Ball o' Fur

Believe it or not, this song was the driving force to this story.

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This was his moment of glory. His chance to finally earn his place in cat history. As he stood before the vicious army of dogs, the catpony didn't give so much as a flinch as one of them snarled, revealing rows of razor sharp teeth.

Meet Walter. He wasn't very interesting in colouration. Just black fur, a grey mane, whiskers and cyan blue eyes. But, aside from his appearance, he was a VERY interesting little thing.

'This is it. This is what I have been waiting for.'

The small feline grinned, shifting his stance to that of a war-hardened warrior. Walter lifted a hoof and brought forth the blade at his side. He was ready. He was no longer the mere kitten his owner thought he was. He was Walter. THE Walter. Warrior cat of-

"Wakey Wakey~!"

As usual, his owner woke him from his dreams. The kitten sent a sleepy glare at the white pegasus. The pony only giggled in response. Despite being a kitten, the catpony was around the same size as a 8 year old foal. His lifespan was the same as the average pony's. Walter rubbed his eyes with an ink black hoof. After setting his hoof back down, he noticed that his owner was gone.

'This is becoming a reoccuring thing...'

There he lay. From his spot on the window sill, Walter idly observed the ponies who trotted merrily past his home. He already had breakfast. A satisfying bowl of delicious canned tuna. The feline licked the remains of his meal from his teeth. He had to admit, tuna tasked good even if it was just soggy remains that stuck in between one's teeth. Once he was certain he removed every bit of tuna from his teeth, the kitten sighed. He was bored. Bored to death. He was so bored that chasing a stick seemed like a fun thing to do.

With a look of utter boredom, Walter simply rolled off of the window sill, plummeting for a brief instant before landing on all four hooves again. A perk which all felines seemed possess.

'Had I been any other type of hybrid, I would have earned myself a trip to the vet.'

He rolled his shoulders for a moment before he noticed something. There, in front of him on the wooden floor, was a box. Not just any other box. A box which had both the top and bottom open. Even better, one of the open sides were facing him. Walter crouched down low. His eyes registered every detail of the box.

'Hm...roughly 60 centimetres in length and 25 centimetres in width. Purrfect~'

After a moment of calm, the kitten released the breath he hadn't realised he had been holding. And then, in an instant, Walter then found himself sprinting towards the box. With careful timing and precision, he hopped into the air slightly, shooting his little hooves out in front of him before diving into the open box.

At the same time, his owner, Love Strike, had to place a hoof over his mouth to contian his feminine giggles.

"You silly kitty." He muttered to himself, watching as the kitten did everything he could to remove himself from the box.

An hour later found Walter running around. He was running for the exact same reason everyday. To catch that blasted red dot.

It had been a pain in the flank since the day he first encountered it. He didn't know where it'd come from, how it would somehow disappear and reappear at will and he certainly did not know why his owner was stood nearby with a thin, silver stick. Walter's first thought, whenever Lover Strike was stood there, was along the lines of "Help me, wench!". Of course, he didn't say it out loud. Not that he didn't want to. It was because he couldn't. The only things that escaped his larynx were meows, purrs or hisses. Walter doubted that Love would help even if the feline was capable of speech. All his owner did was stand there, giggling.

'Curse you, girly stallion! One day, I shall catch this glowing red menace once and for all!' And, as always, he never succeeded.

'Okay...the jump isn't THAT far. You can do it...' Walter told himself the exact same thing over and over. All his efforts always ended up with the same conclusion. A second of air-time and a landing. 'No. This time...shall be different!**' Again, it was another thing he told himself.

Crouching down low, Walter exhaled. This was his moment of glory. A moment he would always remember. A glorious moment which would be remembered by all of feline-kind. Yes, today was the day he would accomplish this task. Today was-

"BOO!"

-...the day his owner would scare the living daylights out of him.

Six hours later, Walter found himself gnawing at the sofa, occasionally turning his head in different angles in an attempt to pull the loose strand of fabric out. He had been at it since he had left the kitchen after having his supper (Or whatever the hay you Americans call it. Oh, right. Dinner). After several attempts, he simply gave up and resorted to simply lay on the same thing he tried to maul with his teeth. It was an 'exciting' day, as most of his days were. Now that Walter thought about it, never once did he have a completely boring day. His boredom usually lasted for a 10 minutes before something fun happened.

'Strange. Very strange indeed.'

Instead of simply sleeping on the sofa, the kitten thought he would be more comfortable in his cat bed. So there he was. Feeling safe and snug in the bed, despite it's...looks. Walter made a mental note to torment the girly stallion later. The kitten, despite his thoughts on his owner's choice of decor, seemed to be alright with the feminine household.

'I'm thinking again. No! Thinking bad. Sleep is good.'

And after a long day of back breaking labour (playing around), the catpony slowly drifted into dream land.

The End