Max's Garden

[Luna16]

Max

A small gray nose poked out from a thick, funny smelling den door. It twitched as it sniffed, before finally a mostly white cat with a red nub of a tail and a red splotch on his head emerged. Max wore no collar, but he lived with his Twolegs. His Twolegs had a rather spacious garden, with flowerbeds and soft grass to laze in. A tall white border ran along the edge, thick enough for a cat to comfortably perch. And a river ran close by outside.

Lush trees grew int he garden, some dropped different fruit during greenleaf and newleaf and his Twolegs would pick them. Max let out a contented sigh, he had a good life here, he had to admit. Safe and warm, food and water always provided. But unlike many of the other cats who lives with Twolegs, he had a deep respect for clan cats who lived happily without any of those comforts.

Max strode confidently over to the edge of his garden, bunching up his legs underneath him, and then jumping to the top of the white border. He unsheathed his claws to grab the wood better, and then sat down for a moment. Lazily enjoying the view from his perch.

[Luna16]

Max

Another lazy, warm day found Max lounging on the top of his housefolk's white barrier - he's heard other housecats like him refer to them as fences - basking in the warm sun. He balanced his weight carefully, using his extra toes to help grip the wood to compensate for his lack of a tail for balance. His head rested in his paws, he gazed out to the forest beyond. His mind whirling with questions about the cats who lived there in groups and called themselves "warriors".

[Luna16]

[This post takes place after the fire.]

Max sat in the remnants of his garden in disbelief. He had fled with the other cats, and now returned to his home only to find it...abandoned. His housefolk were nowhere to be seen. "They...they left." He mumbled to himself. Well, of course they left. But then...they didn't come back. Max's fur was stained with smoke and in sore need of cleaning. And he was hungry. As much as Max admired the clan cats, he wasn't as skilled of hunter as they were. Feeding off wild prey was much more difficult than he thought.

Beyond that, the nest was mostly burned. Max tentatively approached his old home, memories flooding his mind of how things used to look. Now it was...a skeleton. He entered the den, now exposed to the elements but at least there was some coverage. He found his old nest, or what was left of it, on the second floor and settled down with a huff. The manx cat was too exhausted to move right then, shaken by the experience and weighed down with sorrow. All he had the energy to do right now was sleep...

one moon later

Max's mostly white pelt was in total disarray now, and his ribs were visible. As the weather grew colder, he struggled more and more to hunt. Having to rely mostly on the kindness of passing Twolegs who would leave food by his den. Max still waited at his old home for his housefolk to return. He still held on to the hope that they would come back for him, surely they hadn't forgotten him entirely? Or worse... He refused to consider it. But something surely needed to change, even Max knew he couldn't continue like this for very much longer.

[geoblazer]

Wilder sniffed around the abandoned homes, making his way up and down the street. He'd been lucky a few times in regards to finding discarded bedding, as well as food that had busted out of their little shiny, twoleg-made prisons due to the fire for whatever reason. Though that tactic was drying up now, as the time since the fire stretched longer and longer. Wilder has not reliably found food using that method for quite a while now, but since he was in a part of town he didn't usually visit, he thought he might as well look.

Nosing through charred brush of a once-probably-nice garden, he was startled to see another cat. Most of the kittypets he knew were taken by their persons, so to see a white pelt move familiarly through a den was surprising. Of course, this could just be another loner that decided to set up shop while the people were still gone. But somehow, he doubted that. There was a starved, uncomfortable look about the other tom, like he wasn't used to hunger or cold, or anything beyond the cushy pelts and pellets of a kittypet life.

Wilder debated his options, as he watched the other cat disappear out of his sight. He could engage, or he could leave. But it's been a while since he's spoken to another cat, and he's recently had a few bites of... what could be considered food, plus he wasn't injured or anything. If there was a fight, he'd probably win. Okay. He'll do this.

The black and white tom crept forward until he could see the other cat again. "Hey buddy, what're you doing here?" Wilder called, half-hidden in the burnt away foliage. He squinted at the tom, then added, "Wow, you're skinny. Forget how to eat?" Can't be too friendly, of course. Plus, like before, it's been a little bit. Might as well have some fun.
@Luna16 :3 wilder can be a little snippy, sarcastic, etc with how he speaks. or at least that's what was coming out of me as i was writing lol