As a girl growing up, Lyric had always wondered how her cats, mighty apex predators that they were, could be so foolish. They were smart animals. Scrappy and tough, they knew how to survive, how to hunt, and brought her family offerings of small rodents on the regular. (Much to her horror; finding eviscerated mice on her bed wasn't fun.) They were resilient; she had seen one fall from a great height and land unscathed, catching a bird in mid-fight along the way. They were tiny but fierce, beautiful and graceful, intelligent and clever.
And so stupid sometimes.
And now...so was she.
Those were Lyric's thoughts as she stood perched on a high branch in a sturdy oak tree, feline tail waving as she stared down at the ground and tried to figure out how the hell to get back down. She had been going about her business, rooting about for food, when a pack of stray dogs caught her scent and gave chase, barking and baying all the while. Luckily, she was quicker and had claws for climbing, because she'd bolted up the nearest tree (a lone oak that much of the district had been built around, instead of cutting it down to make space) and stayed put until they lost interest.
She hadn't given a thought as to how to get back down. She had always imagined it would be easy: just go down the way she came up. As it turned out, it wasn't quite that intuitive. Up had been simple. But now, staring down at the ground, which seemed so much higher from her current vantage point...
Lyric let out a pitiful mew. This was ridiculous. But even though cats always landed on their feet, and she was no exception, that didn't mean she wasn't afraid of breaking said feet.
Gods and goddesses, this was dumb.
And as she waited, and mewed for help, she sent a silent apology out into the universe, on behalf of all stuck cats that she had previously called stupid.
