Blackfeather Woods i blew a bad man away, today

im invading i hope thats ok! also sorry its hooge.

if it were true that cats were privy to nine lives, then certainly this specific tom was nearing the end of his allotment. it had been weeks since he had seen any sign of the twolegs and in that span the yearling had crossed quite a distance; he was now surrounded by all forms of flora and fauna which were unrecognizable.

putting aside his unmitigated ignorance when it came to the good, the bad, and the really really bad, he had fared pretty well. it had been difficult to adjust to all the new sounds and smells in the wild; initially he had been a hair-trigger for anything that scurried, chirped, or otherwise caught his attention. while most of that energy remained primed within him, the so-called monkey had been forced to adjust. running after every falling leaf or trembling blade of grass wasn't worth the effort and even he had to adapt to this truth.

but still, sometimes he would forget. such as this moment—he had been basking in a patch of sunlight and rolling in the dirt, much like he used to do in his old life, and had fallen asleep with his body twisted up and limbs reaching for nothing. upon waking, in that in-between moment where the dream is still holding firm and your conciousness is just beginning to surface, he thought he was back there—back with the twolegs, with their funny smelling tins of meat, and the little pouches of mouse-shaped catnip. 

he collected himself with a biiiig stretch of his whole body, then rolled to his belly and was preparing to have a quick bath, but stopped when he heard a bird calling. it wasn't just any bird—it might've been a crow or a raven, the tomcat was hardly intelligent enough to recognize the difference—and so he put aside all thoughts of bathing and began pacing through the dark in search of it. songbirds were easy; they were stupid little things with plush bodies and they were fast on the wing, but he had managed to catch them before and this would be no different.

monkey ducked through a sheet of vines and scurried along, giving occasional glances towards the dark treetops or turning his blunted face towards a new sound in the forest. he did not know the scent of wolf, and truly did not know that such large dogs could exist in a place like this, so it was easy to see how an idiot such as this could get so close to the cub before giving any notice.

he spied a raven in the tree above her first, and began to chatter in that silly way that cats often do, like they're having a conversation with fate and begging for the hunt to go well; but before he could think of what to do next, the bird shrieked a call and took off—and monkey's gaze dropped, catching upon the wolf cub without really recognizing what it was. he felt utterly defeated for all of ten seconds before the bird was gone from his mind.