I never knew love, until I met you.


The small rag-tag group of cats moved so slow. I followed them, hidden in the shadows of undergrowth and leaves. My claws itched to get it over with.

I made a deal with those foxes, they'd have my pelt if I didn't skin one these cats soon. I had one week to do it - I was on day six. If I didn't get a chance, those foxes would find me. I know they would.

The sun traveled across the sky so fast. It seemed like morning only an hour ago as night fell. My anxiety grew more as the moments went by.

Finally, the silver tabby in the lead raised her tail. "Let's stop for the night to rest. We can go hunting too."

A tall she-cat at her side stood up straight at that. "Right away, Pebblestar!"

She scorched her brown gaze on the other cats with them, as if they'd protest, but instead, they all flopped down to rest.

I realized I was shaking. Why are they just falling on the ground instead of finding food? Even the tall golden tabby suddenly looked weary. "Maybe we should wait until morning.." she muttered quietly.

The silver she-cat - Pebblestar slightly nodded. "That might be for the best."

No! My mind screamed. You have to get one of their pelts now or you're dead!

I don't know why I did it, I knew it was crazy. I knew so much better than this, but I listened to the whispers in my head. I sprang out from hiding in the dark and landed on one of the cats shoulders, letting out a screech and digging my claw in.

The blue and ginger tom raced over and gave me a sharp blow in the head. I fell off the other cat dazed. I looked up to see those yellow eyes staring down at me.

That's when my life changed forever.

WARINING: story contains mild swears and gore.


My story started out in the soft, warm home of a human. 
I had five siblings, three brothers were named Halo, Umber, and Galaxy. My sisters were Athena and Alice. I was the sixth kit, first born. My name was Mary.
Despite being first born, I was the smallest. My littermates never made fun of my size though, I doubt they even noticed. My father was named Gibson; my mother, Hera.
My mother was more concerned with keeping track of my littermates to pay much attention to me, nor did she want to. I was the smallest kit, most likely to not be given to a new home. And she didn't like my interests, we'll get to that later.
Hera may not have been there for me often, but Gibson was. He was always there for me. He payed most attention to me than any of the other kits. He told me stories, so many stories, I can't even remember them all.
He didn't seem to mind my interests.
Life for most cats is usually revolved around hunt, eat, sleep, sniff, scratch, mark territory, have no intest in anything else, repeat. But that's not how life was for me, I had a different picture for life.
I believed there was more to life than the above listed. I was fascinated with everything. I didn't chase butterflies for fun. I chased them, caught them, studied them. 
How did they fly? Why did they fly? What was their purpose?
When I had answered most of my questions, instead of killing the poor creature, I let it go. I watched it go with a sense of peace.
Halo would race over and demand why I didn't kill it. That was the whole point of catching it, correct? But I didn't believe that. The creature should have a chance to survive. 
I would watch the plants sway in the winds, the leaves of trees sing in the breeze. I would pluck flower stems out of the ground and cut them open. What was on the inside?
If I found a dead animal, I would cut it open as well. I never ate it; I had never eaten any real food at this point, I just wanted to know what was inside.
What were the organs for? How did they work? The point, what was it? 
I would cut them open, dig inside them until I had hollowed them out. I inspected their skeletons - amazed at what I learned from just looking at them. I was utterly blown away and amazed.
I caught my family watching me sometimes. My sisters, horrified, my brothers disgusted, my parents concerned. Why did they look at me like that? Why did they think I was crazy? All I wanted was to learn and find knowledge.
As I grew older, my obbsession with cutting things open left and was replaced with what humans did. I wanted to understand what they were saying. Why did they where those pelts? Why did they put those paper things up to their faces with the little scribbles on them?
What were they? What are they? 
I had so many questions. They kept me up most nights, voices in my head pestering me to learn. I couldn't stand it anymore. I had  to find out. 
So I watched them. I learned. I understood them. I found out the paper things are called books, the little scribbles are words explaining scenes. 
They had things called computers. I was so curious how they worked, what they did. I watched the humans use them. I memorized it so I'd remember.
When the day came, I hopped up onto the chair and turned in on. The green light meant on.
I put my paws on the keyboard. I tried typing, but nothing made sense. I tried using the mouse - it didn't make sense. I needed to learn how to read first.
So I did. I tried for moons and I finally worked it out. I knew how to read. I figured out how to work the computer. I could pick open locks, I could do so many things. Yet I still had so much to learn.
One snowy night, my father gave me a pair of black goggles. He found them and thought I'd like them. And I did, I still do. I always keep them around my neck like a collar, but far better.
I've never used them, but I enjoy the appearance they give me.
I was almost ready to leave the nest, ready for my new home, when one day my mother and father sat me down for a talk.
Gibson anxiously twitched his tail, while Hera gave me a hard look, but deep down Mary could see how concerned she was.
"Now, Mary," Hera began in her usual stern tone. "You're going to be moving on to new housefolk soon."
"Humans," Mary corrected her mother. The term housefolk was so outdated. The firey brown tabby sat back on heer hunches. "And yes, I'm aware I will be leaving shortly."
"Well." Hera exchanged a glance with her silver mate. "You need to stop acting so... much like youself. You don't act like a normal cat. house - humans won't want you if you keep up the trouble you've been causing."
Mary's pelt bristled with outrage. How dare Hera tell her how to act? How dare she tell her to not be herself. "So what if I don't act like a normal cat? I'm better than any fat, old, dying hippo most people say are their 'cats'. So shut your bitchy mouth, mother."
Hera's lip curled and her stony gray eyes suddenly blazed with angry fire. "Don't you dare speak to me that way!"
Before Hera could leap at Mary, Gibson shoved her out of the way, huffing with anger. He turned to Mary, piecring ice blue eyes meeting warm honey amber. 
"Your mother is right, Mary. You have to clean up your act in order to be rehomed. Even if you do manage to be, they'd throw you out of their den in a flash."
Mary stared hard at her father, her eyes wide and taken aback. He above all cats would speak to her like that? He encouraged her to be herself all the time, and now he was telling her to change?
The dark ginger she-cat couldn't come up with a clever retort, too hurt to say a word. 
That night, Mary left her home. She left her siblings and her parents to start a new life. A new life where no one would tell her to be something she isn't.
I thought my father loved me, but I was wrong. My family, did they ever love me? No they didn't. I thought about them less and less until they were a blury memory in my ever growing brain.

More coming soon