Sniffing around, Smith was trying to find food. He had eaten last night, and not since. He wanted something, but definitely not birds. They sounded like rubbish right now, and mice didn't hold his fancy. Perhaps a squirrel? Smith snorted at his own pickiness. Leave it to him to sit there and critique his food choices. Casting a glance near the Clans territories he thought of how they hadn't a choice of food. Whatever they caught, they ate. And elders and younger cats had priority. To a point, their lives made sense.
What he didn't understand was their beliefs. Or, at least, he couldn't see himself ever believing that the stars were deceased relatives watching over him. It just didn't add up. He had seen star charts from the no-furs, and the stars had been the same in this area for years and years. And if the sky changed, it was because you moved around on land and the sky above moved. Not because more cats had gone up to the heavens. Smith shook his head, reminded of the first time he had seen the Clan cats all go off to some location. All four groups of them. In some sort of truce. They looked to the sky as if it would answer back to them when they spoke of this "Starclan."
He held no judgement over them, but he just couldn't imagine there being more to the stars then the light that they shown down upon the land at night-time. Then again, he had seen stranger religions in far off places. And what did he have to say in the matter? Smith had never been religious, and had never faked it well in his past "lives." Not that he had ever needed to. Most cats he hung 'round respected whatever occupational hazards came with acquainting yourself with him. And if they didn't, they kept away.
But here was this strange new place, filled with its own decades of history and culture. Why did the cats belief what they did? How did they come to this land(because, from what he'd heard, they were fairly new residents as well)? What did the old-timers think of them? Or did they have opinions? That was a daft question, everyone had their own thoughts. But if they were brave enough(sometimes thick-headed enough, mind you) they would definitely express them in some way or another. Distancing themselves, talking bitterly into old age about some problem they'd had, or just being a grumpy old cat who had never had a fun day in their life. Or they began to shown signs of madness.
"With these cats, it seems to be a mixture of all that put together, and then some. But what am I to judge? Sound exactly like me...back then. More than likely still me." he muttered to no one in particular. After all, who would answer, anyway?
Clan cats. Tinnyboy (or Satchmo as many more knew him as) was used to dealing with gangs of cats, but the idea of dealing with gangs that had an honorable code, something more than 'face a cat like a tom & don't turn your back on a thief ', was a new one. One that Satchmo wasn't sure if he was okay with. Thieves, murderers, and conmen he knew what to expect from. They were his people. These clan cats though...It was odd to think that there could be so many cats in one place that lived for justice, the greater good, and honor. 'And they aren't pansies neither. Imagine that.' Just last week he'd been chased off Meadow-whatsit by one of those compoundy-namerwhos.
Now, this experience wasn't going to keep him from searching their territories for herbs and food, but it was certainly a good reference for caution. Next time he'd head out at night. That was the one good thing about clans--they were only active during the day. Well. Good, for him anyway. For now though, as it was not night, he stuck to the ranch outside the clans' territories. It was good enough for herbs, though not as abundant in them as the forested areas. He'd find as many as he could, then head back to his den outside the barn where he kept his stash.
Catmint would be nice...
"With these cats, it seems to be a mixture of all that put together, and then some. But what am I to judge? Sound exactly like me...back then. More than likely still me."
Maybe cat-who-talked-to-himself knew where Satch could find some.
"Oi! What're you doin' there, Talker?" The long-haired tom made his way over to Smith, a warm smile on his face. "Wouldn't happen to have anymore catmint left would you? Or valerian maybe?"
He sat down, indicating he wouldn't leave until he got an answer. Tinnyboy didn't threaten the tom opposite to him though. It'd been a while since he'd had to rough a cat up, and he sincerely hoped that this wouldn't turn into an insta-refresher course. He'd dealt with cats on the mint before. Sometimes they were a little possessive about their stash, very unwilling to share. So unwilling that they could be driven to violence, but that was really only with the far-into-it. Talker didn't look like that, just a little lost.
Hmm, hmmm, hmm. Lord almighty he was aching for excitement, and some particularly persistent fleas behind his right ear didn't count.
Well what do you know? Fate was kind and delivered to him some fine looking toms. Scratching behind said large ear, he jumped down from his perch in the abandoned ranch and moseyed over to fluffy and...hey, hadn't he seen striped boy before?
"Catmint, fair sir? It'd be rotted through; since Sunshine left there's not many of us who know about plants in any amount of detail. But we can look for some together..." He smiled widely at the gray tom. "'Fraid I can't help you with valerian, but I'd simply love -" (here he maneuvered himself so that he twined around the newcomer, almost touching him) "-to find out more about it." He yawned and casually sat, scratching again.
If that bothered them, shame. Prissy guys weren't to his taste. Especially when things got more serious. No fun at all. Loki sniffed the air, the siamese trying to discern anything he could about fluffy from his scent. Plenty of plants, that was for sure. Was he a healer? And yet...he seemed a bit too muscular for that.
Then again...no law saying a man couldn't fuss over plants and not be sexy with it.
