Alley Cats | Jemin & Blythe

Jemin moved idly, navigating the narrow back-streets of Osulas with all the expertise of a rat in the sewers. He swept a loose strand of dark hair from equally dark eyes, zigzagging from one dusted path to the next. The evening was warm, more so than usual, and the bustle of a milling crowd only added to the heat.

But not here. Seldom did other equines use the back allies, and those he did see were quickly whisked away; fetching shop supplies or running errands. The mule heeded them little mind - he was departing from the stone city, and hadn’t the time to chat.

Or so he thought. Someone, or something, was following him.

The notion swelled in the pit of his stomach. Quickening his pace, he turned a sharp corner and whirled around.

Instead of a foe, he faced empty air. His gaze shifted down. Oh. With one paw still lifted, a thin, patched cat trailed in his footsteps. Upon realizing that it’d been noticed, it promptly sat down and dragged it’s tongue through matted fur, entirely nonchalant. His breath caught in his throat. The man did his best to avoid critters - especially felines - but these little devils proved to be persistent.

“Shoo, fleabag. The trash is that way.”

He stamped his hoof, firmly, but she merely bared her teeth, unimpressed. A grimace tightened his features, brow lowered. Stay calm, he said, or shouted at himself. Thunderbirds, he could deal with - and had. Coyotes: hardly an issue. But felines…

He swung around, intent on retreat, but another sharp-toothed stray emerged; mewling loudly in a plea for attention. Or food. Or blood. He bit back a nervous groan.

Stay calm.