Post by halffoot on Apr 14, 2007 21:16:34 GMT -5
Name: Half-Foot
Gender: male
Rank: Loner
Clan: none
Description: Like most loner cats, Half-Foot is very skinny, his skin stretched across his bones during leaf-bare. However, if he takes care of it, he has a very healthy coat of thick fur to hide this during most of the year. As he should, the male does have a decent set of muscles for all his hunting needs, though he’s not always been the best at it and you can tell simply from the lack of meat on his bones on particularly bad days.
Despite this fact, Half-Foot is a particularly big cat, if only from genes, and sports a particularly wonderful silver tabby pelt. He’s always been a bit obsessed with it, preening all the little bits of dirt out and trying to avoid other cats touching it. Mostly, he loves how the tabby stripes fade away and it becomes almost completely silver with just small touches of lighter and darker grays. One of the most eerie things about him, though, is his eyes; or, actually, his eye. Though he doesn’t usually get to look at it unless he happens upon a shard of a mirror or a pool of clear water, it is this penetrating shade of yellow with just a tint of green around the edges. After you get over the “one eye” thing, Half-Foot’s yellow gaze is still bound to creep you out, every single time he casts a glance at you.
Now, if his “charming” personality and odd eye haven't caused you to run away already, then the foot he is named for probably will. See, his right hindleg has, literally, only half a foot. Okay, well, it’s more like a third of a foot, but that’s beside the point. Somewhere along his developing, not all of the paw was made, leaving him with only a stub and two claws that only semi-retract to deal with. Usually, it’s not terribly noticeable, but you can see that he does slightly favor that leg, only because it’s hard to balance too much weight on it.
Picture: farm1.static.flickr.com/156/378434281_bf258a5a2f_b.jpg
Personality: Half-Foot is and probably will always be a loner, as the expression is. He’s never been too good around cats, mostly because of his massive ego and need to do things in the way he thinks is right. In a way, he’s your typical rogue, but he can be so much more.
Half-Foot’s ego can, at times, make him slightly crazy. The tom has been known to tell jokes to himself, and laugh at them, with no one around or perhaps even scores of cats around. Actually, Half-Foot constantly goes off into his own little world, even when there are others around, talking to himself, and making little faces at no one in particular. A lot of the time, though, it’s mostly just Half-Foot telling himself how wonderful he is or making up plans for his future that will probably never come true.
Because of this, your first impression of Half-Foot may, in fact, weird you out if only just the slightest. Most excuse him as a senile, old cat and leave him be. There are cats who don’t, however, and these are the ones who usually receive his verbal blows. He tends to…overstate his opinion, and can utterly destroy a cat telling them what is wrong with them. Other times, however, he will simply make sarcastic comments in hopes of bringing the attention to himself. Actually, that is almost the purpose of his life, making himself noticed. Oddly enough, the few times that he is the center of attention, Half-Foot manages to “mysteriously vanish,” slipping off to be by himself. For when other cats truly are looking at him, it seems that Half-Foot’s loner instincts take over and he, once again, runs off to be his own cat.
To sum up this boy’s personality: he loves himself. The end. <3
History: Half-Foot’s history, though sad to tell, was your usual one of abandonment. He was birthed by a mostly unloving mother who had no time for kittens. As soon as they had enough sense of the world to be able to take it on by themselves, she left them at the edge of the twoleg place. It was there that most of Half-Foot’s memories truly start, especially the one of his sole caretaker in life: Fudge.
Now, to say he was the only caretaker would be wrong, for Half-Foot had others help him along the way in his journey to adulthood, but Fudge was the one who really helped the tom learn to hunt and stand on his own four paws, with a slight limp on one of them, that being the disfigured one. The chocolate-colored cat found Half-Foot when he was merely 3 moons old, trying to skitter around and catch just a little morsel to feed himself. Fudge, having a little soft spot for kittens despite being a loner and of old age, helped the kit along, teaching him the ways of hunting and taking care of himself. In fact, it was even the old tom that gave him the name Half-Foot, deciding it was fitting and also remembering how the forest cats gave their kin two-word names.
Though he impressed greatly upon Half-Foot that he had to be on his own, never allowing him to stay with Fudge and never hunting for him, Fudge did baby him just a little bit. He couldn’t help it, for the stray found it so cute how the kitten would constantly groom himself. Though, it became a little odd as Half-Foot neared 12 moons of age. Actually, it was then that Fudge told the almost grown-up Half-Foot that he had to officially go out on his own. So, he pushed him off into the forest and went off to find himself a new home.
At first, Half-Foot was very scared of truly being alone, but his pride was too grand for him to admit defeat, and he became the loner that he is today. Sometimes, he travels with other bands of loners, drifting in and out of society, and somewhere along the way he managed to get an eye scraped out in a fight. Mostly, though, for these 30 moons since that day, Half-Foot has been on his own, ego and all.
IC:
Click. Click. Click. Click
Steadily growing faster and faster, the dog whizzed towards the sounds of the street outside, smelling the stronger human scent that cluttered up towards the door. Behind him, people raced on, some falling in their pursuit. He could hear their clumsy feet thumping against the tile, and nearly laughed at it. Almost there, almost there! he said to himself, pushing onward towards the outside. They were getting closer, but Akta was faster, and everybody knew it. Aware of every noise in the building, the workers talking to each other, nets being grabbed, poles thumping against the ground as people tried and failed to catch the fugitive, and soon the barks and howls of other dogs as the commotion reached its climax. So close, so close. With a strange noise of victory that sounded as if Akta was trying to growl, howl, and whimper at the same time, he bounded towards the door, well aware of how close it was. One thing he did not realize, however, was the way the door opened.
Slam. [/b]
Falling to a heap on the floor, mourning another dead escape attempt, Akta let the humans pick him up as he whimpered slightly from the collision he had just had with the door. One person picked up his front-end, and another had a trouble with his backside when he decided it a good idea to kick at his arrester. Half-dragged, half-carried in a most undignified way back to the cages, Akta could only let out the characteristic howl of an Akita, one of the many sounds they made besides a normal bark. The Growl-voiced Man began speaking, letting the dog know just exactly where they were in the adoption center. From there, he could easily hear every single dog, and was pleased to hear they had quieted down, the game being over. Their incessant barks made it harder for him to decipher the other sounds around him. And, as always, Akta could not know if they were going to take him back to his cage, or somewhere else, a place they put animals they could no longer deal with. For, his messed up eyes no longer gave him any information about his surroundings, just a constant black. Sometimes, when he closed them, he could create a picture in his head of the scents and sounds, but whenever he heard the Growl-voiced Man, he glared in the direction he guessed the human was. From the laughter, Akta could assume that he had misjudged the position. Giving a snort, he simply listened to their conversation, trying to figure out what they were saying.
"Tried to break out during feeding time, did he? The little rascal," came the voice of that man Akta despised. Although he did not understand any of this incomprehensible language, except perhaps 'feeding time,' he gave a little growl to show his disapproval, which was quickly silenced by a tug on his collar. He hated it when they did that, it always made him feel powerless and completely at loss of control of the situation.
"I'm surprised he even knows what feeding time is." Another man he did not like. Akta simply called him Coarse-Fur, because he always picked him up like he was a bag of sand. Anytime that man talked, the Chow/Akita mix gnarled, but he forced forced into muteness again by the tightening of the rope around his neck. But, in his head, he was still growling. For, Akta had more than once been carelessly tossed into his cage by this man. Their rivalry had gone on since the dog had been brought to the pound [many, many moons ago], and would not cease until Akta was finally brought to a new home.
"Yeah, we gotta get a special door to this guy's cage, or next time he'll figure out how to turn doorknobs." Again, more words he didn't know, followed by raucous chortles. Threatening to bite with a snarl of impatience, Akta let him know of his discomfort, and they quickly ended to conversation. All of them knew he would attack them if he ever felt in a position that he needed to, so they immediately transported him off to his cage, shutting the door with a slam before he could get out. Hearing the click of a heavy lock and the righting of the papers explaining who he was and his “disability” [they had fallen off in the escape, and perhaps not entirely on accident], Akta knew he was caged in again and he didn't like it.
Letting off a howl/growl/grunt/snort of dissatisfaction, he turned to face the wall, sliding to the floor with a huff. [It was a position he liked. Nobody could see his odd eyes, and he got to growl at someone who thought to come up behind him without establishing their presence first.] Things never went his way. Soon, they would have to do something with him, perhaps take him away like all the dogs that no one wanted to adopt. No matter how much he protested, no one seemed to see his importance, intelligence, or even will to get out of the bars that enslaved and bound him everyday. They simply saw him as a dog that liked running away, and one that never seemed to get the hang of it. Everybody thought he was useless, just a handicapped pain that would have to be given special treatment the rest of his days. It was always “There’s no way this dog could live in my house," or “He’ll never be able to work for me" and the ever-popular “You should just put this one down." Even though Akta didn't know entirely what these phrases meant, he knew they weren't anything good, and he sighed with a longing for someone to think he was needed.
Password: Secrets
Gender: male
Rank: Loner
Clan: none
Description: Like most loner cats, Half-Foot is very skinny, his skin stretched across his bones during leaf-bare. However, if he takes care of it, he has a very healthy coat of thick fur to hide this during most of the year. As he should, the male does have a decent set of muscles for all his hunting needs, though he’s not always been the best at it and you can tell simply from the lack of meat on his bones on particularly bad days.
Despite this fact, Half-Foot is a particularly big cat, if only from genes, and sports a particularly wonderful silver tabby pelt. He’s always been a bit obsessed with it, preening all the little bits of dirt out and trying to avoid other cats touching it. Mostly, he loves how the tabby stripes fade away and it becomes almost completely silver with just small touches of lighter and darker grays. One of the most eerie things about him, though, is his eyes; or, actually, his eye. Though he doesn’t usually get to look at it unless he happens upon a shard of a mirror or a pool of clear water, it is this penetrating shade of yellow with just a tint of green around the edges. After you get over the “one eye” thing, Half-Foot’s yellow gaze is still bound to creep you out, every single time he casts a glance at you.
Now, if his “charming” personality and odd eye haven't caused you to run away already, then the foot he is named for probably will. See, his right hindleg has, literally, only half a foot. Okay, well, it’s more like a third of a foot, but that’s beside the point. Somewhere along his developing, not all of the paw was made, leaving him with only a stub and two claws that only semi-retract to deal with. Usually, it’s not terribly noticeable, but you can see that he does slightly favor that leg, only because it’s hard to balance too much weight on it.
Picture: farm1.static.flickr.com/156/378434281_bf258a5a2f_b.jpg
Personality: Half-Foot is and probably will always be a loner, as the expression is. He’s never been too good around cats, mostly because of his massive ego and need to do things in the way he thinks is right. In a way, he’s your typical rogue, but he can be so much more.
Half-Foot’s ego can, at times, make him slightly crazy. The tom has been known to tell jokes to himself, and laugh at them, with no one around or perhaps even scores of cats around. Actually, Half-Foot constantly goes off into his own little world, even when there are others around, talking to himself, and making little faces at no one in particular. A lot of the time, though, it’s mostly just Half-Foot telling himself how wonderful he is or making up plans for his future that will probably never come true.
Because of this, your first impression of Half-Foot may, in fact, weird you out if only just the slightest. Most excuse him as a senile, old cat and leave him be. There are cats who don’t, however, and these are the ones who usually receive his verbal blows. He tends to…overstate his opinion, and can utterly destroy a cat telling them what is wrong with them. Other times, however, he will simply make sarcastic comments in hopes of bringing the attention to himself. Actually, that is almost the purpose of his life, making himself noticed. Oddly enough, the few times that he is the center of attention, Half-Foot manages to “mysteriously vanish,” slipping off to be by himself. For when other cats truly are looking at him, it seems that Half-Foot’s loner instincts take over and he, once again, runs off to be his own cat.
To sum up this boy’s personality: he loves himself. The end. <3
History: Half-Foot’s history, though sad to tell, was your usual one of abandonment. He was birthed by a mostly unloving mother who had no time for kittens. As soon as they had enough sense of the world to be able to take it on by themselves, she left them at the edge of the twoleg place. It was there that most of Half-Foot’s memories truly start, especially the one of his sole caretaker in life: Fudge.
Now, to say he was the only caretaker would be wrong, for Half-Foot had others help him along the way in his journey to adulthood, but Fudge was the one who really helped the tom learn to hunt and stand on his own four paws, with a slight limp on one of them, that being the disfigured one. The chocolate-colored cat found Half-Foot when he was merely 3 moons old, trying to skitter around and catch just a little morsel to feed himself. Fudge, having a little soft spot for kittens despite being a loner and of old age, helped the kit along, teaching him the ways of hunting and taking care of himself. In fact, it was even the old tom that gave him the name Half-Foot, deciding it was fitting and also remembering how the forest cats gave their kin two-word names.
Though he impressed greatly upon Half-Foot that he had to be on his own, never allowing him to stay with Fudge and never hunting for him, Fudge did baby him just a little bit. He couldn’t help it, for the stray found it so cute how the kitten would constantly groom himself. Though, it became a little odd as Half-Foot neared 12 moons of age. Actually, it was then that Fudge told the almost grown-up Half-Foot that he had to officially go out on his own. So, he pushed him off into the forest and went off to find himself a new home.
At first, Half-Foot was very scared of truly being alone, but his pride was too grand for him to admit defeat, and he became the loner that he is today. Sometimes, he travels with other bands of loners, drifting in and out of society, and somewhere along the way he managed to get an eye scraped out in a fight. Mostly, though, for these 30 moons since that day, Half-Foot has been on his own, ego and all.
IC:
Click. Click. Click. Click
Steadily growing faster and faster, the dog whizzed towards the sounds of the street outside, smelling the stronger human scent that cluttered up towards the door. Behind him, people raced on, some falling in their pursuit. He could hear their clumsy feet thumping against the tile, and nearly laughed at it. Almost there, almost there! he said to himself, pushing onward towards the outside. They were getting closer, but Akta was faster, and everybody knew it. Aware of every noise in the building, the workers talking to each other, nets being grabbed, poles thumping against the ground as people tried and failed to catch the fugitive, and soon the barks and howls of other dogs as the commotion reached its climax. So close, so close. With a strange noise of victory that sounded as if Akta was trying to growl, howl, and whimper at the same time, he bounded towards the door, well aware of how close it was. One thing he did not realize, however, was the way the door opened.
Slam. [/b]
Falling to a heap on the floor, mourning another dead escape attempt, Akta let the humans pick him up as he whimpered slightly from the collision he had just had with the door. One person picked up his front-end, and another had a trouble with his backside when he decided it a good idea to kick at his arrester. Half-dragged, half-carried in a most undignified way back to the cages, Akta could only let out the characteristic howl of an Akita, one of the many sounds they made besides a normal bark. The Growl-voiced Man began speaking, letting the dog know just exactly where they were in the adoption center. From there, he could easily hear every single dog, and was pleased to hear they had quieted down, the game being over. Their incessant barks made it harder for him to decipher the other sounds around him. And, as always, Akta could not know if they were going to take him back to his cage, or somewhere else, a place they put animals they could no longer deal with. For, his messed up eyes no longer gave him any information about his surroundings, just a constant black. Sometimes, when he closed them, he could create a picture in his head of the scents and sounds, but whenever he heard the Growl-voiced Man, he glared in the direction he guessed the human was. From the laughter, Akta could assume that he had misjudged the position. Giving a snort, he simply listened to their conversation, trying to figure out what they were saying.
"Tried to break out during feeding time, did he? The little rascal," came the voice of that man Akta despised. Although he did not understand any of this incomprehensible language, except perhaps 'feeding time,' he gave a little growl to show his disapproval, which was quickly silenced by a tug on his collar. He hated it when they did that, it always made him feel powerless and completely at loss of control of the situation.
"I'm surprised he even knows what feeding time is." Another man he did not like. Akta simply called him Coarse-Fur, because he always picked him up like he was a bag of sand. Anytime that man talked, the Chow/Akita mix gnarled, but he forced forced into muteness again by the tightening of the rope around his neck. But, in his head, he was still growling. For, Akta had more than once been carelessly tossed into his cage by this man. Their rivalry had gone on since the dog had been brought to the pound [many, many moons ago], and would not cease until Akta was finally brought to a new home.
"Yeah, we gotta get a special door to this guy's cage, or next time he'll figure out how to turn doorknobs." Again, more words he didn't know, followed by raucous chortles. Threatening to bite with a snarl of impatience, Akta let him know of his discomfort, and they quickly ended to conversation. All of them knew he would attack them if he ever felt in a position that he needed to, so they immediately transported him off to his cage, shutting the door with a slam before he could get out. Hearing the click of a heavy lock and the righting of the papers explaining who he was and his “disability” [they had fallen off in the escape, and perhaps not entirely on accident], Akta knew he was caged in again and he didn't like it.
Letting off a howl/growl/grunt/snort of dissatisfaction, he turned to face the wall, sliding to the floor with a huff. [It was a position he liked. Nobody could see his odd eyes, and he got to growl at someone who thought to come up behind him without establishing their presence first.] Things never went his way. Soon, they would have to do something with him, perhaps take him away like all the dogs that no one wanted to adopt. No matter how much he protested, no one seemed to see his importance, intelligence, or even will to get out of the bars that enslaved and bound him everyday. They simply saw him as a dog that liked running away, and one that never seemed to get the hang of it. Everybody thought he was useless, just a handicapped pain that would have to be given special treatment the rest of his days. It was always “There’s no way this dog could live in my house," or “He’ll never be able to work for me" and the ever-popular “You should just put this one down." Even though Akta didn't know entirely what these phrases meant, he knew they weren't anything good, and he sighed with a longing for someone to think he was needed.
Password: Secrets
