WattyWarriors Fan Magazine 5.0

Disability Writing Contest: midnightskittles

It was nearly impossible for Fly to climb the cliff with his tail.

Now you may be wondering, why would it be hard to climb a cliff with his tail? Well, it's not as easy as it seems to do things without one.

A cat's tail serves as its balance, and Fly didn't have that balance system. His tail had been severed by a badger long ago, when he was young.

He had been a troublesome kit. It was impossible for him to get into less than three problems a day. Fly's mother, Flap, worried, and deeply so. One day he would be seriously injured, killed or traumatized. She was lucky that hadn't happened to him yet.

            Fly was playing outside at the moment. He had promised to bring back the largest mouse in the whole forest, but his lovely mother knew better.

             Sitting in the cave, she listened to the wind whisper through the trees. The grass answered the wind with its rustles. Fly's mother listened to the sound of songbirds, and her eyes were starting to creep shut.

              ROAR!

               What was happening? Flap shot to her feet as quick as possible and sprinted out to where her kit had been playing.

                 Fly was being attacked. She knew it. When she got near enough, her eyes widened. On the ground was a motionless black body, and over it was a badger.

                The massive beast was towering over the small bundle of fur, swiping at it with its claws.

             Flap had her claws out in an instant. She sprang into the badger, but before she could do anything, the monster grabbed Fly's tail and flung him as hard as it could.

               The sound of bone snapping wasn't a pleasant one. It crumbled in the Badgers mouth, and thick red blood seeped out of her poor sons tail- it was a stump, now.

               Flap fought the badger as fast as she could, and when she finally spooked it into the forest, her son was still lying there like he was dead.

               Fighting to keep him alive would be hard, but she'd do it. Flap knew of some herbs that may help. Her friend Bop had told her when she visited his farm. He seemed to know she'd need them some time.

Wasn't comfrey the one for broken bones? Would that work for his tail? Marigold for infections, she'd need some of that for sure. As much as possible. She knew of a place where the yellow and orange flowers would be.

              Cobwebs! That was what stopped blood. A dusty old barn sat in the territory, so Flap ran to get some. When she returned, Fly's breathing was shallow. Too shallow.

        Stuffing the spiders silk onto the wound wasn't very hard. The blood was so sticky, it acted as a natural adhesive. Flap was worried sick, and as night fell, her sons breathing began to improve.

       She rested her head on the ground near Fly's head, and hoped for the best. 'Oh, dear, dear Mother Cat, please help my son.' Then she closed her eyes.

That's what had happened to Fly. It was just luck. Really bad, unpredictable luck. Fly was used to it, but he still had trouble when he climbed a hill.

"Curse those stupid Clans." His mother said. "If it wasn't for them, the badger wouldn't have done this to you. Not at all. The badger would've been eating their kits instead! It's all they deserve, anyway. Don't you think?"

Fly's mother didn't seem to understand that he didn't blame the Clans. The badger hadn't even come from Clan territory. "Please stop blaming them," He insisted.

"That's sweet of you, trying to defend those mangy beasts, but you don't need to." Flap purred.

Fly gave up trying to speak. His stumpy tail did give him difficulty.

"Isn't there a kind of cat that's made to have only a stump?" Fly compromised.

"Yes, but that's different, my dear son. You're too young to understand that those cats were made for these conditions."

"Well, I do suppose you're right. Maybe I'll adapt someday too?" Fly mewed wistfully.

"Maybe. . . . " Flap answered. "But for now, you need all the help it can get. To be a loner near the Clans territory, you must be strong. Ok?"

Fly didn't give his mother a reply, not this time. Instead, he braced himself and clawed up the remainder of the hill. His stump quavered, and Fly realized something.

"Mother?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"I think I might just know how to climb."

Flap's eyes brightened, but Fly didn't want to give her false hope.        He scurried back down the hill, and repeated the same maneuvers he had before; claws sticking out at full length, stump wriggling, and he made it up.

"Yes, mother. I think, perhaps, this is the end of my disability."