Musings of a Mad Cat

The caves whistle and scream, reminiscent of the cave they found. Of the group that might not have made it out there. Of someone who got sick especially as everything was reaching a zenith. Myrrh can still hear the murmuring voices, the screams, and the cries that they swore they could hear. When they shoot up that night, to the gentle silence of the nursery. Eyes wide and scanning for any danger, anything that might be a danger.

The only one that could constitute that is Mothflame, who snoozes a little away from them. But they wouldn’t do anything to them. They hope not at least.

But then they catch on the beautiful dark fur of their mate, and their nose lands softly on the crown of Petalwish’s head. Earning a soft and sleepy mew of surprise from them.

“Myrrh?” Her voice is deeper and scratchy with sleep. And Myrrh has to put down the flame that builds at seeing her so..close and careful. The trust she has in them may go to their head a little bit. So to hide the goosebumps they feel, they let out a gravely sounding “It’s nothing, my shadow. I’m just…thinking.”

She laughs a bit, enough to have them go sheepish. “That’s dangerous, love.”

“I know. But don’t worry, just…go back to sleep.” She hums and curls up in their hold. Careful to avoid their kits. The lovely small creatures that curl up in their mother’s warmth. So they rest their head carefully over her neck, watching the babies stomachs rise and fall as they take them in

Little princeling Quartz is under the sprawled out body of Silver. And they watch with honeyed eyes as Quartz shifts and Silver lets out a small coo of annoyance as they readjust. The only time Myrrh has ever heard a sound like that come from their daughter. It’s funny, and a small thing they will keep close. They also know that when their little princeling wakes up to Silver’s handiwork. The obvious knots in their hair that they will wake up to and screech at. Unsure as to why they have them. But if the pinkish fur around Sliverkit’s claws is anything to say…it’ll be a tantrum in the morning.

Myrrh notes that they will do their best to take care of that.

The snoring of Windkit is heard as well, and Myrrh laughs as their eyes lean towards the liquid brown of their fur. Windkit looks like their Zaza, except if their colors bled and shifted into one another. But Windkit is loud, unlike the softness of their namesake. It’s cute almost, to know that even if their name may drag them down. It wouldn’t be for themselves, just who once held it. And if their kit needs help, Myrrh knows a thing or two about names. After all this is their third name, technically.

And then baby Asterkit, a stubborn and introspective little thing. A strong woman even…even as a little kit. She didn’t respond to anything else but a feminine call, and Myrrh is proud of her. That even as a kit, she knows who she is. Her mother’s stubbornness and strength. Perhaps a little of their own as well. Her fur is just as lovely as their own. They think they might love the pigments that their Zaza uses on their eyes. Maybe having some Zaza time, to enjoy something so expressive of who they are.

Maybe the others will enjoy that too. Myrrh hopes they do.

They have tried to be around, tried to be a good parent. They only had one, and their other they don’t even think of a parent. They don’t want that, they want to be close to them. Be there to lift them up. It’s strange to have a loose thread, Myrrh has always hated those. That’s three now that they have here. Their friends, their lover, and their family.

Looking at their children, the part of their heart that grew 4 sizes too big. And wonder if they will be good enough for them.

They hope…hope so much that they will.