Bianca’s Choice [CANON, Solo]

THIS IS CANON! It’s only in Meta because of the amount of time and space covered.

Bianca’s stomach growled, feeling the pinch of hunger. It had been several days since her housefolk left her behind, and she’d scarcely had a single meal. The kittypet had never needed to hunt before, and her instinct wasn’t doing her much good. She was subsisting merely on scraps. If only Carlos were still in her life… No, she couldn’t think like that. He was untrustworthy from the start. But he did catch her that mouse the one time…

It turned out, soon enough, that wistful thoughts weren’t the only thing he’d left her. Bianca was pregnant. Huddled in a storm drain, the she-cat sobbed as the reality set in. She was carrying kits. And those kits would certainly die at birth, if not before. There was no way she could keep them alive on the garbage she was scavenging.

Out of desperation, she sought out an old friend. Light had always been nomadic, and she hadn’t been to visit Bianca in quite some time. Still, finding the older loner was her only hope at this point. Time and again, she asked after Light, but no local house cat or stray knew where she was.

Finally, some news. But oh, she almost wished she hadn’t heard! A stray she’d seen Light with once told her the tragic tale of how Light had perished near the Marsh Wilds. She’d apparently had a kit at the time, “a leggy black-and-white lil’ thing,” but they had seen no trace of the kit, not even evidence of death. Bianca’s luck, it seemed had run out.

Her paws drew her to the edge of the marsh, as if she could somehow find answers there. But what she found was something else entirely. Bianca’s ears pricked up at a familiar voice. Could it be Light? No, the lilt of this voice was similar but not quite the same. This voice was younger.

And there she was. “A leggy black-and-white lil’ thing,” the voice of the stranger seemed to echo in her mind. The cat before her seemed to be Light herself in all but pelt. The pattern of her footfalls, the tone of her voice, even her scent on the marsh wind. There was no doubt in her mind. This was Light’s kit, among the Marsh Wilds!

Bianca paced back and forth in the unkempt yard that was once her own. If Light had died and her kit was now a Marsh Wild, that meant that the wild cats would take in abandoned kits! It was as if Light herself had arranged it all, had shown Bianca the answer. Her kits would live.

A starving silver she-cat hunched over in the marsh, her tears bathing three dirty kits. She’d had two boys, one brownish gray and one a brown tabby with white markings, just like Carlos. The one little girl was silver and white, like her mother. “Forgive me,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she turned away.

Many seasons later, Bianca had grown into a strong, confident loner, going where the winds took her and finding a way to survive. But everywhere she bedded down, she tucked three feathers into her nest: one brownish gray, one brown and white, and one silver and white.