him teaching him to fight- mostly out of disgust at his constant failures.
He’s been on his own for only a few moons, but they haven’t been easy. He can usually find food if he begs from the humans he’s come to know are ready to feed him, but the Twolegplace is unforgiving and he’s no closer to being able to fend for himself as well as his mother did- and he knows, if she were to see him, that she’d be disappointed.
He’s just not sure how to turn himself into the kind of cat she could be proud of.
Mother: Lynx - 36 moons - Loner. Tortoiseshell- small, lean and tailless like Last.
Father: Trouble (or so his mother told him) - Age unknown - Loner. Brown, thick-furred tabby.
Full Siblings: Puma - She-cat - 12 moons - Kittypet. Got her name from her ruddy-red coat and strong hunting instinct.
Fury - Tom - 12 moons - Kittypet. Black tom with one blind eye.
Paternal Siblings: Many. His father gets around a bit
Offspring: None