Post by Nat on Nov 22, 2009 22:24:46 GMT -5
Roleplayer | Nat
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Name | Cricketfur
Gender | She-cat
Physical Description | (To be added.)
Views | Being the cynic that she is, she's unwaveringly against the idea of a Clan being formed. She's come to the conclusion that all other cats are either too naïve, brutish, greedy, biased or weak to be given power and doing so would endanger all lives. Since all of the cats are too flawed, it would be a terrible idea — fatal, even — to make one a leader.
Kin | All dead.
History | Cricketfur was born into a litter of seven. Though the mother and kits had the fortune of surviving through the labor, it hadn't the best timing and happened during a nasty drought. Given the lack of prey and hunters dropping like flies (her father being one of them), there was nowhere near enough prey to supply the mother with the milk needed to feed all seven kits. After some thought, she decided to feed only a select three kits, fearing that rationing would bring all of them to starve. Two more were picked off by starvation. With sanity wearing thin from stress and sorrow, her mother dragged the remaining kit to a cobweb-cluttered corner of the walls. Occasionally sending paranoid glances toward the center of the cave, the mother would pass the time ranting over how many cats would be alive if there were a leader to organize the “bunch of dirtfaced, tail-twisting things”. Along with that, she told stories of "how wonderful it was outside", despite only knowing about the "outside" through stories. The lecturing went on and flew over then-Cricketkit's head until the dark season, when her mother died of disease. ((May edit the death part.))
Without a mother, Cricketkit retreated to the center of the enclosure, where she huddled together with the other cats for warmth, picking beetles from other cats' fresh-kill piles. Oftentimes she was caught, given a fierce swat on the head and shooed away. (If the group wasn't feeling kind, she'd find her face pushed into the sand.) She'd then either sulk for as long as her hunger pains would allow her before giving it another try, or resort to begging another group for food. This went on until one tom grew exasperated and decided to teach her how to hunt for herself, if only to end her mewling.
Picture | Cat!
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Name | Cricketfur
Gender | She-cat
Physical Description | (To be added.)
Views | Being the cynic that she is, she's unwaveringly against the idea of a Clan being formed. She's come to the conclusion that all other cats are either too naïve, brutish, greedy, biased or weak to be given power and doing so would endanger all lives. Since all of the cats are too flawed, it would be a terrible idea — fatal, even — to make one a leader.
Kin | All dead.
History | Cricketfur was born into a litter of seven. Though the mother and kits had the fortune of surviving through the labor, it hadn't the best timing and happened during a nasty drought. Given the lack of prey and hunters dropping like flies (her father being one of them), there was nowhere near enough prey to supply the mother with the milk needed to feed all seven kits. After some thought, she decided to feed only a select three kits, fearing that rationing would bring all of them to starve. Two more were picked off by starvation. With sanity wearing thin from stress and sorrow, her mother dragged the remaining kit to a cobweb-cluttered corner of the walls. Occasionally sending paranoid glances toward the center of the cave, the mother would pass the time ranting over how many cats would be alive if there were a leader to organize the “bunch of dirtfaced, tail-twisting things”. Along with that, she told stories of "how wonderful it was outside", despite only knowing about the "outside" through stories. The lecturing went on and flew over then-Cricketkit's head until the dark season, when her mother died of disease. ((May edit the death part.))
Without a mother, Cricketkit retreated to the center of the enclosure, where she huddled together with the other cats for warmth, picking beetles from other cats' fresh-kill piles. Oftentimes she was caught, given a fierce swat on the head and shooed away. (If the group wasn't feeling kind, she'd find her face pushed into the sand.) She'd then either sulk for as long as her hunger pains would allow her before giving it another try, or resort to begging another group for food. This went on until one tom grew exasperated and decided to teach her how to hunt for herself, if only to end her mewling.
Picture | Cat!
