His mother licked Sister’s head. He knew Sister had another name, he had just never bothered to use it, never seen it as necessary. Besides, he was sure she didn’t mind. Sister suited her better than Trickster, anyway.
He knew his own name, though. Outline Heather, but he was always just called Outline, which would be fine with him if he had a clue what an outline was. Whenever he asked Mother, she just said, “It’s a word that suits you,” and he would just nod and go off to play, slightly bewildered, but it was never that much of an issue. Why understand things, he thought, when you can just enjoy them?
And so that was how he lived- stopping to smell the roses instead of perhaps trying to find out what made them red and why they smelled so nice anyway. No, who needs knowledge when there’s pleasure? Facts were for old cats. And he was…
“How old am I, Mother?” he asked.
“Two moons, dear,” Mother said between licks. Sister squirmed.
He nodded in reception before a moth caught his attention. He smirked and adopted a stance more fit to catching his new prey- the hunter’s crouch. Yes, much better. No winged insects escaped freely when he was about! It fluttered out of the den, and he sprung after it with glee, ignoring his mother’s murmur of, “Be careful.”
“Why can’t I go, too?” Sister complained.
“Just wait until you’re clean,” insisted Mother.
Outline sprung for the moth. No luck. It flitted off into the sky, out of sight. What? He thought, scowling. Nothing could ever get away from him. He knew he was talented. He decided the best option was to dismiss it as a fluke, but he still wasn’t happy. He lay down, eyeing the grass for any other prospective prey. Nothing. He flopped down, and the grass tickled his chin, so he batted at it with his paws in a desperate (and fruitless) attempt to flatten it. I hate the outside, he decided, trudging straight back into the den.
“How did my little hunter do, then?” Mother asked. His only response was scowling and slumping down onto the dusty floor.
Sister giggled, squirming out of her mother’s grasp and scampering to her brother. She put a paw on his face. “Failed again?”
He decided not to take her too seriously, and instead of retaliating with some petty jab at her weak swimming, he pounced, bowling her over, snarling in a not-at-all unfriendly manner, which is rather an easier thing than it sounds.
“Kittens! Be careful!” came an anxious cry from the corner. Parents could be sooverprotective.
“Relax, mama, we’re just playing!” Sister giggled. Outline pretended to bite her throat. “Ohh, you’ve killed me!” she mock-groaned, growing limp beneath his claws. He stood looking over her dramatically for a few seconds before they both collapsed in laughter.
Their mother sighed. Restless kittens- love them or loathe them…actually, no, she knew nobody could loathe that energy.
“You didn’t put up much of a fight!” he taunted.
“Oh, come on, I wasn’t even trying!” she said defensively.
He snorted. “Sure.”
“It’s true!” She batted at him with her left paw. He fell onto the floor, and she smirked down at him. “Who’s weak now, then?”
“Ouch! Mother, she pushed me!”
“Did not!”
Their mother was used to their bickering. “Could you too please just stop fighting?”
“But-” Outline was cut off. Sounds outside. Three pairs of ears perked up. Pawsteps. Why are there pawsteps? he asked himself. Why would there be pawsteps?
Sister had ran to the corner and had her head buried in Mother’s fur. Oh, what a coward of a sister he had. He ignored his family’s cries to join them, springing out onto the tickly grass. The pawsteps came from another direction, clearly, because he could see nothing. Something barked. He tensed. Only one thing barked…
Dogs! He jumped around immediately, only to see two huge canines ripping his den open. “Mother! Sister!” he cried. All he heard were yowls. No…no… he thought. Panicking, he turned and ran as far as he could, ignoring the agonised calls. Instinct told him to save himself and worry about others later. He ran until he was far enough that they probably wouldn’t see him, but he could still watch. Is this wrong? No, deserting, that would be wrong.
He was cold, he was scared, and he was shivering as a result of both. What were they doing to his family? Were they still alive? Would they get out alive? There were dogs…huge dogs ripping apart their home. They were trapped with no escape, he was sure of it. He sniffed and buried his face in his paws, but try as he might, there was no escape from the meadow. This was no nightmare. It was really, truly happening.
He had never felt worse. Those two were so…so important…how could he just sit there pathetically, looking on? He had to fight back. He started to bound towards the dogs again, but all of a sudden he felt something on his tail. In agony, he stopped and just fell to the ground. What had happened? Nobody was there, the danger was tree-lengths away. Or so he thought, because the next thing he saw was the smug face of a big dog staring right down at him. He desperately tried to struggle away, but the pain was overwhelming. He couldn’t feel the end of his tail? What was wrong?
The dog was astoundingly huge, and it easily could have killed him, given enough time. Outline clawed frantically at its front paw, but he tore a claw. Yowling in pain, he stopped and tried to wriggle away. A big paw stopped him. Another paw flipped him onto his back, forcing his tiny head onto a piece of broken glass. It dragged a claw down his back, his pathetic mews meaning nothing.
But then the rest of the pack ran, and just like that, Outline’s attacker was gone. He just lay there a moment, trying to summon the strength and motivation to stand. He debated whether this was even a good idea. Why investigate anything? Why not enjoy the cold comfort of lying on the ground? It was so much easier…
No. His mother and sister. He forced himself up with a groan, blinking his eyes open. The edge of his vision was fuzzy and red, and he limped horribly for a while before he stopped. He still couldn’t feel half of his tail. He twisted his head round, wincing, and then his heart skipped a beat. There was a reason…where his tail had been fluffy and long, it was cut short halfway down, where it ended abruptly in a blood-covered stump.
No, Sister and Mother, he thought, forcing himself onwards anyway. He could take only a few steps before he just couldn’t see anything. He feebly licked his lips. Blood. That was the taste of blood. He hated it. Unable to see now, he knew he could achieve nothing even if he kept moving. He lay down, full in the knowledge he would probably collapse anyway if he didn’t. The tickly grass didn’t bother him so much now. He felt guilty- he had abandoned them. And now he couldn’t even finish walking over. What if they were dead?
Still, aside from all this, he just could not comprehend the state of his tail. I have…half a tail, he told himself repeatedly I disbelief. I am Outline and I have half a tail. Outline Heather, half a tail. Outline…Outline Halftail. That’s…me.
Everything hurt. He could feel the blood all over his body, matting his fur and making it sticky. He was almost definitely orphaned, covered in blood and injured and cold, all alone. He always enjoyed himself and looked on the bright side, but he was no idiot. He was sure he was going to die.
Tired, too. Too much action. Fighting dogs. Hard. Really hard. Not work for kittens, no.
“How could I let this happen?” he wailed. He wasn’t sure now if it was in his head or out loud. He had lost the ability to differentiate the two at this point. Besides, it didn’t matter. He was going to die, and he wasn’t going to let himself forget that.
And so he fell asleep, or he just blacked out involuntarily, but it doesn’t really matter because either way he ended up unconscious, which is really what mattered.
