Claude the mouse ran as fast as its furry little feet could take it. That horrid monster was still chasing him...

There he and his friends were, minding their own affair hanging out in front of L'Universe on Blvd St. Michel. Pierre and Jean-Paul had just done the impossible and chugged an entire beer cap full of Kronenbourg 1664. Mon Dieu it was amazing. Then they sorta got a wierd glazed look in their eyes. They scampered rather stiffly over to a long line of chaps from the other side of St. Michel. They appeared to be standing in some sort of queue. Pierre and Jean-Paul joined it standing motionlessly on their hind legs.

Standing far above him on top of a dust bin was an EVIL looking cat. He had some vague recollection of his elementary school days that the proper name for this particular breed was [i:ec466faa72] Fluffius Maximus. [/i:ec466faa72] The Fluffius turned her green eyes towards him and he began to feel strange, like this hideous beast was the most beautiful thing in all the world. He existed only to serve it, and he wanted to join his friends in the queue. But no... that was wrong. [i:ec466faa72][b:ec466faa72]GO TO THE QUEUE[/b:ec466faa72][/i:ec466faa72] He shook his little mousy head and ran. Ran and ran and ran.

He crossed St. Michel and hightailed it towards the Pantheon. Titanic two footers blundered past him without comment. Occasionally he heard a high pitched scream coming from a female two-footer. On and on he ran. Suddenly the Fluffius was not behind him anymore. He collapsed exhaustedly near a pile of some lovely smelling dog shit. He had some friends who lived in a nearby sewer grating in the square of St. Etienne DuMont. He scurried over there and was suddenly smacked to earth by a large paw. He yelled for help, but really, in this situation is was every mouse for himself. He turned his head expecting to see razor sharp teeth bearing down on him but he didn't. There were those beautiful green eyes again. All his fears melted away. He felt completely blissful. He'd been a complete sod to run from this divine creature. Cats were angels sent from the Great Mouse to deliver unto them platters of cheese, peanut butter, and beer. [i:ec466faa72] Yes.... I will join the queue. Silly of me to have tried to do anything else [/i:ec466faa72]

What an odd scene it was that day, a beautiful and graceful Norwegian Forest Cat parading down the side streets towards Ile de la Cite with her tail held jauntily high. Behind her marching in perfect step came a troop of several dozen mice. They squeeked in unison on every 4th step.

Across the pedestian bridge near Notre Dame they went. Measha stopped them all at the edge of the Seine. One by one the mice had the irresistible urge to leap into the river far below. Leap they did. As Claude came to jump after his friends Measha scooped him up by the tail and carried him in her mouth towards her Mistress' home.

((Measha is a 500 year old Toreador Ghoul with Presence, Celerity, and ermmmm don't recall what else she has. She awes small critters quite nicely but has yet to successfully awe a Vampire. She's still trying though :) ))

((Great thats all we need in Cascaida now a pussy with presance :wink: :lol: ))

((lmfao!!!!!!!!! well in my opinion....heheheheheehe....all pussys have presence :P:P:P:P:P:P

((As i can't seem to log onto my Measha account i will have to do it on this slutbag's account))

Measha wandered around Quai aux Fleurs on Ile de la Cite carrying her stuffed mouse in her mouth. She was slinking along on the scent of something REALLY yummy. As it was only about 8PM, there were still lots of tourists flitting about trying to take pictures of things and more or less being complete asses as far as Measha was concerned. They often stopped and pointed at the fluffy kitty with a diamong collar screeching in delight, "[i:171757b352]OOOOyya skibbyana oniga megja dan bla Kitty-Cat.[/i:171757b352]" My god these two leggers are stupid, Measha thought. Such wastes. They smelled like onions and bacon. MUCH different than the people of York who had a subtle liver like smell. They were much nicer to be around. The absolute WORST were the ones in Cascadia, they all smelled like moldy pizza and cheap beer. Then again, the two leggers didn't have the breeding and pedigrees that she was used to. Her Mistress only consorted with the best of people.

Her dainty little nose drank in the lovely odor. Then suddenly a hand was reaching down to touch her and grab at the mouse. Measha looked in annoyance at the moronic two legger sitting on its haunches. "[i:171757b352]Innyamooby kitty. Innyamooby Kitty. Oogahungawa Mousey.[/i:171757b352]" The idiot was actually waving the mouse around in front of her nose trying to get her to play. Who did this dumb fuck think he was? Measha meowed and let out a sharp spit. The asslicker laughed. LAUGHED. That was the last straw. In Measha's mind, there were two kinds of two leggers: Her Mistress, and everyone else. Her Mistress, or two leggers her Mistress permitted, she would condescend to let amuse her. OTHERS?!?!? Fuck that, they were beneath her.

Measha activated her celerity, clothos, and blood strength. With one swipe she smacked the mouse out of the two legger's hand so hard his watch flew off. The two legger recoiled in horror and tried to hit her. With blinding speed and ferocity the ghoul cat sank her little kitty teeth into his wrist and yanked, severing tendons, blood vessels, and the vein running along the wrist, grabbed Mousy, and was off before a single drop of blood landed on her silky fur. The big dumb two legger howled in pain and clutched at his wrist, which was bleeding profusely.

Two weeks later, Measha snoozed in Mistress's lap being stroked while Mistress read the Sun Times. She heard Mistress laugh at a story. She had no way of knowing it was about a Frenchman who claimed that a lion came out of the sewers and ripped his hand off. The paper had a picture of a man standing in the street with an enormous cat coming up behind him. He had a hook attached to his arm where his left hand should be.
Measha had no clue what Mistress was laughing about. All that mattered was that Mistress was happy. If Mistress was happy, MEASHA was happy.

this is really cool :D

Measha did not stop running until she had zipped up the fire escape, ran down the stairs from the roof, flew through the little cat flap on one of the side doors of Mistress' Penthouse, and into the main entrance way where she came to a screeching halt, her claws skiddering on the tile floor.
Mistress was up and moving about in the living room. She looked over at Measha who was still shaking. "Hello Measha," she said in her musical voice. Measha let out a high pitched squeek and zipped down the hall, around the corner and under the bed. She didn't come out for two whole days.

Measha trotted at a brisk pace along on the side walk of the Champs Elysee just passing the Grand Palais. She stopped and sat on her haunches looking up at the banners fluttering in the early morning air. She vaguely recalled seeing somethign that looked like those runes on the banners it was looked exactly like a book she had seen Mistress use as a coaster and then throw away. Must have been because it had been bad or useless. Mistress only threw out things that were bad or useless to her. (The runes were P I C A S S O ).

She resumed her stroll and trotted down towards the Alexandre III bridge. She continued trotting down Boulevarde des Invalides and hopped up onto the cement wall enclosing the Musee Rodin. The caretakers here knew Measha very well and always had some nice herring, or cut up steak ready for her in a dish. Today was no exception. They had tried for several weeks now to get Measha to stand still long enough on one of the statues to take a photo. The tourists loved her and tried to get her pictures as well. She had the odd knack of cleaning her bottom at JUST the moment when a photo was about to be taken. So Measha hopped down off the wall and trotted over to see what delight the two leggers had for her. Today it smelled like, hmmm.. lambchops with a bit of mint. She didn't care for mint, but she liked the lamb and dug into it. One of the caretakers saw her and walked over to pet her. Measha exposed her belly and purred loudly. After several minutes of adoration the two legger walked off to prune some shrubs.

Measha got up and slinked over to the pedestal of the Thinker. Sunlight bathed the pedestal. She hopped up onto it and, stretched out, and took a nap.

[i:06cea0654e] August, Tours, Jardin Prebenderes, 1 PM [/i:06cea0654e]


Measha sat watching the ducks floating in one the many ponds in the garden. She had trotted down Rue Claude Thion and crossed into the park. She had had great fun batting at the coy, swimming just beneath the surface. Once she had actually hit one. She didn't really want to touch it. It was kinda slimey and yucky. She just liked playing with them cuz they were shiney.

After a while she got bored and trotted along the path and over one of the little foot bridges to sit in the middle of a patonque court, annoying a group of frenchmen, who were trying to play, to no end. After several of the balls came dangerously close to her and one of them men threw a shoe at her, she got bored and headed north towards the Loire. It was right there that it happened. She didn't even see it. Suddenly all was black. She couldn't move. She seemed to be bound inside of a metal box. She felt herself getting picked up and tossed into a lorrie. She could hear meowing from all sides of her somewhere outside of her blox.
After freaking out and bouncing around the inside of the box and gashing at it with her claws, she settled down to intermittent yowling.

She woke up in a cage high up along the wall. She figured that there were other animals around as she could smell them and hear them, but couldn't see them. She could hear crying from her right. It was a high pitched voice speaking Tourainian, a dialect of Chat Parisien.

"Momma," the high pitched voice mewed. "Momma, I want my momma."

Measha groggily stood up and walked over to the right side of the cage. She poked her paw through the bars and over to the right as far as possible. She felt an adjoining cage. [i:dcf9800b6c] Hmmm, there is a cage over there. I bet that that is where that kitten is. [/i:dcf9800b6c] A small paw touched hers softly.

"Momma?" asked the little voice.

"Sorry little one, I am not your mother," said Measha.

The kitten started crying again, louder and louder.

"Shhhhhh, you must calm down little one," said Measha soothingly. The Kitten would have none of it though. A noise like a door opening up came from the left as well as a torrent of two legger gibberish. The two legger passed MEasha's cage. In its hand she could see an odd tube with a pointy thing sticking out of it. The other cage opened up and Measha heard a tiney squeek and then all was silent. The two legger delicately carried a small kitten in its arms and walked back to the left and out of sight. Measha heard the door close.

[i:dcf9800b6c] Hmm, poor little thing. Probably for the best. [/i:dcf9800b6c]

Measha went to the back of her cage and curled up, her bushy tail flopped over her nose. A few moments later and she was asleep again.

Several days had gone by. The two leggers fed The Measha very well, almost as well as Mistress did. She saw them come in every day and saw them slide the food through a tine space at the bottom of the cage. They never opened her cage. In fact, she never saw, or heard ANY cages be opened during feeding. The only time that cages were opened was when one of the other cats would meow incessantly, prompting the two leggers to come out carrying the tube with the pointy thing at the end of it. Then they would carry that cat out of the room. She began to wonder if they would open the door if SHE meowed a lot and made a lot of noise. She could possible escape if they did that.

Another week had gone by. She was pretty sure that she was completely alone in the room now. Measha smelled no other cats in there. She started to meow because she was lonely and scared. At first she meowed softly and piteously. Then her meows became more urgent as panic grew in her. By the All Powerful Feline in the Sky, was she the only one left alive? She could not even remember what Mistress smelled like. Where was Mistress? Why hadn't she come looking for her? MEOW!!! MEOW!!!!

Her high pitched wails filled the room until she heard it: the sound of a door opening up, somewhere off to the left. Suddenly a two legger stood before her prison. It opened up the cage and in a flash, Measha activated celerity and clothos and zipped out and under the table. The two legger emitted a high pitched scream. Measha looked down towards the left side of the room and saw an open door. She rocketed through it in a blur of dark fur. There on a table above her between two two- leggers was a kitten that smelled like the one that was crying for her momma. Measha leaped up and then flashed across the table and out an open window, grasping the kitten in her mouth as she flew. The two landed outside the window and looked at one another.

"Get onto my back Little One," Measha ordered. The kitten clung to Measha's back as Measha put on the coals again and raced down the street not knowing she was back in Paris, in Montparnasse. St. Anne's Hospital to be exact. The two cats zoomed into an alley where Measha stopped behind a dumpster, panting.