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They are still a kitten when they are taken from her mother - from the small litter that keeps dwindling - by unfamiliar hands. This home is all they have ever known, witht the warmth of their mother by their side. And yet, she says with a twinkle of sadness in her eyes, all her children will have to leave eventually. Strange creatures coo over each of them, maws curved like crescent moons and eyes sparkling. A steady stream of them, day by day, new twolegs fawning over the litter of kittens and occasionally picking one to take away. It is not long before she is chosen.
They are taken from their home by gentle paws, brought to a frightful and rumbling place. They have always been a good kitten, following their mother obediently, and so they do not panic. They do not panic, even as they are taken into an unfamiliar nest and fitted with an unfamiliar collar. Its fabric rests heavy on her shoulders, but the twoleg croons at the sight. They remain quiet.
And then - they are confined, shuttered in darkness. Corralled into a carrier beneath a towering tree, they watch as the only way out is covered in thin paper, tiny holes poked in its surface. They remain still. The twoleg's voice grows distant, then leaves. Little pinpricks of light dot the floor as they wait, sealed away. They are alone.
Though their voice has always been soft, they raise it now. They wail all through the night, plaintive and searching, and they are met with silence.
Morning comes. Finally, voices find their pleas. A twoleg kit, chirping and shrill, tears away the flimsy film which bars their exit. It pulls open the door with clumsy paws, takes her in its arms. She is manhandled, swung like a doll, and she does not bite - even as much as she wants to. It is better than the waiting, after all.
Angel, the twoleg kit declares.
Just like the one sitting atop the tree, its impassive eyes staring down at the kitten. Angel, the twoleg croons again and again. I'm gonna call her Angel. Somewhere nearby, the twoleg who had taken them from their mother smiles.
...
Seven sunrises later, Angel slips out the back door.
They are taken from their home by gentle paws, brought to a frightful and rumbling place. They have always been a good kitten, following their mother obediently, and so they do not panic. They do not panic, even as they are taken into an unfamiliar nest and fitted with an unfamiliar collar. Its fabric rests heavy on her shoulders, but the twoleg croons at the sight. They remain quiet.
And then - they are confined, shuttered in darkness. Corralled into a carrier beneath a towering tree, they watch as the only way out is covered in thin paper, tiny holes poked in its surface. They remain still. The twoleg's voice grows distant, then leaves. Little pinpricks of light dot the floor as they wait, sealed away. They are alone.
Though their voice has always been soft, they raise it now. They wail all through the night, plaintive and searching, and they are met with silence.
Morning comes. Finally, voices find their pleas. A twoleg kit, chirping and shrill, tears away the flimsy film which bars their exit. It pulls open the door with clumsy paws, takes her in its arms. She is manhandled, swung like a doll, and she does not bite - even as much as she wants to. It is better than the waiting, after all.
Angel, the twoleg kit declares.
Just like the one sitting atop the tree, its impassive eyes staring down at the kitten. Angel, the twoleg croons again and again. I'm gonna call her Angel. Somewhere nearby, the twoleg who had taken them from their mother smiles.
...
Seven sunrises later, Angel slips out the back door.
OOC //
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