Ser Pounce-a-Lot
Status Alive
Race Cat
Age 1
Birth Date
Gender Male
Sexual Orientation
Hometown Amaranthine
Residence Robes?
Affiliation Grey Warden Companion
Occupation Offering proper distraction?
Class Cat
Specialization Fuzzy Wonder
Gear Teeth and claws.
Behind the Mask
Player Bethy
Face Claim
Profile Link Here

Just another lazy day in this cold, hard place. His eyes pinched shut while his weight shifted back to his hind legs, front extended in a graceful curvature. He flexed his paws, each of his toes gaining a feel for the familiar ground. He shook out his fur, and peered out from inside the cracked, discarded barrel he had used as shelter from the latest rain. How he hated water. And how unfair it was it could fall from the sky at any given moment. His chest rumbled in a gentle purr, whilst he itched his side on the splintered wood. How utterly delightful, to be able to hit that one spot that seemed to release all the tensions of the world.

Once he was satisfied, her traipsed into the grass that coated the ground, droplets of dew dampening his fur. He gave his legs a shake with each step, enduring the irritation, as it had become a morning routine. He kept alert - no telling what the metal-clad giants might do, to a stray such as himself. He would rather not risk the danger. Too much effort. Rather suddenly, his ears twitched, and a heavenly scent reached his pink nose. His fur bristled, and his pace quickened itself. He ducked beneath a passing cart and darted before an oncoming creature that could have easily wiped away every last life a cat was fabled to have with one misstep.

He was getting closer. He could smell it. Tantalizing, sweet, luscious.. something. Something that smelled wonderful. He leapt atop a small stack of crates, and craned his neck. His eyes shut for a moment, and his nose twitched slightly. His hues flew wide open, then, and he darted just around the corner.

There it was.

He stood on his hind legs, front paws resting on the cold stone of the dwelling before him. He stretched his neck as far as he could, and inhaled. So close, so painfully close. He pushed from the wall, and spotted a singular crate, the kind that carried the clinking containers. The ones that held the sweet liquid kind hearted souls left out for him and his kin. He stood precariously on the thin wood, once more on his hind legs, and this time could reach the windowsill with his paw. He hesitated, one paw half-raised, striped tail curling in unease. Just as he was about to leap up, the crate beneath him tumbled, and the young tabby with it. In an instant, he was trapped in a small wooden cage, and he was clamoring for air and freedom. With a yowl that made even his fur stand on end, he darted out from under the overturned crate, and around the bend.

Alas. No tantalizing food for this young stray, today.