As he wandered around blindly, his milky white eyes wide open, the clearing slowly dissolved, the earth disappearing around him. It crumbled, like the bones of a buried corpse. It fell, like an acorn from an oak tree, high in the sky.

Yet he remained oblivious. The creamy tom remained blind, never moving from his spot. He stayed there, in the crumbling clearing, oblivious of his supposed fate.

The ancestors watched from above, hopeless.

Their world was crumbling, and they couldn't do anything.

Kits, apprentices, warriors, queens, deputies, leaders, elders, and even leaders had all entered their ranks that day. And they couldn't stop the destruction.

But the old blind tom sat, no worry expressed. He might die that day, but the world would keep turning.

The cream tom sat, and closed his eyes in that moment, nothing of which to be afraid. For the world might be crumbling, but that tom was oblivious. He knew not what disasters, or what trials, lay ahead of him.

Because to the ancestors above him, he was just a blind old tom, sitting around, his haunches pressed against the ground calmly.

But to that blind old tom, his fate was his own to accept.

So, if he die today, so be it. If he lives today, so be it. His fate was the world's to control.

It didn't belong to him.

It belonged to the world. And without he world, there could be no fate. Without fate, there would be no life.

No twolegs, no mice, rabbits, minks, beavers, or anything. No Clans.

The world was held at a delicate balance, and to destroy that balance would be to destroy the earth, and every living creature on, and below, its surface.

So, if the world shall crumble on this day, then he will crumble with it.

And there he will be, with his family. His friends. He won't be lost, he will be found.

And to be found is to be loved.

To be loved is to be cared.

To be cared is the dream that every living being on the earth desires.

Whether it's the pink-skinned twolegs with their small kits, or the smallest mouse, with its mate, everyone deserves to have someone who cares for them.

The balance would never be broken. That's what the medicine cats believed. But here was the balance, dissolving, in front of the ancestors, the medicine cats.

That balance was gone.

And Chaos would erupt.

But that chaos was stoppable.

One tiny creature just had to utter the word, and the chaos would stop. The world would return to normal. The balance would be fixed.

Their home would return.

As the creamy tom thought of his life, his heart grew warm, unlike the cold stone ground upon which he perched.

His mother, the kittypet. His father, the rogue.

The impossible match.

A kittypet, a rogue, and a warrior. One would never think. But it happened.

His brother, the loner. His sister, the leader.

She was one of the cats who had entered StarClan that day.

He had been next to her when she had fallen.

The Earth had consumed her, and she had died, to forever remain an ancestor.

His love, the warrior. She had died many seasons ago, but their kits had survived. They had grown to be strong warriors, and then, the earth had taken them from him.

A single tear exited the blind tom's eye, his heart thumping louder. He felt a pang in his chest, as the grief overwhelmed him.

But, he stood there, waiting.

Waiting for his fate.waiting for the earth to consume his old bones.

He could see his family. He could see his mate, his kits, his sister.

But, the earth resisted his wishes. It stopped. All the destruction, suddenly.

It stopped.

The Earth became quiet. Unnaturally quiet.

There were no birds singing in the trees, no distant meowing of cats, no distant yowling of twolegs to their young.

It was all silent.

He was the final cat. The only one.

A blind tom.

Forever to remain that way. And forever to remain alone. On this pillar of his. He was alone.

But as the creamy tom leapt, hoping to be dead, he landed on the earth.

The world was not gone.

He lived. Forever he lived.

He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, taking in the fresh air.

He ran out of the forest, and felt the hard surface of the Thunderpath beneath his feet. But there was no scent of monsters, no sound, no rumbling in the earth. The monsters were gone.

As he gingerly made his way across, fear fluffing his pelt, he scented nothing. Only forest, and grass.

The cold feeling of the old Thunderpath was incredibly unnatural. It felt like there should have been monsters.

But they were all gone.

His cream colored fur spiked out at odd angles, as suddenly a scent hit him.

The smell of a cat.

He heard the distant crying, and raced toward it, skillfully avoiding the trees.

It was a cat.

It was a she-cat.

As she sat there, crying, her yowls echoing off the tall limbed spruce trees she sat under.

"Hello?" His husky voice sounded, hardly a noise. "Who are you?"

The yowls of pain stopped. It wasn't there anymore. But the she-cat was.

"I am Henna, and who might you be?" She whispered, obviously nervous.

"I am Crouching Willow. I come from MapleClan." He mewed gruffly, his voice sounding as if it hadn't been used in seasons.

"Greetings, Crouching Willow. This 'MapleClan,' what is it?"

"It was my home. It is gone now. As it has been, for days."

"Yes. How old are you?" The she-cat sounded nervous.

"Why do you ask?"

"Reasons."

"Well, I am 97 moons old."

"I am 79."

"Well, nice to know you."

"You too. Have you heard anything?"

"No."

"Me neither. It's weird really." Henna's voice slowly became louder as she became more familiar with the old tom.

"The world has come to an end."

"It has. And we are the last surviving cats. This must mean something."

"Maybe not."

"But maybe. Maybe we are forever meant to be. Maybe we are meant to have kits, and raise a family."

"I have a love. She waits for me. Forever she does."

"But she is dead. We have to continue the life."

"But I am old. I will die soon. Let me. Let the reign of cats come to an end."

"Never." She growled. "I will never allow my species to end."

"I'm sorry, Henna. Then you will have to die. I could never kill you, but you will, one day, die."

"If you believe so, cranky old tom." She hissed, stalking under a root.

The old tom nearly sighed, and fell down on the grass, exhaustion overwhelming his old body.

So I made this, because I'm bored.
Can I have some honest feedback idk. I might make a story out of this.

Thanks,

-Snake

And here are some pics of our kitty cats

Leaping Willow, but he doesn't have a collar, and his eyes are a milky color.

Henna, except she has a light green collar