Not Scraping By

A dark grey cat padded along. Her long grey fur was matted and her long tail hung low, almost dragging on the ground. Her once-bright eyes were glazed and dull. She was hardly six seasons, yet any cat could have mistaken her for an ancient elder. She was so skinny you could have counted her ribs even through her long coat. She was wary and skittish, a rat scuttling across her path had her jumping. Dodging the small fierce clans of blood-thirsty cats that stole her food, her home, and her two small kits had almost killed her. She always wondered what was over that fence. It can't be any worse than this... she thought, summoning enough strength to jump. She saw woods and scented strange cats. Of course....... Cats. Why does my own species haunt me? Oh well. If I'm going to die I'm not going to die in that rat-infested cess pool. She half jumped, half fell and the scent of woods and prey hit her, almost over-whelming the cat scent. Every muscle in her body screamed to hunt, but she had to rest first. She found a rotting log and crawled inside. There were beetle larva and what she thought were skinks of some kind, but it was cleaner and more comfortable than most places she'd slept in for the past two moons. Nothing like the fluffy beds she had when she was a kit with her house-folk. Her eyes began to shut and she tucked her nose under her dirty tail. She gave it one lick before she fell asleep.