Impish Empress: Tigerstar, say the disclaimer.

Tigerstar: Make me, twoleg crowfood!

Impish Empress (holding up a picture of Tigerstar holding a sign that says "Firestar's BFF"): Do it or I'll post this on every tree around the lake.

Tigerstar (growling): Fine. Warriors belongs to Erin Hunter. This twoleg crowfood owns nothing but the idea and her OC's.

A/N: Satirical title for this chapter: Tigerclaw needs minions and a GPS. I write in present-tense, first-person, so if that's not your style, this story might not be for you. I'm using a good bit of dialect/slang in this story, because I want to emphasize that Cici comes from a background and culture way different from that of the warriors, so she speaks and thinks differently. A big part of her struggle is going to be figuring out how to assimilate and stay true to herself. Also, that's honestly just how I hear Cici's voice in my head. Enough of my blathering, on with de chappy!

Chapter 1. First Meeting

I crouch in the dumpster, my nose twitchin' as I separate the musty, earthy scent of the strange tomcat from the twoleg trash. Mowgli presses his ragged dark brown pelt into mine as Snag snarls and pads forward.

"Who are you?" my friend demands.

"I am Tigerclaw of ThunderClan. I mean you no harm," the cat rumbles.

A horrible suspicion rears up in my mind, and I bristle. "Forest cat," I hiss to my brother. Ever since we were kits, Mama told us forest cats were bad news, would sooner kill cats like us than look at us. Our one encounter with 'em ain't done nothin' to make me think she exaggerated. In my experience, most cats are out to kill you or take somethin' from you. Which is why I'd tear down the whole town to keep Snag and Mowgli safe. I have other allies, but they're the only cats in the world I really trust and love.

"Your friends can come out," Tigerclaw calls, his meow calm and authoritative. "I know they're there, and I promise I only mean to ask you a simple question. If you can't help me, I'll leave you in peace."

I leap out of the dumpster and snap wary eyes to the stranger. I hold back a gasp when I see his sleek, dark pelt and broad frame. He don't go hungry often, that's for sure. My fur prickles self-consciously. I know what he sees when he looks at me: a small, brindled she-cat with patchy brown and white fur, amber eyes, and ribs stickin' out all over the place.

"What you want?" I ask, glad my voice is brisk and steady. "We don't need more of you forest types causin' trouble."

The stranger, Tigerclaw, dips his massive head politely. "I'm looking for the other forest cats living in this twolegplace. I was given directions, but I could use your help finding them. All the dens look the same." This comin' from a cat who lives in all them trees. He don't know much.

Snag unsheathes his claws. "I hope they all got run over by a car," he growls.

"Sadly they're very much alive. We like our fur where it is, thanks, so we ain't goin' anywhere near that lot. They're not the friendliest bunch," I say.

"If you go down the alley and turn that way"—Mowgli points with his tail—"they live under the house that's raised off the ground." I get Mowgli's strategy—give him what he wants so he'll go away—but I still don't like givin' away information for free, especially not to help forest cats.

My claws scrape against the hardblack. My littermate, best friend, and I used to den until those forest trash drove us off. We come back from scavengin' one day and find five of 'em have taken over our den. Their leader, a big tom with his tail all bent out of shape, said we could fight for it, but there was a mocking glint in his eye, like he knew we'd run. The humiliation still scratches at me. I wouldn't spit on those forest cats if they were on fire. Why they gotta come here when they got all them woods to make their dens?

Tigerclaw takes his time lookin' us over, like we're juicy pieces of prey. His eyes are the same color as mine, but the heat in them makes me uneasy. His gaze lingers longest on Mowgli. His eyes narrow as he checks out my brother, like he's wonderin' where he's seen Mowgli before.

"If our tails be on fire, just say so. Ain't no need to stare like a kitten his first day out of the den," I say sharply, 'cause it's better to snap than show fear.

Tigerclaw blinks. "Apologies, I meant no offense. Thank you for your information," he purrs. "It seems only fair that I know your names, as you've been so helpful."

I bare my teeth. "You don't need to know nothin' 'bout us."

I'm worried this forest cat will make a fight of it, and as thin as we are, he could hurt us bad, even three on one. I hate the fear that coils in my belly. But he just pads off in the direction Mowgli said. I make my fur lie flat.

"Mowgli and I found some eatin' in there," I tell Snag, pointing into the dumpster.

I scramble up the smooth metal surface and reach for the discarded twoleg food, spitting as the disgusting trash coats my paws. Mowgli and Snag pace on the ground below me. Snag looks almost angry, and my brother's got this wistful expression.

"Think of eating live prey every day, Cici. Forest cats don't scrounge in twoleg trash," Mowgli says.

"No use wishin' for rainbows. You ain't a starry-eyed kitten no more, Mowgli," I say.

"I know," Mowgli says with a sigh. "But how long can we survive here?"

"As long as we need to," I meow, ignoring the rumble of hunger in my own belly.

"I've seen more BloodClan patrols about, and heard of more cats captured by twolegs," Mowgli says.

"You were kittens when your mama deserted. I bet if you grovel a bit, say you're sorry, Scourge will take you back," Snag says.

I snarl, the image of my brother Coal's limp tabby body fillin' my head. "We didn't desert, streets take you. We ran for our lives! I ain't ever goin' back to BloodClan, and I ain't goin' to no vet either." I shiver at the thought of what happens to the cats taken away in twoleg cages. Some are never seen again. Others come back to the streets, but they ain't right. They can't have kittens, and they don't got the sharpness you need to survive out here.

A cold wind whips up, makin' dead leaves skitter across the hardblack. We head for the spindly tree leaning against a fence where we make our new den. Sometimes, when we're lucky, a twoleg leaves food out for us. Snag and Mowgli make a place for me in the center of the nest of leaves and paper we share. With them huddled beside me, I can almost forget how hungry and cold I am.

Snag purrs and licks my ears. A new kind of heat warms my fur. I breathe in his comforting, familiar scent. Probably I'm gonna take Snag as my mate in the next season or two.

But even though I want that, and I reckon he wants it too, part of me is scared mating will ruin what we have. Mowgli and Snag are all I got left now, even if they can be mouse-brained. Mama died less than two moons ago, after a rat bit her and the wound went bad. The sour reak of sickness ate her up until she was too weak to eat. If you don't eat, you die. Life's as simple as that. I can't lose either of them.

As I go to sleep, the image of Tigerclaw floats in my head. The way his brown tabby pelt rippled over muscles. The blaze of confidence in his eyes, the deliberate way he moved. I know better than to trust strange cats, and I stand by what I said to Mowgli about not wishin' for rainbows. But a tiny scrap of me can't help but wonder: what if there's a different way to live?