Fred picked up his pencil with glee. This has been a busy week for him, with training to become an apprentice, and he finally had time to draw. Fred was an odd cat. He enjoyed playing instead of hunting mice and drawing instead of improving his hunting when he did hunt, his catches were often crow foods, unfit to eat. His mother thought of him as a disgrace. Other than Freds exceptional talent of drawing, he wasn't worth more than a pencil. He was drawing a bird swooping down to get a worm. A few hours later his mother called him down for dinner. Trout, mmm. His father, one of Starclan's leaders, got it especially for him, in honor of Fred turning 6 moons. His stomach growled. He didn't waste time. He set out to eat, spearing no crumb. After, he washed his plate and ran up the stairs.
He searched his room and stopped in his tracks. He yelled "My drawing is gone!" He fell to the floor and sobbed. He had spent 3 hours on the drawing alone and had just started painting with his new set of watercolour paints that he bought with own money, worth $200. His crying was like a flood. He was in , terrible despair.
THE END.