Clive stopped his camera and packed up his notebook, which was growing full of sketches and doodles, placing it into a bag that was full of unused things and unread books. He slung its heavy weight over his flimsy shoulders and set off over the crackling forest floor, his flashlight illuminating the glowing eyes of creatures hidden by the foliage. Clive pulled the handheld digital camera and filmed his slow but steady progress through the forest.
Animals stalked the streets, a small kitten mewling for its fallen parent. Clive halted his precious film to scoop up the small animal and he carried it with him for the twenty minute trek to the very tip of Misthallery, where he eventually came to lay eyes upon the building he called his home. He was scarcely there but to rest and rummage through his usually-empty fridge, or skulk around in his underwear seeking something to do before engaging in his normal activites.
The first thing the kitten experienced in the residence of Clive Dove was being washed roughly in the bath. Water was not nice, nor were the rough, scarred hands that brushed its skin powerfully. Once he was done, Clive pulled the flailing creature from the sink and wrapped it in a towel (his only towel) and scrubbed it down until it was dry and somewhat happy.
"Now are you a girl or a boy?" Clive asked, sitting down on his hard wooden chair and hauling the little screeching beast onto his lap. "Only one way to find out." He took a peek and grinned, satisfied. "So you're a boy. I guess that makes two of us, huh, little guy?" The kitten headbutted Clive's chest and mewed, trying to eat his collar. "No! Down, boy, or... whatever."
Clive rarely found himself home in time to rush to the corner shop for something, but Lady Luck was with him and he staggered through the doorway just in time to slam some money down on the counter and head home with a box full of cat milk. The previous owner of the house had left a cat bowl at the very back of the cupboard, so Clive poured some of the cat milk into that and slowly shoved it forwards.
"Now what am I going to call you?" Clive wondered aloud as the kitten hungrily lapped up the snow white milk. "I know what I'll call you, little guy. I'll call you Junior, because you're young and small and innocent... I'm only the second one." He chuckled and stretched. "Okay, Junior, where are you going to piss?" Just on time, the kitten squatted awkwardly and peed. "Eww. I need a damn litter box. I'll buy one for you tomorrow, Junior. Just hold in all your piss until then."
Clive laughed, all the way through cleaning up the pee and up to the warm and safe retreat of his bedroom. He pulled off his shirt, which was still crumpled and sweaty as it was in the morning, and not-so-elegantly dumped it on the floor. He crawled into bed and flexed his fingers, yawning.
"Night, Junior," he said to the kitten, who curled up on the foot of his bed. "See ya in the morning."