sasha’s kits
Tigerstar had tried to teach her names from his home, but staring at her kits, everything he had said slipped out of her mind like sand.
She didn't want to name them for him.
Instead, she studied the three tiny bundles nursing from her. Sasha was a kittypet before she was a loner — that was what Tigerstar called her — but she could still name.
"Moth," she said, for the she-cat. She reminded Sasha of the moths that flicked to Ken's lights, and her fur was already long.
"Hawk," she said, for the first tom. He looked the most like his father, but Sasha gave him a name for what flies above cats. Hawks, she knew, were the ever-vigilant, that which preyed on unwatched kits.
"Tadpole," she said, for the final kit. He reminded her of them, with his kit's tail sticking out like a burr.
Sasha lowered her head. The kits were already asleep, and she couldn't leave them by themselves yet. She was exhausted, anyway. Purring, she wrapped her tail around them, and fell asleep.














