Post by Ki on Nov 19, 2011 13:59:34 GMT -6
Nala had never been so far from the Twoleg nest.
She'd gone through the forest without any of the wild cats spotting her, and across the black thing that the human monsters ran across. Now she was in some sort of marsh land. She was paw-deep in water and mud, and the reeds grew taller than her in some places. She could smell that cats lived here. But the bell on her collar and the croaking of frogs were the only sounds she heard. Why were there so many scents, but no cats around? She glimpsed pawprints in the mud from time to time. But the prints were almost always old and the scents faded. Nala knew she should count herself lucky. Wild cats didn't take kindly to others being on their land. The ones in the forest had looked at her and Frisbee with disdain and called them kittypets. They thought themselves better because they had been born in the wild. Nala knew that she was descended from wild cats. She remembered the stories her mother told her.
She couldn't remember her mother very well, but she did remember her stories. And the name she had for her. Before she'd been given to her Twolegs, Nala had been called Damisi. And she had a sister. She remembered her, too. But Nala could only remember so much about them. Their faces had faded over time. At times she still dreamt of them. She could still remember her mother's voice, and her sister's scent. And she remembered her mother telling them that they had wild blood in their veins, and that the wild would always call to them. Perhaps that was why Nala was here, far from home and paw-deep in mud.
Was the wild calling to her once more, she wondered?
She'd gone through the forest without any of the wild cats spotting her, and across the black thing that the human monsters ran across. Now she was in some sort of marsh land. She was paw-deep in water and mud, and the reeds grew taller than her in some places. She could smell that cats lived here. But the bell on her collar and the croaking of frogs were the only sounds she heard. Why were there so many scents, but no cats around? She glimpsed pawprints in the mud from time to time. But the prints were almost always old and the scents faded. Nala knew she should count herself lucky. Wild cats didn't take kindly to others being on their land. The ones in the forest had looked at her and Frisbee with disdain and called them kittypets. They thought themselves better because they had been born in the wild. Nala knew that she was descended from wild cats. She remembered the stories her mother told her.
She couldn't remember her mother very well, but she did remember her stories. And the name she had for her. Before she'd been given to her Twolegs, Nala had been called Damisi. And she had a sister. She remembered her, too. But Nala could only remember so much about them. Their faces had faded over time. At times she still dreamt of them. She could still remember her mother's voice, and her sister's scent. And she remembered her mother telling them that they had wild blood in their veins, and that the wild would always call to them. Perhaps that was why Nala was here, far from home and paw-deep in mud.
Was the wild calling to her once more, she wondered?