Post by fell on Jan 18, 2009 9:34:01 GMT -5
\fa.LL.en<>a.NG.el/
Fallen angel ripped and bruised
Think on better days
Life is rude, treats you bad
Tears your wings away
Raise your eyes to star and sky
Believe in fly aways
Take your dreams, your broken schemes
And sweep the past away
.the blessing.
fallen angel
Fly lonely angel
High above these streets of fire
Fly lonely angel
Far away from mad desire
.from birth.
she-cat
Fly lonely angel
High above these streets of fire
Fly lonely angel
Leave behind the mad desire
.the suffering.
70 moons
Fly lonely angel
High above these streets of fire
Fly lonely angel
Leave behind the mad desire
.my life.
the hudsons
Fly lonely angel
High above these streets of fire
Fly lonely angel
Leave behind the mad desire
.honored.
princess
Hollywood ain't paved with gold
It's just a trick of light
Sunset falls on stars of old
And blinds you with its light
A spiders web of tangled lives
Lays stretched across the hills
From distances it's glistening
Like El Dorado's halls
.under ripped skies.
The first thing you are likely to notice about Angel, as she is most commonly called, is that she is not the average housecat. Come on, how many kittypets are scarred and bruised. First to the build, she is naturally thin, and even when she isn't thin her ribs show. She has long, slender, elegant legs that no warrior could even want to posses, yet despite that they appear anything but fragile. She hasn't got obvious muscles, but is lean and strong, a trait uncommon with kittypets, but with her past, hardly surprising. Her whole build speaks of slender elegance, but she looks as tough as thistles. She has large ears that sit upon her fine-featured face looking the perfect size, though if you put them both together they would be as big as her head. She has a muzzle, that is neither long nor short, but its slim and makes you think it's long. Above her muzzle lie her eyes, large, smooth, like liquid pools of amber, or indeed, they are very bright, fire. Now, as to why you would never think her a pampered kittypet, lets start with the scars. Oh yes, her lovely build is covered in small, yet obvious scars. Most of the are on her sides, but there is one on her neck, and her muzzle and forehead have one scar each. The bruises have mainly faded now, but there are a few, mainly around the top of her neck, that are likely to remain for a long while. Her fur, once as smooth as gossamer silk, is now interrupted by the scars, and will never serve to keep her quite as warm again.
As to the color of her fur, well, its sort of..... A mixture. Imagine a golden cat with black tabby stripes, then add a white splodge to the left shoulder, turn the tail black, and turn the head, neck, chest and stomach white. That's Angel. Though not as smooth as it was once, her fur is still sleek and soft in the places where the scars are not so apparent, and it's a mixture between medium length and short length, quarter length maybe? It gets long around her neck, and shorter on her head, tail, and paws. Her paws. They are tabby striped like most of the rest of her and are quite small and petite, though overall Angel is quite a big cat. Her claws are long and hooked, perfect for catching mice, and are pearly white. They are still quite sharp, though she is living a more normal kittypet life now. So, you think, she's obviously a cat that doesn't like being pampered, wrong, she does like being pampered, she just hasn't been. Her tail is long, and sleeker than the rest of her, the soft black fur is interrupted only once, and it portrays the supreme exquisiteness about her that has been ruined. Her name really does suite her. Her pads are rough, tougher than even those of the forest cats because of the rough surfaces she has been forced to stand on, but are getting paler now that there are gentler textures underpaw. Her nose plainly and simply, just pale pink, as is her skin. Some think it white, most in fact, but it's just very, very pale pink. Scarred, lean, tough pads.... Not your average kittypet. But her scent makes quite sure that you don't mistake her for a warrior.
Fly lonely angel
High above these streets of fire
Fly lonely angel
Leave behind the mad desire
.the fallen soul.
Lets start with her behaviour towards strangers, after all, it is what you'll encounter first when you meet her. Or to put it more correctly, not encounter. Upon seeing a strange cat she will sit there and stare at it, studying every tiny detail about it for at least three hours before she says a word in greeting. If you say something to her before that time you will be greeted by, wonderful, peaceful, silence. She's not the friendliest cat ever. If she decides after her long period of thought that you are bad, you better run, unless of course you are bad in which case you deserve what's coming. She would attack. You would have to fight her. If she decides you are good she will be cold towards you for a few moons, then, finally, start to open up. Unless she changes her mind and thinks you're bad. It takes years to become a friend she trusts, but only a few moons before she'll be friendly. I won't even start on how long it takes to become a best friend..... Now, how about behaviour towards friends. She may joke gently, or lightly tease, but she is generally just calm. She will talk to you often, and that's no small achievement, but she is never really friendly, or boisterous. She is a cat that makes you want to relax and just chat randomly about interesting stuff that doesn't really affect you. If you offend her she will try to forget, she is hard to offend anyway, she feels that she needs all the friends she can get, and she tries to keep her friends. Enough about behaviour towards other cats, what about other animals. Dogs come pretty high on the list. If she sees a dog she will probably continue what she's doing with icy calm, and if it bothers her, send it running with a few well aimed scratches on its nose. It doesn't work with some dogs, but she can always stalk slowly away, probably up something. Badgers, to put it simply, she never encounters them. How's she to know they exist? Mice, rabbits and birds she regards as prey, prey to catch and take to your owners so you get praised and petted. Twolegs, she totally worships them. Mostly because she's terrified of them. She loves her owners though.
Now we have pretty much go through how she behaves towards others, lets start thinking about her. As you may have guessed from earlier text she is calm and soft-spoken, shouting is as unlike her as a fire, and throughout any sort of crisis she maintains an icy calm that can be very shocking. She is amazingly brave, but she's only loyal one thing. Survival. As a kittypet this doesn't bother her much, and she would rescue her friends from the odd loose dog because she doesn't really realise the threat. She doesn't really understand good and bad, it puzzles her and she can never quite get her head round it. She grew up with the word necessity, and now she's having to re-adjust. She is kind and gentle, but has brutal common sense that she has to break down before telling others. She can understand some things that completely baffle other cats, but she is confused by things that those same cats find simple. As for kind, when in a two-leg nest it's not hard, and she doesn't mind doing dangerous things now and again to keep in shape, as long as she's confident she'll survive. It's strange, despite her past she is very confident, it's probably because she believes that nothing could be worse. She has a pedigree mind to some degree, she is easy to train and willing to learn new things, she can be playful with her owners but is obedient and will relax on your knee without much prompting. She behaves like her two-legs like her to behave. She can even cope when they pamper her like she was princess of the world. She enjoys company, but a lot of noise makes her hiss and stalk angrily away, the really friendly, boisterous sort usually end up with a scratched nose if they come after her. She hates loud noises. Her past, doesn't that affect her at all? It does. A lot. She is often grieving for her brother, and though one of her siblings is still alive and with her, she still misses her other brother more than anything else in the world.
Fly lonely angel
High above these streets of fire
Fly lonely angel
Leave behind the mad desire
.agonised steps
From Kitten to Sale
Angel was born to a beautiful she-cat that named her Jasha, and her two brothers Timbo and Kinso. Her father was an ordinary kittypet, and the her mothers owners weren't pleased that she had had a litter of kits, but they were decent people. They decided to keep the kittens and sell them when they were old enough. The place where the three kitten's mother lived was lovely. A nice empty stall in a stable, with thick hay on the floor was where they spent their first days, but the actual place was a well run farm. The people showed all sorts of animals and all the animals were used to each other and there was a happy, relaxed atmosphere. Jasha, as she was then, was the most out-going of her litter, and was the first to leave the comfy nest her mother had made in the stable and begin to play. They spent hours, happily playing together, play-fighting, joking about, chasing each other, it was a happy time. When they first saw the outside world they were surprised, and very scared to tell the truth. This time it was Timbo, later renamed Dynamite, who first went forth into the unknow. After their first step onto the earth, they were all over. Their mother, Sparky, had no end of trouble trying to round them up, stopping them from getting squished under clumsy hooves, telling them to be careful and watching them completely ignoring them, but she enjoyed it. They made life more exciting for everyone. Jasha formed a special attachment to a specific worker, who she would 'help' with his chores every day. They had loads of fun. When they were about three moons old they started to grow apart, Timbo stayed with their mother more while Kinso and Jasha made every day and adventure. Kinso and Jasha were the ones that made most of the trouble. Racing through the yard, knocking over buckets, tripping people up, scaring the horses with their play-fighting, they didn't mean it – most of the time – but they were annoying. When they were old enough to properly leave their mother, they had been to adventurous to stay with her anyway, some people came to look at them and a kind looking woman in a frock bought them.
From Sale to Grieving
Though she looked kind, to put it bluntly, she wasn't. Neither was her husband. They were people who wanted cats for only one reason, to work. The work wasn't bad, just catching stuff, the treatment was. From the start Jasha and Kinso were bundled into a tiny mesh cage that scratched their paws and given their new names, she said they were Jinx and Smiler, but usually they were called Useless and Stupid. Useless was Kinso, Stupid was Jasha. It was good they couldn't understand their names. When they reached the place that was to be their home for the next three years, they were starving and hungry, and had been carsick. Did their new owners care? Yes, they threw stuff at the two kittens for making them clean the stuff up. When they limped into the hall Jasha, I refuse to call her Stupid, went straight towards the smell of food, Kinso followed reluctantly, but she noticed that he was looking very edgy. And he had good reason to, there was a bruise on his side where a stone had hit him. He would grow used to it soon enough. Jasha ate quickly from the cheap, flimsy plastic bowl, even though the food tasted like cardboard, and was the cheapest her new owners could find. When both of them had eaten They tried to find somewhere to sleep, but ended up just lying at the foot of the stairs. Big mistake. They were roused with violent kicks and boiling hot coffee splashing over them as their owners made them get up and pointed at a mouse that was climbing the stairs, when they threw stuff at it Kinso got the point and caught it, while Jasha started to creep away. Their life was pretty much a repeat of that from then onwards, it was awful. They were rewarded for catching mice with a bit more food, though they were severely underfed anyway, and steadily grew used to the many kicks, blows and missiles coming their way. As they grew used to it, it got worse. More dangerous things began to get thrown at them, knives chucked randomly towards them, heavy paperweights suddenly dropping on their heads. They dodged. What else could they do? Kinso tried to scavenge some more food for them, but after a few times... They caught him. A knife hit him in the chest. Jashaa dragged him into the garden and watched as he died. The owners just chucked him on the compost heap, but she buried him.
From Grieving to Hope
Jasha grieved. Of course she did, her only friend was gone. Al her spare time was spent lying out of sight, silently mourning her dead brother. She found herself a nice corner underneath the stairs where she could escape to for a few hours rest if she caught enough mice and rats, but it was too late for her brother to hide here. Another year passed in the hellish place, but she still grieved. She cried out, she wailed, her skills began to deteriorate. Luckily, or perhaps not so luckily, her owners began to be drunks, they stopped expecting her to do well, but they threw more stuff at her anyway. She completely lost hope. Nothing, she thought, could take her back to a place where she had something to believe in. She ate, she slept, she grieved, she dodged, she hunted, she despaired. No happy frolicking now. It was two years since she had left her mother, and she had completely forgotten that some places were brilliant, but she did know that lots of places were better than what she had. She rarely had enough to drink and was often ill, but her owners didn't notice as they grew more and more intoxicated. She began to not hunt, only catching stuff out of instinct, and she barely had enough will power to dodge when stuff like hair-dryers were chucked at her. She had not reason to live except the one thing her brother had said to her as he lay dying. 'Don't end up like this.' she was loyal to his last wish and did her best to survive. She needed a hope, and she got one. She saw a wild cat, over and impossibly high fence, yes, but she saw freedom. The cat looked almost as bad as her, and certainly didn't look happy, but she thought that life as a stray must be far better than her life. She was getting tired of dodging wine bottles. She still had no idea how she would get over the fence though. It was too high to jump, was too strong to claw through, there was no gate and it went right the way round the garden. Her senses dulled by weakness and grieving she didn't realise how to escape, and gradually the hope faded.
From Hope to escape
She was hopeless again, but she had recovered some of her old spirit. She gathered up the courage to eat the food the two-legs put out for her sometimes, she even dared to claw them when she was near her hideout, she went outside more, she felt better. The hope was still there inside her, it just hadn't found form again. Then she realized. The ground. She would dig under the fence! It was an idea that would have been obvious to her if she had been in good condition, but as it was it had taken her moons to come up with it. With a smile on her muzzle, something that she had almost forgotten existed, she set to work planning. She knew that in her current state she shouldn't do much digging every night, so she dug about an inch down right there and then, then went back inside. She waited for her owners to go shopping, and waited, and waited. It seemed as if they would never leave, but she sued the time to dig a hole that was big enough for her to fit through. Despite her hope she was getting weaker, and she worried if she would die if she ran away, she would die if she stayed. In the end she just left it. No point thinking bad thoughts. It took a long time, but eventually both her owners were out. This was her chance. She felt a bolt of excitement flash through her, but before she left she went to her brother grave and dug his body up. It was quite well preserved by the mud and she dragged it out with her and grieved him, her misery striking her afresh as she stared into his unseeing eyes. She hoped he had gone somewhere better. Then she dragged him to a patch of grass on the muddy verge and buried him again. She thought that he deserved to be free as much as she did, and she didn't want his body being picked apart by scavengers. She tried to go a bit further but it started to rain and she wanted to sleep near her brother for one last time. She curled up above where he was buried and slept, cold and hungry, but still she slept.
From Escape to Capture
Escape. It had sounded so sweet. Now it seemed like a punishment. Night after night she slept, frozen and never truly full on wet suburbs, curled up under what few small bits of shelter she could find. Every morning she woke up frightened and alone, hungry and thirsty, weak and cold. Her days were spent wandering about, begging the other strays to leave her alone, drowned in her own private sorrow. The groups of strays left her alone. They thought she was useless. She didn't want them to be near her. She scavenged and even managed to catch the odd rat, though she never found enough. She didn't pity the other strays, she didn't help them. There was no good or any anymore. There was just necessity. She could help the starving kits that lay beside their dying mother, she couldn't help the old, limping tom with a cough that was steadily getting worse and worse, she herself had caught a disease, and she was weak and hungry too. Some cats are toughened by the streets, all are destroyed by them. A constant enemy was the cat-catchers. They came out of nowhere in their horrible, stinking monsters, and caught strays in their nets. There were rumours going around as to what happened to them, and none of them good. Jasha, she had changed her name to Fallen now, had wondered for a while how long she would survive in this world without getting caught, or dying. She had no way of knowing but she spent almost a year on the street before she was caught. It happened when she was idly strolling along a deserted street, past rows of houses in the darkness. It just happened that she was thinking of being caught when she heard the low rumble of a monster coming closer. She didn't stir, monsters weren't exactly rare, but then she saw the two-leg driving it. She ran. But not quickly enough.
From Capture to Home
She was taken to a place where there were lots of stray cats, and was locked in cage that, though it wasn't exactly luxurious, was much better than what she was used to. She had plenty of food and water, and she was quite content. It was quite warm in there too and she was delighted that she had been caught, she was in a brilliant position. She was put in a strange pen sometimes and people looked at her, but she always hissed and spat at them, remembering her last owners, and it was always a different cat that was chosen. After a while it struck her that the two-legs were looking at her with worried frowns on their faces, as if they didn't know what to do with her, which they didn't. She had been there for over a month now, and all of the other cats that had been there when she was taken in were gone. They decided to have a last try at getting her a loving owner, an if she still wasn't taken to a new place to put her to sleep. So what? She thought. She was happy where she was and had no inclination to try and get out of there. She was relatively looked after and felt to good to give her life up willingly. Oh no, she didn't realise that you could get a lot better than what she had at that moment. She wouldn't have cared anyway. This was her idea of a good time, food water, heat, relative comfort... She had no idea that things were that serious, and continued to hiss at the people who came to look at her, but when a little girl came along..... They were surprised that a little girl would want a scarred cat like her, but Fallen acted friendly towards her, and they took her. They loaded her into the car with plenty of goof quality food and water and the little girl stroked her all the way to her new home. She actually purred for the first time in years. She knew her life wouldn't be perfect.. But it was perfect enough for her. Now she has been living with the Hudsons for a while, and she has met most of the local kittypets.[/size][/i][/color]
The dream was light
And fragrant nights
But how were you to know
The streets are hard
They're mean and scarred
Where only fools find gold
[/size]
In Character: My first bio was accepted.
Relationships/Kin:
Sparky – mother (showcat)
Splodge – father (housecat)
Indigo – brother (dead)
Other: The lyrics are from Great White's 'The Angel Song'.
Codewords: Painting portraits of ghosts[/color]
Fly lonely angel
High above these streets of fire
Fly lonely angel
Leave behind the mad desire
Fly lonely angel
Spread your wings another way
Fly lonely angel
Find a better way
A better day
Fallen angel ripped and bruised
Think on better days
Life is rude, treats you bad
Tears your wings away
Raise your eyes to star and sky
Believe in fly aways
Take your dreams, your broken schemes
And sweep the past away
.the blessing.
fallen angel
Fly lonely angel
High above these streets of fire
Fly lonely angel
Far away from mad desire
.from birth.
she-cat
Fly lonely angel
High above these streets of fire
Fly lonely angel
Leave behind the mad desire
.the suffering.
70 moons
Fly lonely angel
High above these streets of fire
Fly lonely angel
Leave behind the mad desire
.my life.
the hudsons
Fly lonely angel
High above these streets of fire
Fly lonely angel
Leave behind the mad desire
.honored.
princess
Hollywood ain't paved with gold
It's just a trick of light
Sunset falls on stars of old
And blinds you with its light
A spiders web of tangled lives
Lays stretched across the hills
From distances it's glistening
Like El Dorado's halls
.under ripped skies.
The first thing you are likely to notice about Angel, as she is most commonly called, is that she is not the average housecat. Come on, how many kittypets are scarred and bruised. First to the build, she is naturally thin, and even when she isn't thin her ribs show. She has long, slender, elegant legs that no warrior could even want to posses, yet despite that they appear anything but fragile. She hasn't got obvious muscles, but is lean and strong, a trait uncommon with kittypets, but with her past, hardly surprising. Her whole build speaks of slender elegance, but she looks as tough as thistles. She has large ears that sit upon her fine-featured face looking the perfect size, though if you put them both together they would be as big as her head. She has a muzzle, that is neither long nor short, but its slim and makes you think it's long. Above her muzzle lie her eyes, large, smooth, like liquid pools of amber, or indeed, they are very bright, fire. Now, as to why you would never think her a pampered kittypet, lets start with the scars. Oh yes, her lovely build is covered in small, yet obvious scars. Most of the are on her sides, but there is one on her neck, and her muzzle and forehead have one scar each. The bruises have mainly faded now, but there are a few, mainly around the top of her neck, that are likely to remain for a long while. Her fur, once as smooth as gossamer silk, is now interrupted by the scars, and will never serve to keep her quite as warm again.
As to the color of her fur, well, its sort of..... A mixture. Imagine a golden cat with black tabby stripes, then add a white splodge to the left shoulder, turn the tail black, and turn the head, neck, chest and stomach white. That's Angel. Though not as smooth as it was once, her fur is still sleek and soft in the places where the scars are not so apparent, and it's a mixture between medium length and short length, quarter length maybe? It gets long around her neck, and shorter on her head, tail, and paws. Her paws. They are tabby striped like most of the rest of her and are quite small and petite, though overall Angel is quite a big cat. Her claws are long and hooked, perfect for catching mice, and are pearly white. They are still quite sharp, though she is living a more normal kittypet life now. So, you think, she's obviously a cat that doesn't like being pampered, wrong, she does like being pampered, she just hasn't been. Her tail is long, and sleeker than the rest of her, the soft black fur is interrupted only once, and it portrays the supreme exquisiteness about her that has been ruined. Her name really does suite her. Her pads are rough, tougher than even those of the forest cats because of the rough surfaces she has been forced to stand on, but are getting paler now that there are gentler textures underpaw. Her nose plainly and simply, just pale pink, as is her skin. Some think it white, most in fact, but it's just very, very pale pink. Scarred, lean, tough pads.... Not your average kittypet. But her scent makes quite sure that you don't mistake her for a warrior.
Fly lonely angel
High above these streets of fire
Fly lonely angel
Leave behind the mad desire
.the fallen soul.
Lets start with her behaviour towards strangers, after all, it is what you'll encounter first when you meet her. Or to put it more correctly, not encounter. Upon seeing a strange cat she will sit there and stare at it, studying every tiny detail about it for at least three hours before she says a word in greeting. If you say something to her before that time you will be greeted by, wonderful, peaceful, silence. She's not the friendliest cat ever. If she decides after her long period of thought that you are bad, you better run, unless of course you are bad in which case you deserve what's coming. She would attack. You would have to fight her. If she decides you are good she will be cold towards you for a few moons, then, finally, start to open up. Unless she changes her mind and thinks you're bad. It takes years to become a friend she trusts, but only a few moons before she'll be friendly. I won't even start on how long it takes to become a best friend..... Now, how about behaviour towards friends. She may joke gently, or lightly tease, but she is generally just calm. She will talk to you often, and that's no small achievement, but she is never really friendly, or boisterous. She is a cat that makes you want to relax and just chat randomly about interesting stuff that doesn't really affect you. If you offend her she will try to forget, she is hard to offend anyway, she feels that she needs all the friends she can get, and she tries to keep her friends. Enough about behaviour towards other cats, what about other animals. Dogs come pretty high on the list. If she sees a dog she will probably continue what she's doing with icy calm, and if it bothers her, send it running with a few well aimed scratches on its nose. It doesn't work with some dogs, but she can always stalk slowly away, probably up something. Badgers, to put it simply, she never encounters them. How's she to know they exist? Mice, rabbits and birds she regards as prey, prey to catch and take to your owners so you get praised and petted. Twolegs, she totally worships them. Mostly because she's terrified of them. She loves her owners though.
Now we have pretty much go through how she behaves towards others, lets start thinking about her. As you may have guessed from earlier text she is calm and soft-spoken, shouting is as unlike her as a fire, and throughout any sort of crisis she maintains an icy calm that can be very shocking. She is amazingly brave, but she's only loyal one thing. Survival. As a kittypet this doesn't bother her much, and she would rescue her friends from the odd loose dog because she doesn't really realise the threat. She doesn't really understand good and bad, it puzzles her and she can never quite get her head round it. She grew up with the word necessity, and now she's having to re-adjust. She is kind and gentle, but has brutal common sense that she has to break down before telling others. She can understand some things that completely baffle other cats, but she is confused by things that those same cats find simple. As for kind, when in a two-leg nest it's not hard, and she doesn't mind doing dangerous things now and again to keep in shape, as long as she's confident she'll survive. It's strange, despite her past she is very confident, it's probably because she believes that nothing could be worse. She has a pedigree mind to some degree, she is easy to train and willing to learn new things, she can be playful with her owners but is obedient and will relax on your knee without much prompting. She behaves like her two-legs like her to behave. She can even cope when they pamper her like she was princess of the world. She enjoys company, but a lot of noise makes her hiss and stalk angrily away, the really friendly, boisterous sort usually end up with a scratched nose if they come after her. She hates loud noises. Her past, doesn't that affect her at all? It does. A lot. She is often grieving for her brother, and though one of her siblings is still alive and with her, she still misses her other brother more than anything else in the world.
Fly lonely angel
High above these streets of fire
Fly lonely angel
Leave behind the mad desire
.agonised steps
From Kitten to Sale
Angel was born to a beautiful she-cat that named her Jasha, and her two brothers Timbo and Kinso. Her father was an ordinary kittypet, and the her mothers owners weren't pleased that she had had a litter of kits, but they were decent people. They decided to keep the kittens and sell them when they were old enough. The place where the three kitten's mother lived was lovely. A nice empty stall in a stable, with thick hay on the floor was where they spent their first days, but the actual place was a well run farm. The people showed all sorts of animals and all the animals were used to each other and there was a happy, relaxed atmosphere. Jasha, as she was then, was the most out-going of her litter, and was the first to leave the comfy nest her mother had made in the stable and begin to play. They spent hours, happily playing together, play-fighting, joking about, chasing each other, it was a happy time. When they first saw the outside world they were surprised, and very scared to tell the truth. This time it was Timbo, later renamed Dynamite, who first went forth into the unknow. After their first step onto the earth, they were all over. Their mother, Sparky, had no end of trouble trying to round them up, stopping them from getting squished under clumsy hooves, telling them to be careful and watching them completely ignoring them, but she enjoyed it. They made life more exciting for everyone. Jasha formed a special attachment to a specific worker, who she would 'help' with his chores every day. They had loads of fun. When they were about three moons old they started to grow apart, Timbo stayed with their mother more while Kinso and Jasha made every day and adventure. Kinso and Jasha were the ones that made most of the trouble. Racing through the yard, knocking over buckets, tripping people up, scaring the horses with their play-fighting, they didn't mean it – most of the time – but they were annoying. When they were old enough to properly leave their mother, they had been to adventurous to stay with her anyway, some people came to look at them and a kind looking woman in a frock bought them.
From Sale to Grieving
Though she looked kind, to put it bluntly, she wasn't. Neither was her husband. They were people who wanted cats for only one reason, to work. The work wasn't bad, just catching stuff, the treatment was. From the start Jasha and Kinso were bundled into a tiny mesh cage that scratched their paws and given their new names, she said they were Jinx and Smiler, but usually they were called Useless and Stupid. Useless was Kinso, Stupid was Jasha. It was good they couldn't understand their names. When they reached the place that was to be their home for the next three years, they were starving and hungry, and had been carsick. Did their new owners care? Yes, they threw stuff at the two kittens for making them clean the stuff up. When they limped into the hall Jasha, I refuse to call her Stupid, went straight towards the smell of food, Kinso followed reluctantly, but she noticed that he was looking very edgy. And he had good reason to, there was a bruise on his side where a stone had hit him. He would grow used to it soon enough. Jasha ate quickly from the cheap, flimsy plastic bowl, even though the food tasted like cardboard, and was the cheapest her new owners could find. When both of them had eaten They tried to find somewhere to sleep, but ended up just lying at the foot of the stairs. Big mistake. They were roused with violent kicks and boiling hot coffee splashing over them as their owners made them get up and pointed at a mouse that was climbing the stairs, when they threw stuff at it Kinso got the point and caught it, while Jasha started to creep away. Their life was pretty much a repeat of that from then onwards, it was awful. They were rewarded for catching mice with a bit more food, though they were severely underfed anyway, and steadily grew used to the many kicks, blows and missiles coming their way. As they grew used to it, it got worse. More dangerous things began to get thrown at them, knives chucked randomly towards them, heavy paperweights suddenly dropping on their heads. They dodged. What else could they do? Kinso tried to scavenge some more food for them, but after a few times... They caught him. A knife hit him in the chest. Jashaa dragged him into the garden and watched as he died. The owners just chucked him on the compost heap, but she buried him.
From Grieving to Hope
Jasha grieved. Of course she did, her only friend was gone. Al her spare time was spent lying out of sight, silently mourning her dead brother. She found herself a nice corner underneath the stairs where she could escape to for a few hours rest if she caught enough mice and rats, but it was too late for her brother to hide here. Another year passed in the hellish place, but she still grieved. She cried out, she wailed, her skills began to deteriorate. Luckily, or perhaps not so luckily, her owners began to be drunks, they stopped expecting her to do well, but they threw more stuff at her anyway. She completely lost hope. Nothing, she thought, could take her back to a place where she had something to believe in. She ate, she slept, she grieved, she dodged, she hunted, she despaired. No happy frolicking now. It was two years since she had left her mother, and she had completely forgotten that some places were brilliant, but she did know that lots of places were better than what she had. She rarely had enough to drink and was often ill, but her owners didn't notice as they grew more and more intoxicated. She began to not hunt, only catching stuff out of instinct, and she barely had enough will power to dodge when stuff like hair-dryers were chucked at her. She had not reason to live except the one thing her brother had said to her as he lay dying. 'Don't end up like this.' she was loyal to his last wish and did her best to survive. She needed a hope, and she got one. She saw a wild cat, over and impossibly high fence, yes, but she saw freedom. The cat looked almost as bad as her, and certainly didn't look happy, but she thought that life as a stray must be far better than her life. She was getting tired of dodging wine bottles. She still had no idea how she would get over the fence though. It was too high to jump, was too strong to claw through, there was no gate and it went right the way round the garden. Her senses dulled by weakness and grieving she didn't realise how to escape, and gradually the hope faded.
From Hope to escape
She was hopeless again, but she had recovered some of her old spirit. She gathered up the courage to eat the food the two-legs put out for her sometimes, she even dared to claw them when she was near her hideout, she went outside more, she felt better. The hope was still there inside her, it just hadn't found form again. Then she realized. The ground. She would dig under the fence! It was an idea that would have been obvious to her if she had been in good condition, but as it was it had taken her moons to come up with it. With a smile on her muzzle, something that she had almost forgotten existed, she set to work planning. She knew that in her current state she shouldn't do much digging every night, so she dug about an inch down right there and then, then went back inside. She waited for her owners to go shopping, and waited, and waited. It seemed as if they would never leave, but she sued the time to dig a hole that was big enough for her to fit through. Despite her hope she was getting weaker, and she worried if she would die if she ran away, she would die if she stayed. In the end she just left it. No point thinking bad thoughts. It took a long time, but eventually both her owners were out. This was her chance. She felt a bolt of excitement flash through her, but before she left she went to her brother grave and dug his body up. It was quite well preserved by the mud and she dragged it out with her and grieved him, her misery striking her afresh as she stared into his unseeing eyes. She hoped he had gone somewhere better. Then she dragged him to a patch of grass on the muddy verge and buried him again. She thought that he deserved to be free as much as she did, and she didn't want his body being picked apart by scavengers. She tried to go a bit further but it started to rain and she wanted to sleep near her brother for one last time. She curled up above where he was buried and slept, cold and hungry, but still she slept.
From Escape to Capture
Escape. It had sounded so sweet. Now it seemed like a punishment. Night after night she slept, frozen and never truly full on wet suburbs, curled up under what few small bits of shelter she could find. Every morning she woke up frightened and alone, hungry and thirsty, weak and cold. Her days were spent wandering about, begging the other strays to leave her alone, drowned in her own private sorrow. The groups of strays left her alone. They thought she was useless. She didn't want them to be near her. She scavenged and even managed to catch the odd rat, though she never found enough. She didn't pity the other strays, she didn't help them. There was no good or any anymore. There was just necessity. She could help the starving kits that lay beside their dying mother, she couldn't help the old, limping tom with a cough that was steadily getting worse and worse, she herself had caught a disease, and she was weak and hungry too. Some cats are toughened by the streets, all are destroyed by them. A constant enemy was the cat-catchers. They came out of nowhere in their horrible, stinking monsters, and caught strays in their nets. There were rumours going around as to what happened to them, and none of them good. Jasha, she had changed her name to Fallen now, had wondered for a while how long she would survive in this world without getting caught, or dying. She had no way of knowing but she spent almost a year on the street before she was caught. It happened when she was idly strolling along a deserted street, past rows of houses in the darkness. It just happened that she was thinking of being caught when she heard the low rumble of a monster coming closer. She didn't stir, monsters weren't exactly rare, but then she saw the two-leg driving it. She ran. But not quickly enough.
From Capture to Home
She was taken to a place where there were lots of stray cats, and was locked in cage that, though it wasn't exactly luxurious, was much better than what she was used to. She had plenty of food and water, and she was quite content. It was quite warm in there too and she was delighted that she had been caught, she was in a brilliant position. She was put in a strange pen sometimes and people looked at her, but she always hissed and spat at them, remembering her last owners, and it was always a different cat that was chosen. After a while it struck her that the two-legs were looking at her with worried frowns on their faces, as if they didn't know what to do with her, which they didn't. She had been there for over a month now, and all of the other cats that had been there when she was taken in were gone. They decided to have a last try at getting her a loving owner, an if she still wasn't taken to a new place to put her to sleep. So what? She thought. She was happy where she was and had no inclination to try and get out of there. She was relatively looked after and felt to good to give her life up willingly. Oh no, she didn't realise that you could get a lot better than what she had at that moment. She wouldn't have cared anyway. This was her idea of a good time, food water, heat, relative comfort... She had no idea that things were that serious, and continued to hiss at the people who came to look at her, but when a little girl came along..... They were surprised that a little girl would want a scarred cat like her, but Fallen acted friendly towards her, and they took her. They loaded her into the car with plenty of goof quality food and water and the little girl stroked her all the way to her new home. She actually purred for the first time in years. She knew her life wouldn't be perfect.. But it was perfect enough for her. Now she has been living with the Hudsons for a while, and she has met most of the local kittypets.[/size][/i][/color]
The dream was light
And fragrant nights
But how were you to know
The streets are hard
They're mean and scarred
Where only fools find gold
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In Character: My first bio was accepted.
Relationships/Kin:
Sparky – mother (showcat)
Splodge – father (housecat)
Indigo – brother (dead)
Other: The lyrics are from Great White's 'The Angel Song'.
Codewords: Painting portraits of ghosts[/color]
Fly lonely angel
High above these streets of fire
Fly lonely angel
Leave behind the mad desire
Fly lonely angel
Spread your wings another way
Fly lonely angel
Find a better way
A better day
