Cats of Our Planet III - The Renegades

Chapter Three - A Short, Slightly Hectic Introduction

Chapter Two- A Short, Slightly Hectic, Introduction

132 A.L., Year of Rusty 14, Wednesday. (Two years later.)

Whisker awoke to the sound of snoring cats.

Sleepily untangling himself from his bed cover, the young cat ignored the usual food-oriented sleeptalking from the other cadets.  He stretched in the middle of his barrack, A-4 and grimaced as his body protested; the eighteen mile run yesterday had been tiring. But six days a week, this was what the Cadets did to train for their planet’s army. Soon Whisker’s small frame and russet-colored fur would hide hardened muscles and battle experience.

He silently pushed open the heavy, gray door of A-4 and ambled over to the list of assignments, which was posted there every day but Sunday*, the rest day, by the barrack supervisor. He was an old cat with gray whiskers, who could never be found unless he was doing his job. A certain group of four cadets had given him the nickname of “The Gray Ghost”.

Whisker glanced around. It was still early enough for him to see the sun rise, casting its weak half-light on the buildings, but the young cat didn’t appreciate the spectacle anymore. After the two years that he had been waking up to the sunrise in the Cadet Camp, the sight of it bored him. It had come to remind him of training, which included the following categories: work, strain, work, stress, work, prickly officers, and more work. These were not high on Whisker’s list of fun activities, though he knew he should appreciate them and did work hard. The only fun part of Cadet Camp was hanging out with his friends, though they could be stressful sometimes. Whisker smiled. Well, if they weren’t annoying sometimes, then they wouldn’t be real friends, would they?

Whisker sighed, his smile disappearing as he remembered the inevitability of the practice schedule. Then his smile returned; he had forgotten. “Yes! It’s weapons practice day on Wednesday*!” Whisker called as he started off to the weapons range, “No more running, and no more Professor Migg, today.” A small cloud of dust rose as Whisker sprinted off to the weapons range, his small ears flapping in the wind.

TS: *We’ve replaced our calendar with yours, for easy reading. In case you were wondering, though, your Sunday is our Laifai, and your Wednesday is our Amilfai.

A larger, cream-colored cat jogged out from a different barrack building and quickly caught up to Whisker, “Heya, bucko, you thought you were going to beat me to the weapons range, didn’t you?”

Whisker laughed, “Yeah, Fur, but I guess I still haven’t. How many times have I beat you to anywhere? Once?”

“That didn’t count though, Kasha tripped me,” replied Fur indignantly, “And, speaking of Kasha, there she is now.”

A cat about the same size as Whisker, with dark tortoiseshell patterned fur sprinted up from behind them and gave a secretive smile, “Hey guys, Bob’ll be along in a minute. He’s having, shall we say, technical difficulties.”

“What’d you do to him this time, Kasha?” said Whisker with a fake sigh.

“Nothing serious. Hey, we’re here!”

            Fur put on a spurt of speed and beat them to the range, the other two glancing at each other, much too accustomed to his reckless enthusiasm. “Bet you can’t hit the target in the head before me!”

The three grabbed water-powered pistols out of the weapons box and ran to a range. On his first attempt Fur fired a shot through the head of the suspended water target and laughed, “I win again!”

            “Yeah, Fur, only because you’re the best marksman in the entire camp,” said Bob sarcastically, yet speaking truthfully, as he sidled up behind them. His constantly waving tail whacked the side of the entrance of the range building, as it did every morning. He grimaced.