Ear tips torn,

Nose red,

Muzzle scared from battles past?

This must be a Warrior.

Scars so deep,

Across her face,

Ones that shall always last?

This must be a Warrior.

-

She guards her home with old,

Ragged claws,

Some blood stained,

Some not.

They are torn from fights,

Some won some lost,

And also,

From age.

They are weaker then before,

Chipped and cracked.

But they are sharper then ever,

Waiting for the next battle,

Waiting to protect her home.

-

Her muzzle-scars are deep,

The one slashed from top to nose.

The one that was aiming for her eye,

She knows it.

She displays the scar proudly,

It shows she is as strong as ever.

She has others,

Many,

Faded,

And old,

But this one means more then them all.

-

She had never run from enemies,

That is why it matters.

It shows that she stayed and fought,

It proves that she won,

Despite her showing age.

She has seen cats with ripped tails,

Shredded backs,

Proving that they ran.

She has never had one,

But she has given some.

The cat that gave her the scar,

Most likely still has hers.

-

Her ears are another story,

She displays then proudly.

For the most part,

They are unscathed.

Only the tips reveal the fights that she almost lost.

They are healed now,

Only revealing a slight dip in the dark fur,

But it makes her remember,

Never let your guard down,

Oh,

And to flatten your ears.

-

Her pads are rough,

Yet somehow soft,

She has done much walking.

Through forests and fields,

Rocks and marshes,

Storms and blizzards.

-

Her pelt is calico,

Black that is sunburned in the summer.

Her fur is densely coated,

In the winter it is long and bushy,

Guarding her from the elements.

In the summer it thins to cool her,

Yet still guards her from pests.

It also guards her from cats.

The colors hide her nicely,

Day and night,

It is perfectly camouflaged.

But,

If it came to a fight,

It would protect against injuries as well.

-

Warrior,

You think,

When you see her sitting there.

Burrs in her fur,

Some mud here and there,

That she quickly starts to groom out.

And that gleam in her eye,

The look of meaning,

That she has a job to to,

And does it well.

Warrior,

That is what comes to mind.

-

But no.

She goes into a house,

One of twolegs.

Warriors scoff,

Say she is worthless,

Fat on kittypet slop.

How do they know she eats mice,

Enjoying the taste more?

She eats the food to please the housefolk,

Not because she likes it.

Warriors see her as fat and lazy,

Lolling around like a slug.

Can't they see her,

Small and skinny,

More muscle then fat?

She has never been fat,

Not a day of her life,

Never has she over eaten.

Never has she resorted to her twoleg den for cowardly reasons,

Or for the food they offer her.

-

She sits,

Small and alone,

Thinking of the Warriors.

Their life is so different from hers,

And yet the same.

Should she have become a Warrior?

It would fit her like a second pelt.

But,

She had a job to do.

Warriors may scoff,

Call her a fat,

Lazy kittypet,

But it isn't true.

For in her heart,

She is a Warrior.

~

     This is based off of my own cat, actually. Although not all of it is true(obviously!) she truly is a trooper. She—at least used to—be the "boss cat" of the neighborhood, despite her seriously thin frame(she has a delicate stomach, which makes it hard to keep down food sometimes, resulting in weight loss, although she is usually fine, it's only once in a while) and she also might now have a thyroid problem. And yet, she's always eaten "forest critters" without a problem(and we have tried other food with her, to help gain weight, and it's always been worse then what we are already using). She's also a wonderful little hunter, and(don't hate her for this) she's actually gotten a humming bird. We think it might have been stunned from hitting a window, but still; its impressive. Plus she hunts the squirrels  around here, and the greys are literally half her size, if not larger(I hate those dang things, but I won't get into that now).
     Anyways, she's getting older, and isn't the little spitfire she used to be(although she has yet to come home with cuts on her back, instead of her face). And she still holds her ground against a huge German Shepherd, who's head is the size of her.
     Anyways, as you can tell by now, I love her, and hope she's got many years of Warrior-ing ahead of her.

~ Jake Vader Out.

(Post Script: The cover of this book is of Hollystream, a character in my Truth or Dare book, but she's based off my cat, so yeah, that's kind of what she looks like, except bushier in the winter)