Broken♠Like♠Glass

[Flower]

Myrtle sauntered up to the edge of the town. What was she looking for? A forest. No. That was before. A house... or maybe just a deserted lot. What was she looking for? She couldn't find it if she didn't know. A Nofur with a hefty stick. No. She wasn't looking for that, surely? Killed someone. Killed someone, blow to the head... no... NO!
And so her thoughts went, round and round, like the uncertain, weaving path she was tracing around the outskirts of town. Maybe here. Maybe there. Couldn't find it. Had to find something. A place from her memories, yes, she knew that. Or maybe not, maybe it was something she had imagined, maybe she was mad like they said...
So she went on, and on. Looking for help. Maybe others would be able to help her. Maybe she should find some other cats. Where were the other cats? Hopefully not deep in the den of the Nofurs. She didn't want to be deep in this place of boxes and roaringbeasts. Never again. But have I been there before? Something's wrong. Can't remember. Broken. Betrayal. She sighed, hungry, tired, and feeling a deep sense of unfulfilment. Something wrong, wasn't there? The right place? No... maybe... maybe not. Find some others and you'll know.

[Twigtail]

As it turned out, the warming season was much better than the cold season in this town by the Great Water. Humans were starting to trickle back into their nests, leaving out fresh garbage. Whether or not that was an oxymoron didn’t matter much to Renée, who was just happy to eat something of semi-acceptable quality. At current, the brown tabby was wiping a slimy something off a hunk of gristle. The fatty meat was a fine find, an absolute delicacy for a town cat such as herself. She was salivating just at the thought of the sweet, soft thing in her mouth, being sliced apart by her incisors, when she happened to casually glance up and see…

…and absolutely HULKING, MASSIVE cat padding around. Even from where Renée crouched in an almost defensive position over her meal, the distress of this other cat with the bristly fur was palpable. The brown tabby could taste it in her mouth, ruining the imagined taste of gristle. There was absolutely no way that Renée was going to be able to eat with that monster wandering around, looking troubled. Intimidated as she was by behemoths such as this one, the chocolaty she-cat felt the urge to calm this other cat down. But of course, by the time she’d made up her mind on this, the strange cat had disappeared. It can wait until after I eat, Renée reasoned. A little food in her stomach might calm nervousness around such an imposing figure such as that one.

After the tabby choked down her meal, she loped towards the corner where the other cat had disappeared. Like most alley cats, this one didn’t smell too pretty, and was easy enough to follow even with Renée’s untrained nose. The brown tabby hurried along, following the reek of a harsh life, rounded a building, and nearly smacked into the hindquarters of the very cat she was trying to follow.

Up close, Renée could tell this cat was a female. The thing was, the brown tabby might never have notice, just because of the sheer size of this specimen. Now, Renée was a tall cat at the shoulder, long-bodied and long-legged, but she had nothing compared to this bluish mass. Besides, for a cat that had been pampered more than half her life, the brown tabby was slender and soft. This cat, again, was a whole new story. Renée quailed just at the sight of her rear and thick, bristly tail.

“Do you need help?” came Renée’s tentative offer for assistance in a querulous mew.

[Flower]

A voice. One she recognized? No, didn't think so. Quavery. Scared. Why scared? But it was asking if she needed help. "Help. Yes... yes, I think so. But I'm not sure. Never sure. Not since the Nofur hit me. Never since." Myrtle turned to look at the cat who had spoken. Taller than average. Not as tall as her. Slender, soft, probably once pampered and now living on the streets. Myrtle knew the look of these cats. Or did she? Maybe not. Maybe everything she thought she knew was a dream. No, don't think like that. I'm real. I'm real. Maybe mad like they say. But real. She stared with a quivering intensity at the new cat. "Don't be scared. Please don't be scared. Shouldn't be scared of me. Unless you know what they call me. They call me Madd Myrtle. Maybe I am, maybe I'm not, but either way, what's your name?"

[Twigtail]

The massive she-cat spoke using monosyllabic words, with the exceptions of “never” and “Nofur.” Then the giant turned, and Renée got a look into her confusion-clouded eyes, so full of despair and needing. Those big eyes seemed to focus on the brown tabby for a moment before the big she-cat started talking again. Renée’s nervous intimidation was interrupted briefly to feel a stab of sympathy for this thick, lost-looking cat. She felt for this big cat, felt that sympathy kick her right in the ribcage. Despite the baffled desperation of this big cat—this Madd Myrtle—she seemed genuinely concerned about the other loner’s fear. That fear, though, was fading as the brown tabby, who had been worried about attacks of judgment and anger, realized just how non-threatening this other cat was. Myrtle was off in the head, maybe, but not threatening. Not dangerous.

Trying to look as friendly as possible, smiling and keeping her ears erect and all that, the chocolate-colored cat meowed, “Hello, Myrtle.” She spoke gently but politely. “I’m Renée.” After a pause in which the brown tabby wondered what she could say concerning the much larger she-cat and her apparent worry, the small tiger finally managed, “And, well, I’ve never heard of you before, so you can’t be as mad as they seem to think you are.” Precisely who “they” were, Renée didn’t know, nor did she think she cared to know. She wasn’t very keen on cats that mocked others, if only because she was a target for mockery herself.

Despite the confused exchange, the chocolate-and-vanilla tabby decided that this gentle giant must be in some sort of trouble, whether or not the troubled cat in question could discern what it was. Trying to be practical, Renée reasoned that cats didn’t just panic over nothing… except that she herself did so all the time, of course. “Um… did you need some help?” Realizing she’d probably get a similarly tattered response from this question again, the tabby improvised: “I mean, is there anything I can do for you, Myrtle?”

[Flower]

“I mean, is there anything I can do for you, Myrtle?”
"My parents... I'm looking for my parents. They'll be worried, worried, worried, found my brother's body and couldn't find me, I need to find them and show them that I'm all right. But ten full-shine nights at least and I can't find them. Can't find them, can't find them, because when the Nofur hit me I ran. I ran, and my memories mixed themselves up and floated around, poor Myrtle is mad and I can't find them. Will you help me? Myrtle felt a surge of hope. Maybe Renée would be friends with her, maybe this was the right place. She hoped she wouldn't embarrass herself, withdraw and start babbling, or worse attack her new friend. It always happened, always, then she was driven out of the Nofur's dens and had to keep looking, alone with only tangled-up memories for company.

[Twigtail]

Oversized Myrtle rambled a short while, but her voice and cadence were so confusing that it took nearly all of Renée’s concentration to focus, and then to interpret some sort of meaning. The list of things she knew about her acquaintance ran through the tabby’s head. First, Myrtle had lost her parents and wanted them, so much like Renée herself. Second, Myrtle’s brother had died. Third, the big cat had been hit by something called a “Nofur.” (Was that another strange name for a human?) Finally, Myrtle had somehow completely lost her marbles. The brown tabby did not reply straight away, and shuffled from paw to paw as she tried to sort through words in her own mind.

“Um.” Renée’s hazel eyes couldn’t meet Myrtle’s, which were looking so longing and hopeful. The brown tabby felt a wrenching twist from somewhere inside her chest. She figured it was her heart. “I’d really, really, really like to help you. Trust me, I know how you feel.” Finally, the chocolate she-cat pulled up her face to look up into the bigger female’s face, and only hoped this other cat, despite her mental instability, could read the sincere empathy she felt. She knew exactly, precisely, how Myrtle felt when it came to parents. “I… just can’t, though.” Ducking her head again, Renée mumbled, “Sorry.”

After another moment of shuffling her tidy white paws, the brown tabby turned and began to walk away from the big bluish she-cat, but before she even turned the corner around the building, Renée twisted her neck to face Myrtle again. A split second decision, and the tabby loner padded the few steps back to the giant and reached forward, very gently, to graze the bristly she-cat’s shoulder with a small pink nose. “Good luck, though,” the tabby wished the other loner, and turned around again and started padding back towards her garbage can.

[Flower]

Myrtle began to tremble. The wrong place, it must be the wrong place. She heard Renée's words as if thorough a mist, felt her touch something else entirely, not her body anymore. Her eyes crossed, and her memories flashed up uncontrollably. "My brother! No, no! Not my brother!" she cried out. The present was dead to her, she was in the past. The Nofur kit stood in front of her, yowling triumphantly as it grabbed little Drip by the nape of his neck. Drip cried out, struggled to get away. Myrtle yowled in agony as the vision played out before her, knowing with absolute certainty what would come next. She whirled, trying to get away, can't save your brother, run run run. There it was, wherever she turned. She gathered herself to bolt. Run, run, get away, can't save your brother, can't find your parents. A wet thump squelched horribly in her ears. She flattened them and began running. Run. Run. The Nofur will get you next.

[Twigtail]

Seeing the big cat tremble like that, it made Renée’s insides twist up in a couple more knots. But what could the poor tabby do about Myrtle’s situation when the brown cat couldn’t fix her own? She padded around the corner of the building with a sour feeling in her stomach, like the bit of gristle was festering inside her belly. A sick taste lingered in the tabby’s mouth, and she licked her chops, trying to get rid of that nagging feeling that she should try to help in spite of everything. THERE WAS NOTHING SHE COULD DO. She shouldn’t feel so bad about it. And yet, she did.

The wailing from behind made Renée scramble forward a few paces, her spine taught with tension, before she ripped herself around, her hazel eyes round as saucers. That voice, the echoes of which still pounded deep within the tabby’s ear fur, was Myrtle’s! What was wrong with her? The overwhelming need to help crashed over Renée like a giant wave from the great water, full of crushing strength and dragging her out to see, back to the massive she-cat who was yowling. The chocolate female snapped herself forward, back around the corner of the building, to see the bristly haunches of the bigger she-cat go tearing off in a random direction.

“Myrtle!” Renée shouted after the running cat, herself taking off again with long, loping strides, carrying her high and fast over the ground. The tabby, unfortunately, was not a fast runner, despite her legs so long and lean. Her tail streaming out behind her like a long, striped cord that ended in a splash of white, the young loner chased the bigger, stronger blue-gray female, but the youth’s paw pads caught slightly on a rough patch of cement, and she nearly went sprawling. “Wait, Myrtle! Just hold up a sec!” the tabby shouted, righting herself and continuing the chase. Grimly, she realized she wouldn’t be able to keep sight of the other cat if she kept running like that.

[Flower]

In sheer, utter, complete terror, Myrtle ran. She heard the smacks, the wet thuds, knew what was happening in precise detail despite the fact that she had turned her back on the horrifying vision. She cried out for her brother, for her parents, because she knew exactly what would happen, making it all the more horrid. She tripped on the pavement and scraped up her pads, then thudded heavily on her side. The Nofur loomed over her like a black shadow -
Then everything went confused and she heard a voice, crying “Wait, Myrtle! Just hold up a sec!” Myrtle blinked. Then again. The Nofur was gone. She caught a glimpse of Renée looking concerned, then suddenly felt lightheaded. Her pads began to hurt. She tried to stand, swayed, then slipped back down again. "Renée... get away... Nofur... gone? How..." Blackness began to engulf her like a tide of water. No... no... she thought, then went limp.

[Twigtail]

Renée got to see the whole tumble, the great bluish shape of Myrtle suddenly convulsing up ahead as it fell. The tabby heard the thump in her ears, the cry of anguish, and she struggled to force her paws to move faster, push harder. The big gray shape quickly came closer, because Myrtle wasn’t running away anymore. Digging her calloused pads into the concrete, Renée skidded to a slower lope until she loomed over the fallen, bristling figure that blinked up at her and asked confused questions before its green eyes rolled up into its head.

A faint rising and falling of Myrtle’s coarse gray flank assured Renée that the bigger, older cat had only fainted. The brown tabby, crouching and sidling closer, nosed the slightly oily, dirty fur of the other she-cat. What did all of her confused rambling mean? Was this Myrtle character possessed by legit insanity? Renée had never met an honest-to-goodness psychopath before. Of course, she’d heard all about how dangerous they were, but despite the big female’s muscle and bristle, her form lying there, helpless, on the ground did nothing for a fearsome reputation. And if this cat could barely take care of herself, well, it wouldn’t hold for Renée, who was perfectly capable, to leave such a helpless cat on the concrete, where anything could happen.

Keeping her nose a little less than a mouse-length from the reeking flank of fainted Myrtle, Renée wondered what she could do for such a cat. She’d love to help, but was there anything that she was physically capable of doing? An answer came to her through those flared nostrils in her pink nose. Her first reaction was a mental screech of No way in the underworld am I gonna put my tongue on THAT thing! But it was the only thing that Renée could possibly think of doing to the poor old she-cat. I’ll go dig up something good to eat afterwards, she promised herself, though her stomach was rolling up into a protesting ball at the thought of grooming Myrtle while she slept. Narrowing her eyes and flattening her ears in dislike, Renée forced herself to lean the last couple centimeters back to Myrtle’s hairy flank and started to lick.

The taste of her fur, dirty like any street cat’s, was horrible, but Renée forced herself to keep at it, making her tongue scrape over the grayish fur in patches. She assigned herself small sections at a time, working to crack any fleas and ticks between her teeth before spitting them out, teasing out tangles. As a cat who had grown up with cleanliness, Renée started to feel a bit of satisfaction at every square inch of Myrtle’s fur that got cleaner, a satisfaction that made the task bearable. As soon as the brown tabby finished her duties, including the cleaning of Myrtle’s face, she sat back in front of the bigger cat and washed her own paw, which, truth be told, didn’t taste much better than Myrtle’s flank.

Thinking about paws, though, made Renée realize that she’d forgotten Myrtle’s. Leaning down to inspect the pads, the brown tabby realized that her attendee’s were ripped and scraped. Please don’t wake up, Renée thought, knowing how much this was going to sting, and knowing full well that even with a sane cat she’d probably get a face full of claws for what she was about to do. She extended her pink tongue to clean the wounds on Myrtle’s soft, sensitive paw pads.

[Flower]

Myrtle felt a deep sense of contentment wrapped around her like a blanket of Nofur silk. Long-forgotten scents tingled in her nose, and a tongue carresed her. Myrtle purred faintly. Then the tongue withdrew, and after a moment's hesitation, it began on her scraped pads. Myrtle awoke fully with the pain. Renée was the one who had been gently cleaning her. She winced and pulled her pads away, then extended them again. "Thank you. That feels better now." After a few more moments of Renée cleaning them, she felt confident that she could stand. With effort, she heaved herself upright, bringing a fresh wave of pain, but she stayed upright. "Do you know where dock grows?"

[Twigtail]

Surprised she didn’t get a face full of claws when Myrtle awakened, Renée nevertheless drew away in caution when the big cat pulled her paws away, and leaned a little less apprehensively forward to finish her job when the older she-cat allowed for the rest of the cleaning. Considering the bigger female’s dementia and otherwise disturbed mind, she was doing exceptionally well with accepting the grooming, so reflected the brown tabby as she finished up. While Myrtle got to her paws, her attendant sat and lifted her own forepaw again for another wash. The tabby hated the taste of blood and grit, metallic clashing with muddy that coagulated on the bluish loner’s paws, and was quite happy that her own pads were very much calloused and almost never ripped.

When Myrtle asked her question, Renée peered up from her self-grooming, setting her paw back on the cement. Blinking her hazel eyes, the tabby wondered, Now what on earth is this dock thing? Was it another of the insane cat’s imaginings, or was it something that actually existed? Growing up in a town, Renée was unfamiliar with most plant growth; in any case, she didn’t know the names or uses of anything, even if she recognized a plant by sight. Out where she used to live, if you got hurt… well, good luck! It was a harsh system, sure, but usually, if you had friends, the cats would take care of one another, keeping wounds clean and the like. Which was precisely what the brown tabby had been planning to do for the older female.

To answer Myrtle’s question, Renée answered, after a moment of thought, “No, I have no idea where dock grows. You sure it’s real?” She winced then, realizing the last part was tactless. Trying to compensate, the tabby stammered, “Well, what I mean is… uh… you sure it grows ‘round here?” Shaking her head, the brown tabby padded closer to her fellow loner, moving to stand beside her. “’Sides,” she meowed, sounding very reasonable about it, “you aren’t healed enough to go traipsing after anything just yet, ‘kay? I’ll keep an eye on you,” Renée promised, now not thinking anything of helping the cat (so long as she stuck around, that was).

[Flower]

"All right then." Myrtle grunted. She sat back and added thoughtfully, "Dock juice helps scratches heal. But I should be okay." She was sure the scratches weren't serious, and since Renée seemed to be promising to help her out, they should heal up nicely. She raised a paw and licked it thoughtfully. Finally, she focused on Renée.
"You don't trust me. But you help me. Why?"

[Twigtail]

Not having any comment about this illustrious dock other than a mental Well, I’VE never heard of it before, so whatever, Renée sat back down next to the mentally challenged loner and resumed grooming herself, starting with her as-of-yet-not-cleaned paw and moving up to the rest of her leg, her brown head bobbing up and down with each stroke down the stripy gray-brown fur. Keeping one hazel eye on Myrtle, Renée watched the older she-cat look thoughtful beneath her cloudily uncertain haze before focusing on her comparatively young helper.

At the question her senior presented, Renée’s head flicked up and she looked dead in the eyes of the older cat, feeling faintly annoyed. “What makes you think I don’t trust you?” the tabby meowed. “I never said that.” The tabby didn’t trust the other loner’s judgment; this was the cat that randomly started running away at nothing, after all, yammering about some Nofur thingie. But the brown she-cat had yet to decide whether or not she distrusted her senior. Renée flicked the white tip of her tail, a little insulted that Myrtle would think that she had no trust (though why this is insulting is indeed mysterious).

“And,” the tabby continued while she lifted her shoulders in a shrug, “what else am I supposed to do? Other than help you, I mean.” Renée shook her head, shifting her eyes from Myrtle to the relatively empty streets around them. For a moment, the young loner’s ears pricked up in caution, to listen for the approach of any humans or vehicles, before she relaxed. There was nothing around to bother them at the moment. Finally, she turned back to the older cat and finished, “I can’t just let a cat be hurting and not do anything about it. At least, not if I can do something about it. You know?” Renée was never the cat to let any other continue on suffering. For all her faults, she had this one good thing about her in the form of compassion for those hurting.

[Flower]

"Nobody trusts me after they see me... like that. Except you. Thank you." She tentatively moved closer and began to groom the younger loner. "One good turn deserves another." she purred. Was that a touch of affection on her face? Yes. Yes it was. It's not all madness and running from nothing with this here kitty.

((muse is currently suffering from death throes, besides which I had two candy bars with mah breakfast))