Boots

   The time had come for Boots to leave his birthplace. It was very clear to him what he needed to do, but his littermate Gingerbread just wasn’t getting it.

   He could tell by her sad eyes; her tail brushing the grass; her coat, matted with dirt and mud. She was upset.

   “You can’t leave, Boots! You’re all I have left.” she meowed.

   Boots felt as if his heart was breaking. “I can’t stay here any longer.” he looked away, not wanting to see her face.

   Ginger appeared to say something, but Boots turned his ears away. He wanted to get out of there before he changed his mind.

   “I need you, Boots.”

   He entwined his tail with hers. “You will always be my littermate, Gingerbread. But we’re not kittens anymore. We need to make our own lives.” he meowed before turning and walking away.

   He thought briefly about stopping by the barn one last time for a quick mouse, but was afraid that he would run into his mother and would have to say goodbye. So he continued on his way, heading to the fence separating the property from the neighbors’. When he got there, he saw that Spunky was waiting for him, perched atop the fence post with the chipped white paint.

   “Boots,” Spunky meowed. “Where ‘ya headed?”

   “I’m not exactly sure. But I don’t belong here anymore.” Boots replied.

   Spunky’s tail drooped. “Well, don’t let yourself go hungry!” he joked, but not with enthusiasm.

   “Hey, you were a great friend, Spunky.” Boots meowed. “I’ll never forget you.”

   “Who knows? Maybe we’ll see each other again.” Spunky purred.

   Boots waved his tail before slipping under the fence. He wasn’t real worried about finding a place to stay; he figured he would be a loner now.

   It was starting to grow dark, so he climbed a large oak tree, and nestled himself into the branches. He slept lightly, dreaming of Gingerbread and his mother. They were crying and wailing, unable to defend themselves against a large pack of wild dogs. He flattened his ears and dropped into a crouch, ready to fight for them, but his tail became caught in a thicket of brambles and he was unable to move.

   When he awoke the next morning, a bird was pecking at his tail. Stupid bird, he thought before he killed it with a single swipe of his paw.

   He dragged his prey down the trunk of the tree, and then crouched down on the soft grass to eat his meal. His emotions were raging against each other. He loved the feel of depending on himself completely, and the peace and quiet of his solitude. On the other hand, he missed Gingerbread already, and he was worried about her. Will Ginger be alright on her own? he thought guiltily.

   Boots pushed the thought out of his head quickly. He knew he needed to put his past behind him and concentrate on the future--he was going to have to start stocking up on food. The temperature dropped a little more each day, and prey was beginning to become sparse. He also planned to scout out a place where he could hunt and store his food.

   That night he came across a small farm. There were cornfields where mice would surely be abundant plus an old barn to sleep in. Boots sniffed around the area carefully--there was a stale scent of dog, but no cat. Apparently, this place was up for grabs.

   Boots sighed happily. This would be a great place to live, at least temporarily. He walked down the path and jumped through a loose board into the barn, where he made himself a cozy little nest in the hayloft.

   He spent the next day hunting in the cornfield and napping in the sunshine on top of the rusty green tractor.

   “I’m really beginning to like this place.” he meowed to himself.

   His belly grumbled, and he stretched his paws lazily over the edge of the roof. I could go catch a mouse, he thought. but maybe the people who live here will give me some cat food.

   Boots pulled himself up and leaped to the ground nimbly. He padded over to the farmhouse and meowed loudly at the door, hoping to attract the people. All of the sudden, Boots was knocked off his paws. A dozen hens dashed around him, clucking and flapping their wings in an effort to get off the porch and away from the cat. They were terrified, but Boots had not touched them, or even known that they were there. 

   The screen door slammed open.

   “What is going on?” a plumb lady wearing a checkered apron appeared on the porch. Her eyes fell on Boots briefly. “Honey, get out here! A cat is attacking the chickens!” she shouted.

   A large broad shouldered man stepped out of the door, cradling a gun in his arms. Boots had the sense to get out of there as fast as he could. Tail streaming behind him, he sprinted off through the grass and leaped over the fence, a bullet whizzing past his shoulder. He ran and ran, until he tripped on a rock and fell flat on his face. By this time, he was far from the farm, but still a little shook up. He picked himself up and drew a paw across his nose; it was bleeding.

   “Boots? Is that you?” a soft voice called eagerly.

   He turned, and there was Ginger with a black and white tom at her side.

   “Gingerbread!” he purred, rubbing his pelt against hers.

   “Are you okay?” she meowed, indicating his nose.

   “Our humans can fix that,” the tom meowed. “By the way, my name’s Twigs.”

   “Humans?” Boots asked.

   “I live with Twigs in that house over there,” Ginger pointed to a small house painted purple with a large number of fruit trees growing in the yard. “The humans are really nice. Kinda like the ones where we used to live, before, you know…” Ginger’s voice trailed off. She looked at her paws.

   “They would heal your nose, I’m sure, if you would just come inside. They’re very compassionate.” Twigs meowed.

   Boots frowned. “That’s okay.”

   “Can’t you at least visit for a little while? I miss you.” Ginger meowed.

   Boots shifted his paws. “I haven’t eaten all day, and the thought of a fresh mouse is making my stomach rumble.”

   “Oh, okay. Well, if you’re going to stick around the neighborhood, stop by sometime. You know where to find us.”

   Boots could tell Ginger wanted to beg him to stay, but she was holding herself back.

   I don’t want to be a housecat, he thought. it’s fine for Ginger, but not for me. Anyway, she’s not lonely anymore; she has Twigs. I’m not needed here.

   But when he gave himself a little tour of the neighborhood, he decided that he liked it there. Plenty of houses left out cat food, and the people there were friendly, not at all like the farmers.  

   Making a quick decision, he waked down an ally and left his scent on the corner of a brick building, then continued to leave scent marks in an area not too far away from the little purple house.

   He smiled when he thought about visiting Gingerbread again. He could visit her whenever he wanted now.

  

  

  

  

  

Randomness

Hi everyone! So, let's see... Spent the day writing and painting my nails, (they're dark blue now!) and of course hanging with the cats.
Izz was all sour just 'cuz every time I come outside, she always wants to go to the driveway and roll in the gravel. And she wants me to stand there with her while she does this. And today I just didn't feel like waiting for her, so I petted Shadow instead. Now shes' been grumpy pretty much all day. Thankfully, Shadow was super sweet. He meows and likes to lie on the grass and let you pet him--though you have to be careful 'cuz he's still sort of a kitten so he's super playful and for some reason he thinks your arm is an acceptable cat toy.
Man I'm really hungry... Which is a bit strange since we ate at Olive Garden for lunch. They have excellent mac & cheese, by the way. :) I just discovered this.
Remember, Emma and Kirsten, how I told you how I ate almost all the apple pie last night? Well, today Chloe was like, "Hey! That's not half. You ate like all of it!" Hehe hehe hehe I'm so BAD. Lol jk.
Oooh looks like we're eating now! I think I shall eigher have a grilled cheese or a PB&J... Not like I have a lot of a choice. Those are the only two sandwhiches I eat. :) Too bad there isn't any apple pie left... I really like apple pie. Espacially if it's made with CRISP CRUST. Don't ya'll agree? Wait, what am I thinking? I don't say "ya'll". I never say that. Possibly my brain isn't working properly because I'm so hungry.
Wow. Chloe is having grilled cheese, too. And she's going to have ham on hers. :/ This means, that MY grilled cheese will be cooked in the EXACT SAME PAN and with the EXACT SAME SPATULA as the one with the MEAT on it, and so it might possibly get some meat juice on it when Mom flips mine after flipping hers!!! Argh, this is an INJUSTICE! Do you not agree?
...And now I am getting yelled at for supposably using up the last of the butter and not putting some new back in. This reminds me of the "Omg omg omg you FORGOT to shut the dryer door!" conversation. These sorts of conversations actually amuse me very much. :) Though they do not amuse my mother. She is very serious about these sorts of things. Oh well. I hate having to use hard butter, too.
So I'll probably be posting some more cat stories--as part of a series including Gingerbread, which was one of my latest posts--if you would be interested to know.
Well, I'm going to sign off now, I think. I'm running out of things to babble about and you're probably running out of patience, I would guess. If anyone has anything to say, leave it in the comments, please! (Well, duh, of course you'd know to do that!) LOL.
Bye bye!!!

-Cassie <3

PEOPLE CHECK THIS OUT!!! Is possible the cutest. song. EVER!!! <3


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_FWMejRFFu0&feature=youtube_gdata_player

Gingerbread PART 2

   After a long day of traveling, Ginger stopped to rest for the night beneath the shelter of large rock. When she awoke, her belly was grumbling with hunger and her mouth was dry. She stretched and yawned, then yowled in surprise when she found herself looking into the eyes of a large black and white tom.

   She growled and unsheathed her claws, prepared for a fight. But the strange cat remained in a friendly crouch, his claws sheathed and fur unruffled. They stood like that for quite some time, just blinking at each other, until the tom stood up.

   He sniffed her nose. “My name is Twigs. What’s yours?”

   Ginger stiffened at his touch. “Gingerbread.”
   “That’s a nice name.” Twigs said. “Look, I’m sorry if I came off as a creep, but I was out for a walk, and I saw you sleeping and you just looked so…”

   “So what?” Ginger meowed.

   Twigs shifted his paws. “Well, your fur is all wet. You slept in the rain. Do you need a place to stay?”

   “Not really.” Ginger answered, swallowing. Did this tom really expect her to just trust him from the moment they met? she thought.

   “Oh, well I’d be willing to share my home.” he met her eyes hopefully.

   He wanted a friend, Ginger could tell. But she shook her head.

   In the days after that, Ginger started to regret her decision. She was so lonely living her on own. She had found a decent place to stay, but she spent her days sulking in the shadows, with nothing to do but hunt, and no one to talk to but herself.

   Then something interesting happened. Each morning now, Gingerbread found a freshly killed mouse or shrew, just on the other side of the rock, which she slept against. She had a strong suspicion about who was leaving her breakfast, but was too depressed to really investigate further.

   One day, Gingerbread woke up in a cheerful mood. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and she felt sleepy and warm. She wanted to cuddle back up in her makeshift nest, but she was eager to have her breakfast. She crept to the other side of the rock, and smacked into Twigs. Startled, he dropped the mouse he had been carrying.

   She processed this new information quickly. “Thanks,” she meowed. “For bringing me breakfast every day.”

   Twigs looked at the grass. “I was going to come say hello, but you didn’t seem to like me very well. So I thought I’d at least catch you something to eat. You’re so thin.”

   Gingerbread didn’t want to like anyone. She didn’t want to end up hurt. Everyone she had ever loved had disappointed her.

   “Gingerbread… Are you sure you don’t want to come stay with me?” Twigs meowed.

   Ginger looked around, at the scratchy nest she had made out of leaves and dried grass, and the large rock which did little to shelter her from the wind and rain. Then she looked at Twigs. His coat was shiny and his belly filled out.

   He looks like a housecat. He would have food and a warm place to sleep… More importantly, I wouldn’t be lonely any longer. she thought. She opened her mouse to say “yes”, but the memory of her mother and Boots made her change her mind. She shook her head.

   Twigs looked sadly at her. “Alright, then.” Rejected once again, he turned and began to walk away.

   “Wait,” Ginger said.

   Here was someone who cared about her. Loved her, even. She couldn’t keep holding on to her past. This was her life now.

   “Could I come with you?” she meowed.

   Twigs smiled, and rubbed his muzzle against hers. “Don’t worry, it’ll be okay. I have a great home. Yummy food and nice humans who let me go in and out of the house as I please. They love me, and I just know they’ll love you, too.”

   Gingerbread purred. Someone to love me, she thought happily. “Thanks, Twigs.” she meowed. “You’re a good friend.”

  

  

  

  

Gingerbread

Hello guys. Here's a story I just wrote. :) This is based on my cats, actually. I changed their names and brought out the most obvious aspects of their personalities. It is fiction, though. Not a true story. But Gingerbread's circumstances are based on what she (the real cat she is representing) actually went through, though the ending is totally different in real life. Well, just wanted to let you all know that. Enjoy.

Gingerbread

   The corners of Gingerbread’s mouth drew up into a smile as she padded out of the woods, a rabbit dangling from her mouth. She was exceedingly proud of her catch, and couldn’t wait to show it off to her brother, Boots.

   Gingerbread and Boots lived with their mother, Mouse, in an old barn on a large piece of land including woods, a creek and a little house where a family of humans lived. The humans took good care of the cats. Each day they set out three little bowls of dry cat food and fresh water; one for each cat. There were three little children, two girls and a boy. Boots didn’t care for the attention, but Gingerbread craved it. There was one girl, with long blond hair, who adored the cats. She would step outside nearly every day and call for Gingerbread--whom she lovingly called Ginger. Gingerbread would race to the little girl from the barn where she always took an afternoon nap. She would let Ginger sit on her lap, and Ginger would purr and knead her paws.

   “Boots! Look at this!” Gingerbread dropped the rabbit at Boots’ paws.

   “Good catch! Can I have some?” Boots meowed, his mouth watering already.

   Lately the cat food had not been set out as consistently. Boots and Ginger were all grown up now, so they had started hunting for their mother, who was unable to catch anything for herself because her belly had grown quite large and she was not as limber as she used to be.

   Now the littermates crouched down to enjoy the meal. When they were finished, Gingerbread licked her lips and picked up the remaining meat to bring to her mother. Inside the barn, Mouse was crouched stiffly on a beam high above the floor.

   “Mother, what are you doing up there?” Boots meowed.

   Gingerbread dropped the meat. “Is something wrong?”

   “They let Spoiled and Spunky out again.” Mouse hissed.

   Spoiled and Spunky were the housecats; they had just arrived a little over a month ago. Spunky was lazy and not much of a threat, but Spoiled was territorial and believed the whole yard was hers--well, hers and her brother Spunky’s--alone. She didn’t like other cats leaving scent marks on the bushes, eating the dry cat food, or even napping on the best rocks. If she spotted any other cat on her land, she would not hesitate to attack. And although Gingerbread was a good fighter, so was Spoiled. If the two cats were left alone, they would fight to the death.

   But Mouse would never allow it. She loved her kittens fiercely, and would protect them with her last life, if it came down to that. She forbid Gingerbread to fight Spoiled.

   Gingerbread loved her mother with all her heart, so she obeyed.

  Spoiled was stalking a shrew through the barn. Gingerbread and Boots had hidden themselves beneath a floorboard, so as not to provoke a fight. Ginger watched as Spoiled caught sight of her mother. Both cats’ hackles raised and a growl sounded deep in Mouse’s throat. Spoiled hesitated before abandoning the shrew she had been stalking to take a step toward Mouse. Hissing, she unsheathed her claws and sprang at Ginger’s mother.

  Ginger watched helplessly as the cats fought. Spoiled’s ear had been torn, and Mouse’s coat was dripping with blood from scratches along her flank.

   Mouse began to back away submissively, and Spoiled hissed once for good measure before running away to torment some other poor creature.

   Boots and Gingerbread crawled out of their hiding place and went to their mother, who was breathing heavily and had staggered to the hay where she lay down and began to lick her scratches.

   “Are you alright?” Ginger meowed, rubbing her head against her mother’s.

   “Just a few scratches.”

   “But you don’t look so well.”

   Mouse sighed. “The kittens are coming soon.”

   Kittens? Ginger thought. So that was why Mouse’s belly was so large!

   Gingerbread should have been happy for her mother. But she wasn’t. She didn’t want things to change.

    A week later, the kittens had arrived. They were small, squirmy, and soft, and they used up all of Mouse’s attention. She spent every moment with them.

   For the first few weeks, Ginger made an effort to give her mother some space. But surely one little visit wouldn’t hurt anything, would it? Ginger thought on a day when she was feeling especially lonely.
   She went to her mother’s nest. “Mom? I--”

   “Gingerbread,” Mouse meowed. “There comes a time when a mother has to let her kittens go.”

   “What-what do you mean?” Ginger stammered.

   “I love you, Ginger, and I always will. But I have to let you go.”

   “I don’t understand.”

   Mouse growled. “Go, Ginger. Don’t come here again.”

   Ginger’s tail droops, and she tripped on her paws as she stumbled outside. She looked back once.

   Mouse’s face softened. “Good luck.”

   Ginger felt utterly abandoned. She was upset and her stomach was growling, too, so she went to her food bowl to get something to eat.

   Boots was there. He shifted his paws and averted his eyes. Ginger knew that he had been to seen Mouse, also.

   “Ginger, I’m leaving.”

   “You can’t, Boots!” Ginger wailed. “You’re all I have left.”

   She wished fervently that things would go back to the way they were. She wanted to be able to roam her yard freely, without worrying about an encounter with Spoiled. She wanted to wrestle with Boots. She wanted her mother to care about her.

   “I can’t stay here any longer.”

   “But what about Spunky? He’ll be devastated if you leave.”

   Spunky and Boots were good friends. When Boots wasn’t with Ginger, he was always with Spunky.

   Boots waved his tail. “Spunky will be fine.”

   “What about me? I need you, Boots.” Ginger pleaded.

   Boots entwined his tail with hers. “You will always be my littermate, Gingerbread. But we’re not kittens anymore. We need to make our own lives.”

   Before she could truly comprehend what was happening, Boots had left.

   For two days, Ginger didn’t eat. Her eyes were downcast. Her tail drooped. Not even the little girl, whom she loved so dearly, cared about her anymore. The girl would skip outside, smiling and singing, and go straight to the kittens. She cooed to them, cuddled them, and let them sit on her lap and bat at her hair.

   One day, tired of watching, Ginger crept closer to the girl and the kittens. Starved for attention, she meowed pitifully. The girl paused from dragging a stick in the mud for the kittens to chase, and patted Gingerbread roughly on the head. She gestured to her lap, but there wasn’t enough room for Ginger there.

   Eventually, the kittens were sent away to new homes; all but a little brown one named Cloud. Hope flared in Ginger’s chest. Would the girl start loving Ginger again?

   She didn’t. The little girl spend all her time with Cloud.

   Gingerbread was crushed with disappointment. She didn’t know what to do, but she was sure of one thing: this place was no longer her home.

   “We’re not kittens anymore. We need to make our own lives.” she remembered her brother saying.

   She took one last look at the barn where she had been raised, the house where the little girl lived, and the grassy field where she and Boots had always played. And then Ginger ran away from the property and toward her new life.

   Boots’ words flashed through her mind on a loop as she sprinted through the weeds alongside the creek. I’m going to make my own life, she thought. I don’t need to rely on anyone else.

Quackledorph the Cat

   Quackledorph stared down at her paws--as she seemed to be doing so often these days--as the cats around her chattered about the successful hunting trip that had taken place the day before.
   Quackledorph always felt out of place with this group of cats. She knew she should feel lucky, because she had a nice cozy house and nice people to take care of her. However, she had never quite fit in with the cats living at the house. They were not like her in any way. Quackledorph had shiny silver fur; the rest of the cats had dark black fur and white mittens.   Quackledorph liked to run and jump and climb; the other cats liked to lie around and groom each-other’s coats. Not to mention, everyone else had normal names like “Socks”, “Fuzzy”, or “Kitty”.
   Ever since she was a kitten, Quackledorph had wished she could be like the other cats. She hadn’t accepted herself for who she was. It was really quite sad. The others pitied her, but they were too selfish to accept her into one of their many cliques.
   That was how Quackledorph lived her life: On the sidelines. Looking on as the other cats had fun.
   One day Quackledorph was padding alongside the pond, pondering her miserable existence, when she came upon a family of ducks. Something about the ducks intrigued her, so she walked closer, her paws treading lightly so as not to frighten the strange-looking creatures with the webbed feet. One of the ducklings broke away from his place in the line where he had been swimming alongside his brothers and sisters. The duckling swam to the shore and waddled toward Quackledorph on unsteady feet. He stopped just inches away from her, stretched up as high as his little body would allow, and touched his bill to Quackledorph’s nose.
   Quackledorph’s whiskers quivered, a purr rumbling up in her throat. The duckling quacked and Quackledorph meowed a goodbye. She watched with sad eyes as the duckling returned to the water and rejoined his family.
   That night as Quackledorph sat down to eat her supper, she turned to the cat sitting beside her, a tom with unnaturally large ears. She had never made an effort to talk to the other cats before, but there was something about this tom that made Quackledorph want to talk to him. Perhaps it was his ears. They were much larger then any of the other cats’; for some reason this made Quackledorph feel more like an equal speaking to him.
   She poured out her heart to the tom. When she recounted her trip to the pond that morning, he seemed to be especially interested.
   “So, you really liked that little duckling?” he meowed.
   “Yes. He just made me feel so… Accepted. Like I belonged right there at the pond. With the ducks.”
   “You would be happy there, wouldn’t you?”
   Quackledorph thought about this. “Yes. But I am a cat. I can’t live at the pond.”
   “Do you like being a cat?”
   “No. I hate being a cat.” Quackledorph admitted.
   The tom smiled at her, his eyes sparkling. “Then here’s my advice: go to the pond at noon tomorrow, and with your eyes closed, lap up the water from the center. While you’re drinking, concentrate on how much you like the ducks.”
   Quackledorph was thoroughly confused. Why did this tom want her to do all this crazy stuff?
   All night she tossed and turned in her nest, trying to decide whether she should listen to him or not, or if this was just some kind of silly prank.
   When she woke the next morning, a quick glance at the sun told her it was nearly noon. She yawned and stretched her legs.
   The tom had seemed so nice. Quackledorph decided to trust him.
She raced to the pond, arriving out of breath. She stood panting beneath a willow tree. Now how would she be able to get to the water in the center of the pond?
   She thought about this serious dilemma as the mother duck suddenly swam up to the shore. She quacked and flapped her wings continuously. Quackledorph was worried that something was wrong, so she padded over to the duck. The mother duck gestured to her back.
   Finally, Quackledorph caught on. She realized that the duck was offering her a ride. As crazy as this seemed--a cat taking a ride on a duck’s back!--Quackledorph just decided to go for it. Stranger things had happened, after all.
   The duck swam into the center of the pond, then stopped. Quackledorph closed her eyes, leaned down, and lapped up some water. She focused her thoughts on the kind duck that had somehow known she had needed a ride in the pond.
   When Quackledorph opened her eyes again, the mother duck was swimming a few feet away. Quackledorph panicked. If the duck was over there, then that meant she was in the middle of the pond all by herself. And she couldn’t swim!
   Quackledorph looked down at her paws, but was surprised to see webbed feet in their place! She wiggled her feet, testing them to see if they were really hers. They were.
   She opened her mouth to speak, and… Quackledorph QUACKED.   Quackledorph was no longer a cat. She was a duck.
   Quackledorph had never felt so happy in her life. She swam after the family of ducks, whom she spotted at the other side of the pond. They swam to meet her, greeting her with loud happy quacks.
   They accepted her into their little family, and that was Quackledorph’s happy ending.

Me and my ukulele

Not sure if this will work... If it does, then, well, I hope you like it! :)