Tails From DesertClan

Sand's Story

-The present parts of this story take place a year and a half after the formation of DesertClan-

"No twoleg will want a cat as scarred as you!"

"Yeah, and you're so mean to them! Don't you want to be adopted?"

"No."

Mila shifted to lay with her sandy-colored back to the others.

"What? Why not?"

I don't owe them any explanation. They wouldn't care anyway.

The two cats who had been bothering Mila were not deterred by her gruffness.

The black she-cat poked Mila's back through the gaps in the cage. "Why don't you want to be adopted? Twolegs would do everything for you!"

"First of all, twolegs don't do everything for you. Second of all, you already said I have no chance so shut it."

"So mean," the other cat, a ginger tabby tom, rolled his eyes as he spoke.

Mila curled tighter and covered her missing eye with her paw. Twolegs are worthless and mean. Her fur prickled, she could feel the others cats' gazes.

...

It was so loud all the time.

Various animal sounds clashed in the red twoleg buildings as Mila laid on a ratty scrap of twoleg-made pelt behind a bail of hay and tried to sleep. She knew she didn't have long to rest here, the others barn cats would be back soon. They'll kick me out and take the spot, so get some rest already!

The strict hierarchy of the barn cats did not favor young Mila. They had taught her this from the start, carving thin scars under her left eye and across her flank. The leader, Angus, was nothing if not ruthless.

She knew her place.

Alone most days, camaraderie is reserved for those who fought their way to the top. At only six moons, she couldn't.

Her food was difficult to come by, as no one had ever taught her how to hunt the mice that hid in the hay and the twolegs often forgot to leave anything out. She slept outside most days, this spot by the loft was too soft for the likes of her. She made do with stolen moments while the others were busy.

Finally she fell asleep.

It wasn't long before she was awoken by teeth in her scruff. Damon, one of Angus's friends, lifted her up and threw her off the loft.

She managed to land on her paws, but just barely. They stung from sudden impact with the harsh and splintery wood.

"Stay out of here, kit! Next time I might not be so gracious!" Angus laughed and Mila stared up at him and his friends on the loft.

Mila wanted to yowl up at him but held her tongue as she walked out of the barn. Ah yes, very merciful and gracious. Being thrown a few tail lengths off a ledge. Thank you so much.

Her tail lashed and fur fluffed up as she got angrier at the injustice. Why don't the twolegs intervene? We're supposed to be their cats, yet they let us get pushed around and scarred.

"Aww, look she's angry," Damon called, "Come here little kit, want a fight?"

Angus turned from licking his paw to glare at her. He jumped down and stalked towards her, taunting, "Here kitty, want to fight?"