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"the audience is only safe when the story isn't about them."

they/them - probably listening to sufjan stevens

Message from Writer

an important piece by outoftheblue- https://bit.ly/3dBxv5r

black lives matter & pride is over but the fight for lgbt+ rights is year round.

bio quote is from the magnus archives

Cat and Mouse

May 31, 2017



    Slipping through the lush forest, she tastes the air, her ears pricked, an alert position any cat lover would recognize. The forest is silent and still, so different from the buffet it was in the summer. A bird song dies off in the distance; branches of a bush scrape together in a lonely wind. This will be hard. She closes her eyes, listening, smelling... and there it is! The cat has caught the scent of a rodent. The scent of her next meal. She slowly swivels her ears, pinpointing the sound it is coming from, and soon she finds it. A mouse.
    The cat moves as graceful as a dancer and as smooth as flowing water. She stalks toward the rodent, licking her lips at the thought of sinking her teeth into it, as the mouse darts back and forth, weaving between grasses and ferns.
    The cat's eyes are fixed, unblinking, on her prey. Her ears move forward; her whiskers twitch; her fur shivers in the slight breeze. She is crouched low, almost brushing the ground, her tail straight and her spine like a table. Her paws work together, gliding her toward the mouse, her pads protecting her from sharp stones on the ground and cushioning her feet. She lightly works her way through the undergrowth, careful not to step on any leaves or twigs. The slightest sound could give her away. Her claws are dormant, but that is temporary.
    Finally the bundle of fur sits still, gnawing on a nut it picked up from the ground. The cat narrows her eyes; this is her chance. In one motion, she crouches down, her rump rising above the tall grass. Her hindquarters flow into position; her haunches quiver; she waits one more moment and then springs, diving down on her breakfast from above. As she swoops down, her claws unsheathe and she snatches the mouse up in her extended talons. The creature squeals as it gets hooked on her claws, and she flings it up in the air; as it falls she brings a claw up again, and again it gets thrown in the air. This time she doesn't catch it, but lets it fall to the ground, not wasting a moment before she bats at it, stomping and twisting and playing with her meal before taking it in her jaws once again. The cat's eyes shine and drool drips, drips, from her tongue as she shakes the life out of it.
    What a wonderful meal it will make.

    Foraging is the specialty of mice, and that was what the mouse was doing that day. He scurries back and forth, his tail whipping along behind him like a worm. The mouse raps the nuts he plans to eat, gnaws on them, eats seeds, gets frightened by a bird flying overhead, and runs back and forth some more, busy, busy, busy.
    The day is chilly and misty in the valley the mouse is in, typical of a winter morning.  The woods are dark and on edge, dappled with faint sunlight coming from the little trees left on the leaves.To the mouse, the world is large and scary, but his hole offers shelters from the hawks, cats, owls, dogs, foxes, and various other animals that plan to eat him. The mouse's hole, however, is far away. Too far.
    The mouse squeaks as dew drips onto him from a fern. He grunts, gives the fern one last dirty look, and continues foraging, pausing to gnaw a walnut. He is a gray-brown bundle of fur, plump from the summer that fed him so well. Plump and juicy. 
    Mice are alert creatures, but what he doesn't notice is the cat stalking him, rippling forward like syrup, at least, not until he sees the shadow falling across him. He barely has time to whimper before the beast swoops down and snatches him up, throwing him into the air. His insides go up his throat, the air is knocked out of him, he barely has time to pant before again he is hooked on the cutthroat's claw and thrown into the air again. Terror beats inside him, and he is thrown down into dirt, gasps once, and then is suddenly slammed into the root of a tree, scrambling his brain further. The predator twists around and hooks him onto its claw again, throwing him further. It's only playing now.
    He is stomped on, knocked around, beat up again and again and again. Every bone in his body is aching as he is tossed around in the thorns, his fur pierced by thistles and his whiskers shuddering violently. He can't squeal or squeak, he can't make any noise; he can only keep his heart beating wildly long enough to see the savage pick him up in its muzzle. The mouse doesn't struggle, he can't. He hangs limply, waiting for the inevitable, and then what little life left in him is shaken out.


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  • May 31, 2017 - 10:54pm (Now Viewing)

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  • outoftheblue

    oh god- this is warrior cats fanfiction inspired isn't it?

    4 months ago
  • r|A|i|N

    dude i love this. one of your best pieces

    over 1 year ago
  • Johanna

    I like how you gave us both perspectives! I got sad in the end :(. Reminds me a lot of Warrior cats!! The wonderful memories...

    almost 2 years ago
  • paperbird


    about 2 years ago
  • paperbird

    This is a pretty interesting perspective...Crazy that this was your first piece.

    over 2 years ago