oats
January 12th, 2017, 12:43 PM
The rain was pouring down, in thick, thick sheets, and Klaus was utterly, unfathomably lost. Not lost in the typical sense, though. He was curled in an alcove- warm, stuffed with leaves; the only home he had ever known. It definitely couldn't be where he was- perhaps it was what he was. A loner? A tom? Alone? The thin, raggedy loner simply could not put a paw on exactly where his dissatisfaction emerged from.
First things first, though: the most prominent problem he had at the moment was that he simply didn't know what to do with himself. Ages of playing at self-sufficiency had taught him that. He didn't grow up knowing his parents, or his littermates. Any of them. His mother stuck around just long enough to wean all four of his siblings, and then left, without a trace. All chances of scribbling an identity for himself together were dashed like a small gang of seagulls, in an instant.
No matter. Squeezing out of his little crag, Klaus quietly smoothed down the ruff of fur on his chest before looking around, surveying his territory- a small part of the beach. In his youth, the small black tom had never really tested the boundaries of where he could go, having ended up in quite a situation with one of the neighbouring groups of wildcats (warriors?) as a result of his recklessness before. It was better to not rock the boat, and that was that. So he had set up, made a home for himself; hunted, fought for his land. Nothing more, nothing less. All that was necessary to live off the lands he had claimed. 'Enough of that tosh, now,' he mumbled to himself, deciding to stop complaining when nobody was there to listen. So, with a delicate sniff, Klaus began scanning the damp sand for any murky traces of foreign scents. The beginning of another day's busywork, it seemed.
First things first, though: the most prominent problem he had at the moment was that he simply didn't know what to do with himself. Ages of playing at self-sufficiency had taught him that. He didn't grow up knowing his parents, or his littermates. Any of them. His mother stuck around just long enough to wean all four of his siblings, and then left, without a trace. All chances of scribbling an identity for himself together were dashed like a small gang of seagulls, in an instant.
No matter. Squeezing out of his little crag, Klaus quietly smoothed down the ruff of fur on his chest before looking around, surveying his territory- a small part of the beach. In his youth, the small black tom had never really tested the boundaries of where he could go, having ended up in quite a situation with one of the neighbouring groups of wildcats (warriors?) as a result of his recklessness before. It was better to not rock the boat, and that was that. So he had set up, made a home for himself; hunted, fought for his land. Nothing more, nothing less. All that was necessary to live off the lands he had claimed. 'Enough of that tosh, now,' he mumbled to himself, deciding to stop complaining when nobody was there to listen. So, with a delicate sniff, Klaus began scanning the damp sand for any murky traces of foreign scents. The beginning of another day's busywork, it seemed.