The Hunt

He watched.

His ears bent back at the slightest sound and his tail flicked in a practiced move. Sharp eyes stared intently at the space between bed and wall. A little alleyway of sorts for smaller beings, like mice.

One of the Kittens came up to him. She had grown fast these past few years, maturing from a little girl intent of petting him all the time to an older one mindful of the ways of the Fur. He was proud to call her Cub. After all, it took great patience and time to train her well.

"What are you staring at over there?" she asked quietly, head tilted to one side in a way reminiscent of his own sister. Indeed, Cub had been trained well.

Silence was her answer. After all, one couldn't make a habit of talking while on the hunt. Besides, Cub still had a long way to go before she understood the language of the Fur.

"There isn't anything there that I can see. No mice are going to come out of the wall, you know," she said with an air of certainty.

Perhaps... she needed more training. Better concentrate on the Senses. Or maybe he was putting too much confidence in her ability to see what is not physical. After all, Cub or not, the Kitten was still a human. And all of the Fur knew that humans had long since forgotten how to See.

Cub walked away from him after a light pet on the head. She always knew where to scratch. Years of training to get the perfect spot just below the ear... Such bliss. It was worth all the mindless fur ruffling.

He knew she thought him to be nothing more than a curious old fool. Tch... as though he would waste his time staring at walls and bed corners for nothing. One had to watch and wait in order to catch the mice. And really, there was nothing wrong with catching up on some paint reading. It's far healthier than watching that infernal box that all humans seem to like so much. What was it called again? B.V. or something like that.

Really... Hunting mice was not a crime. How else would he be able to get any catnip otherwise? The high grade catnip, of course. It was a known fact that mice were the only creatures who knew where to harvest the best of the stock. And chasing after them was better than some of those foolish humans and their obsession with little green men. Who needs gold at the end of a rainbow anyway? And at least mice always gave catnip that didn't disappear the next day.

A movement caught his eye. Ah... here comes the mouse.

His muscles tensed in anticipation and his tail coiled in a ready stance.

He was on the hunt.

There! A shimmering, almost transparent silhouette of a mouse ran by. His tail flicked and he sprung. It's true -- he was getting a tad old for all this chasing. But, he enjoyed the hunt. It ran through his veins and it sang in his blood, the need to hunt and prowl. After all, he was one of the Elders of the Fur clan.

He was a cat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eh, don't ask where this little bit of idiocy popped up from. Let's just say sitting on the bed and staring at my cat who, in turn, was staring at the corner of my bed had my brain spinning tales of blah.