Cat Name: Plague [Full name 'Plague Rat']
Gender: Tom
Appearance: Plague is a bulky American shorthair, with vibrant yellow-green eyes. He has what seems to be tuxedo cat markings, his black fur having a dull blue sheen to it while the white patches on his face, paws stomach, tail-tip, and around his hind quarters all seem to have become a tad stained with a faint yellow from the grime that often dwells in large twolegplaces. He struggles to groom his fur thoroughly due to how long it is, and as a result, it has become rather matted. Unfortunate for him because now it itches almost constantly. He tries his best to stay clean regardless of these challenges.
He has many scars to tell of his ability to survive scratches across the bridge of his nose and down his front lip are the most prominent on his face, while bite scars and similar scratches riddle his leg and the base of his tail. The most striking scar he has is along his torso, where it almost seems to branch like a tree. Much of it seems to be hidden by his fur, but the story he has for that one is quite
shocking.
Personality: Plague is a jovial tom, who's surprisingly friendly despite the harsh environment he grew up in. He loves to tell stories of his travels, and will eagerly, and sometimes promptly, tell them to anyone who's willing to listen. He's rather protective of kits given how often he has seen them perish on the streets. Of course, he's also a tad oblivious, and may inadvertently terrify kits with his cheerful tellings or rather scary events he has lived through in the past. This may also show when he suggests radical ideas that would seem perfectly reasonable in the streets of a twolegplace, but, perhaps not in the forest.
He's incredibly hard to get angry. He'll tell you that back when he was younger though, the exact opposite was the case, and he got into all sorts of fights he's surprised he survived because of how hot-headed he was when he was younger. His personality from back then can show up in a wave if someone pushes him over the edge, an impressive feat that would likely earn the one that provoked him a few nasty scars. In fights, he's cold and ruthless, each blow calculated while he weighs the risk of fighting or running. More often than not though, he will end up running if he gets too many injuries, the instant that those will get infected and quite possibly kill him ingrained in his mind.
Regardless of all this, he's a lonely tom, searching for company and someone to share his stories with. Perhaps this is what drew him to the clans despite how little he understands of them. He's trying his best though, and below all that matted fur is a heart of gold.
Clan: Loner
Origins:Plague was born and raised on the streets of a large twolegplace, where he picked up a lot of lingo from the cats that lived there that were probably unfamiliar to clan cats. During that time he faced many trials and tribulations and, initially, faced them all in a rush with a hot head and claws itching for a fight. Eventually, he lived and learned though, and has come out the other side cool-headed, practical, and taking life at a much laxer, and safer pace. Oftentimes he mentions how surprised he is that he's still alive even after facing white cough and surviving, not to mention just how many close calls he got into. His scars speak for themselves with just how vicious what scuffles and fights he got into were. As a result of this, he's far more inclined to run than to fight to the last leg, fearing risking too many injuries and finally being felled by infection.
Oftentimes he travelled with two other cats, Crow and Dog Breath. Both their names usually were earned by events they faced together that were rather humorous when they looked back on them. Crow was mobbed by crows over a piece of twoleg food he had tried to swipe from them. Dog Breath got jumped by a dog, making all three of them startle and prepare for a fight, only for the dog to proceed to slobber all over their friend's face and bark excitedly in his ear, hence, 'Dog Breath'.
The duo always joked about Plague never seemingly being able to die, saying he could 'survive anything'. That fact was proven when he earned his name. While in an alleyway scavenging for food, a group of rats got aggressive and started attacking the poor tom, he fought them off yowling under their rather painful bites, and ended up killing one when he slapped it into the nearby wall, snapping its neck, only then did the rest retreat. The rats in the twolegplace were notorious for having infection-ridden bites, and often had ended many unfortunate cat's lives. Plague... was not one of them. In fact, thanks to his thick, matted fur, none of the bites were deep. After he didn't drop dead for two weeks, his friends were laughing their tails off, and that was the day he earned the name 'Plague Rat'.
Unfortunately, one of the trio passed away, the cold of leaf-bare taking Crow away with her frosty touch. The last duo mourned his loss, burying the body of their friend, no, their brother, under the frozen soil. After that things became quieter between them, more distant. Eventually, Dog turned to Plague, telling him he wanted to go solo now, scared of watching another beloved companion die in front of him. Plague pleaded but his pleas when unheared. It was there Dog told him of rumours of cats living in large groups in a forest many days travel away, and with a smile suggested he go there and find a family he could actually settle down with.
After parting ways, the lonely tom thought on the suggestion, before finally setting off don't he journey, leaving the twolegplace he grew up and learned in behind in search of a new chapter in his life.
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