Author's note: This story is by LawlClanners, for LawlClanners, about LawlClanners. We're very self-centered, you know. If a reader isn't from LawlClan, said reader will not get the jokes. And since this is a parody story, that's sort of the point of it. We suggest that all readers not from LawlClan go read something else instead. And maybe leave a review on that story as a Christmas present. But that, of course, is not a requirement and this is America—er, FanFiction and a reader can do what he or she wants to.
And if a reader is from LawlClan, a reader should not take things personally because it's [nearly] Christmas, so take a joke.
Also, a reader should know that if he or she wants to carry on to the story now, he or she should do so.
The fire crackled and flickered behind its grate. A cedar tree stood regally, dressed in necklace after necklace of rainbow lights, adorned in dozens of ornament earrings, and wrapped in a few tinsel sashes. Presents wrapped in gold, silver, and scarlet paper patiently waited beneath it. Nestled among the mountain of gifts were a few housecats—Oh, crap, I'm sorry! I should have said that like "The fire crackled and flickered enclosed in its cage. A tree stood in the Twoleg den, shining with colorful bits of light and golden vines. Oddly colored and strangely shaped rocks rested beneath its branches. A few cats laid a tail-length away from the rocks." I suppose it's just too late to fix it. And with a start this terrible it'll just get worse from here. Please don't go on, for the love of Chuck and StarClan or whatever fandom deity you might worship and all that's holy in this world don't! Please?
Well, I suppose I should go on about those cats. It's about time that I went on about those cats. Yes, those cats would be a lovely thing to go on about. I rather like cats, personally. I like the ones with bells on their collars. The little dinging noise gives me this warm, fuzzy feeling in my tummy. Of course, the warm, fuzzy feeling goes away quickly because then I realize the cat is only wearing the bell because it's a warning siren for forest animals, telling them that a mass murderer is on the loose. Maybe I don't like cats so much anyway. I mean I'm a big fan of furry animals, but I'm not such a big fan of mass murderers. Perhaps I'm more of a dog person after all. Yes, I rather think I'm a dog person. Now that that dilemma is solved, I should get back to writing.
Where was I again? Oh, yes! Cats. The felines were nestled among the gifts. There were three kittens, but I won't talk about them very much because everyone knows that kittens are quite boring unless they're eating poisonous berries, escaping from their mothers, being snatched up by birds, or being gobbled by badgers. There was also a father cat, though he was also a grandfather cat; he was the sort of pimpin' grandfather cat who could have grandchildren that were older than some of his children. He was soft, with a fat tummy and well-groomed ginger fur streaked with gray. His forehead gleamed with golden paint. His mate insisted upon painting this star on his forehead everyday for he was the mighty Firestar. What was Firestar doing in some random house? Well, every great leader deserves to retire on a nice, fat pension.
And Firestar was no exception. Whoever started the rumor that he actually died as leader of ThunderClan, anyway? Well, I suppose it doesn't matter as he most certainly did not!
The other cat was a cat who used to be a Twoleg and fell in love with Firestar in the most exciting, deep, original romance ever! She's rather important and beautiful. Tabby fur, golden in color, with stripes lighter than that of her base coat—so rare, so gorgeous. And her personality! Oh her personality! No one had ever met a cat such as her: generous, humorous, playful, just perfect. I suppose that I have to stop writing about this beautiful, amazing creature, lest I damage her reputation by having her name appear in such a low-quality story such as this one.
Firestar flicked one of the kitten's—sorry, kit's I mean—nose with the tip of his tail.
She purred, then licked her lips. Suddenly, she mewed "What's Christmas, Daddy?"
"Well . . . " the ginger tom faltered. "Well, Brightkit, I'm not actually sure about that. But I have been watching some videos on the telly lately—"
"Firestar!" his mate—whose reputation I will not damage by talking about anymore—yowled. "You're the mighty leader of ThunderClan. Why are you watching television like some kittypet? You're a warrior!"
"Not anymore, rabbit-breath."
"Oh, I just love it when you call me that; it's so romantic—you should still act like a warrior. You're the mighty Firestar after all!"
The old cat turned his head from his mate and gave his attention back to his kits, who were quite boring and useless and didn't deserve his attention at all.
"Anyway, on the telly, they tell you what Christmas is about, so I suppose I could tell you some stories if you're actually interested."
The little balls of fur started bouncing up and down in excitement as little balls of fur often do. I've decided that kits are so unimportant that they will now be officially be referred to as little balls of fur. Well, I suppose it's time that I head off to write a letter to the maker of a dictionary now, so please don't mind if I wrap this up in a few more paragraphs.
"Of course we want to hear stories, Daddy," Yellowkit whined.
"Yes, please, Daddy," Brightkit moaned.
"Please, please, please!" the third little ball of fur—who was so completely unimportant that I forgot his name—mewed.
Firestar, being a very nice father and also knowing that I really have to end this as my letter to a dictionary-maker is very, very important, decided to simply meow "Yes. I'll tell you a few stories."
He coughed once, then twice. Then, his cough turned into him trying to upchuck a lung. His mate and his children cringed at the familiar sound of a hairball. But it was not a hairball that caused Firestar to make such a noise; it was something far more sinister. . . .
It . . .
It was . . .
It was LawlClan.
Or rather, just a few upstanding members of LawlClan—if any members of LawlClan could be considered upstanding.
He raised his head, stood up straight and opened his eyes to reveal a rainbow of colors in place of his emerald ones.
"No." They spoke as one: a booming bass, a hoarse, throaty voice, a singsong melody, a husky tone all pouring from Firestar's mouth. "We will tell you stories."