Had she ever been a kit? Obviously she had, at one point or another, but she could barely remember it. The feeling of careless play and easy safety weren mere wisps of memory that she had to fight to grasp. She vaguely remembered play-fighting with her brother; he had been so much faster, but she'd been fierce.
Now her brother was gone, and her limbs were too stiff to slip and slide out of claws.
It didn't do to dwell in the past; she had lived long enough to figure that out. All the same, she liked looking back on her life. She'd been a competent and useful warrior in her prime, she liked to think. She remembered battles that had left her blood-stained but exuberant, and hunting patrols that had brought her home with her tail up high. Of course, there had been dark times too, of natural disasters and combats lost and cats dead and traitors alive. But even at those times, she'd fought for the survival of her Clan and herself, and had never lost respect or opinion amongst her fellow Clanmates.
Now...things were different. There were still light times and dark times, there were still warriors and kits, but...she felt as though she were on the sidelines. True, she did enjoy the respect the others gave her so readily. She liked being able to work her sharp tongue with no more than a glance as a reprimand. And she secretly took pleasure in lording over the other cats without being snapped at.
But it wasn't the same. She'd give it all away to have the old days back. The Clan treated her as though being an elder meant she was some completely different species.
Mousefur wanted to be a cat again.
A/N: Just because I like Mousefur. And drabbles.