The Image of My Grandfather
I look just like my grandfather, right down to the claws on my feet and marks on my pelt. If I was anyone else, my Clan would purr, and nod, and say how wonderful it was for my mother, a loyal, strong warrior, to have a reminder of her beloved long-dead father. But I am myself, and I am not like other cats.
I do not remember it myself, but I was told by Ivypaw one day, back when I was still and kit and I was being a little too annoying, that nobody – nobody – had cheered when Blackstar announced my name, neither to our Clan or at the Gathering. Instead, they turned their heads to each other and whispered in the corners of the camp, whispered about my mother and my grandfather, and shuddered at the stories of what my grandfather did. Looked coldly at my mother for moons, all for the crime of daring, daring to name her child after her father, to acknowledge that I was the perfect image of a cat who was hated and feared and vilified more than any other in living memory.
Blackstar saw this, and, I have come to realize, he cared, perhaps because he could remember being feared and hated after he rejoined the Clan. Oakfur, the cat he made my mentor was one of the few cats who had avoided joining the whispers, even though he remembered back to my grandfather's reign. Maybe it was because he was one of the cats who remembered and suffered under Brokenstar. And slowly, because of Oakfur's flat refusal to hate me because of the image of a long-dead cat, I began to stop thinking of myself in terms of my grandfather's claws, or pelt, or eyes. I was happy, and I was liked, and my mother saw this and glowed with joy, that I was overcoming the shock and fear my name inspired.
Then, when I was seven-almost-eight moons old, I went to the Gathering for the first time and I saw that word of my name and my appearance had spread. Cats from other Clans, cats I didn't know, looked at me, whispered as I passed in ways that I had almost forgotten. And then I realized that Dawnpaw and Flamepaw were laughing and making friends, and I was alone like I had never been before, because my siblings and closest companions in my Clan did not inspire fear. I did. I, alone, out of all my family, inspired fear.
At this Gathering I met my ThunderClan family, and saw my uncle for the first time. He looked like me, as far as I could tell, and therefore like my grandfather – his father – as well. He was welcomed like I was not, and so were his kits, all three of them, even though they shared my same blood. I saw this and I hurt with the unfairness.
When the Gathering was over, my mother licked my, and said, "Life is never fair. You will be a great warrior, Tigerpaw, like your father and your uncle, and yes, like your grandfather. And no warrior ever stops fighting."
I tried to cut her off, to tell her how much she didn't understand, but she silenced me with a brush of her tail. "I was born in ThunderClan, and my father betrayed the Clan – betrayed all of us – not long afterwards. No one looked at me and my brother and saw kits, they looked at us and saw our father. I hated it, and so I left the Clan of my birth for a place where I would be judged for my skill in fighting and hunting rather than my father. And I did. Go to ThunderClan, or RiverClan, or WindClan, or stay here, but never slow down, never stop fighting for a second." And with that she left me.
I thought about that, for a long long time. I have never seen my grandfather – many cats haven't – but cats avoid me, though they accept my siblings and my cousins. Maybe my mother named me after Tigerstar so I would grow strong, and I do not see how I could do otherwise. But that knowledge, that I will be a tougher warrior, a better fighter, does not heal the pain of these injustices.