q: why was the cat afraid of the tree?
Who: atrumcanis & heartdissonance
When: sometime when it's sunny and animals want to be outside? Sunday I guess.
Where: parks and trees and large open spaces
Summary: Shiratama, meet Padfoot. A billion terrible cat jokes to follow.
Warnings: terrible jokes. animals behaving like animals to other animals.
( a: because of the baaaaark! )
When: sometime when it's sunny and animals want to be outside? Sunday I guess.
Where: parks and trees and large open spaces
Summary: Shiratama, meet Padfoot. A billion terrible cat jokes to follow.
Warnings: terrible jokes. animals behaving like animals to other animals.
( a: because of the baaaaark! )
Shiratama has never been sure whether it's her feline instinct or her human's love of being able to go up high and observe. The branches are good places to sit - sturdy, shady, and with such a good line of sight. Sometimes bird flock around her, and she doesn't really mind the company.
The four birds that had settled nearby her perch took off immediately, though, when the barking came near, and Shiratama herself nearly fell from the branch with a start. Her footing was regained quickly, of course, and then - looking down at this, this idiot dog, she stood with her back arched and her ears back and her tail quite rigid. 'What, what do you want,' her hiss came to mean; ridiculous, this sort of thing, and even if dogs could at times be tolerated, she had never liked barking.
Too loud. Too out of hand and excitable and did these things ever just shut up. Her paw reached out a few inches to swipe at him - only a warning, as of course she wasn't at all close to touching him.
Still ( ... )
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Cat. The white cat. He jumped back when that little paw came at him, but ha ha ha--hah, stupid cat, it was all for show, she didn't mean it at all! She was playing, well! Well, two could play, and playing was what he wanted, anyways. Tail wagging furiously, almost shaking, he jumped against the tree, paws scrabbling at the bark. Bark, bark--barking, more barking, but a doggy grin.
He flopped back to the ground and slammed his paws against the grass, a furious play with me play with me. Growling wouldn't deter him. She was trapped and she would have to come ( ... )
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(And it's quite good she didn't ask, because had she been able to get an answer, it just would have antagonized her further.)
Her paw swiped twice more, when she was on the new branch, this time aiming to loosen a twig and- what. Knock it down onto his face? A leaf and what amounted to a toothpick, what good would that do? Regardless, it was that or nothing, and Shiratama would not stand for nothing.
Being trapped was not a nice thing to admit or to experience. Her hissing was really getting her nowhere, wasn't it?
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Boring. Bo-riiing.
He slumped back down to his haunches in the grass for a minute, panting. Dog brain whirring, boy brain trying to catch up with the brightness and images and smells and excitement. Right. A cat in a tree. Right. Think.
His head cocked to one side, ears pricking. Boy hands could easily climb that tree, palm over palm, and catch the cat. But boy brains wouldn't appreciate the prize as much. Boy brains wouldn't appreciate the prize at all; no. Padfoot had to catch the cat. But how?
Faking. Oh, he was a good liar, dog or boy or man or student or anything in between. A good liar, and dogs could lie to people ( ... )
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Well, yes, probably. Cat. Cats fall for things. Of course. Her back untensed just a little, shoulders going somewhat lax, and her tail swished carefully. Stupid dog, stupid thing. All of it, stupid. Being cornered like this was somewhat humiliating.
Though. No breath. The dog's chest did not rise and fall.
Shiratama crept. With such silence and such grace, she crept down back to a lower branch, and then she crouched and went taut again and, frowning at the dog, she leapt. Yes, she came down from the tree, but no: she still refused to play. She leapt right over that dog, landing with light paws and immediately kicking up grass as she took to running. All the while her mind went stupid stupid stupid stupid, but hopefully she could at least get enough of a head start to make it to- ah. What. A building? To where she'd left her ( ... )
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NO, there was a sound, she had jumped-- He scrambled to his feet--paws, whatever--scrabbling at the dirt and grass. He could smell her, she was close close close close close, she had just left, her stupid tiny paws moving through the grass, but they were small and her legs were small and--
There! There, he saw her; his ears pricked and his haunches went bunched and then taut and he bolted after her, low to the ground, every sense focused forward. A white shape in the grass, a white blur, but he had her, he was after her--he wanted to bark but that would take too long, and it would be too distracting, and he might as well just chase her.
Right behind you! He wanted to gloat, he wanted to gloat so badly, because cats were horrible and they deserved to be gloated to more than anything else-- ( ... )
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So, she swerved. Almost as if she were on the air rather than the grass, she turned quite sharply - almost a U, but not quite; V, maybe? Sharp movements, ah, she leapt again: not a human girl does not mean not a trained ninja. And after her half a second in the air, Shiratama landed atop that dog's back, forepaws followed by the hind, crouched for only a moment before again leaping (though not without a smack to the back of the dog's head with one of her hind feet). It was back toward the tree, this time, all across the grass again, though truly she was aiming to get past it - out of the park from the opposite direction, perhaps. The tree was a fallback ( ... )
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His back, ow, his head, ow--he skidded to a clumsy halt in the grass, paws tearing up clumps of dirt. Ow, ow, and where was she? Whirling around, he was distracted momentarily by the sight of his own tail, but managed to restrain himself in his confusion. Cat first, tail later, food after that. Cat first.
Right.
Where?
He pawed at the dirt a little, a tiny whine escaping his muzzle. Bugger. Dogs couldn't think in such words or terms, but this was Sirius-as-Padfoot this time, bugger buggery damn. Cat, stupid cat, she couldn't be allowed to get away. His ears pricked--was that her? No, it had been a baby in a pram going by, with a face full of jam--jam waiting to be licked off, baby waiting to be made to laugh--but cat first. Focus focus focus ( ... )
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That is, before facing forward again and seeing that dog, that damned idiot dog I am beginning to hate him why is this-- The surprise, and the anger, was enough to make her screech, and for a moment she lost her grace, stumbling and trying to back up, turn on a dime. It wasn't working out too well. Grass and dirt between the little toes of her paws, then, from digging in so hard. Tail straight up, ears pressed back ( ... )
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Well, not cornered. Still able to move, for now. For now! Wait until he had her tail, and she wouldn't be able to go anywhere. Killing cats was all right, but they didn't taste that good. There were a hundred better things, jam on baby faces and chicken and things off of people's plates and things out of rubbish bins, like heels of bread and half-finished sandwiches and bacon, oh, cats weren't half as tasty as bacon, fresh or old or stolen or given. Not seventy five percent as tasty. Not even close to being as tasty as ( ... )
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