- - - - - - -I hate this place called Stormwind. It smells of too many hard things.Metal, stone, and smooth skinned men.

Men.The place called the park is a bit better if I stay out of the dimly lit gathering rooms. At least there is grass underfoot, trees for shade, and a nice well. But again, smoothskins. They argue. They whisper to one another. They stand too close to one another and yell as if the other cannot hear. Can they hear? They rattle when they walk. They stomp. I want to put my head in the water of the moonwell to muffle the noise.They leer.They laugh and point if I relieve myself at the base of a tree.

They laugh! While they stand there in the dung of their mounts. What are they laughing at? At my cat form?

The women I watch are only better in that they seem to have a plan, a goal. I smell them too. Women’s sweat. It is easier on my nose. I can smell their disdain too. Even those of my kind seem to have been hardened by this place. This uneasy place of metal, stone, and strutting males.

I had a friend, no, two I think. I do think. Now. There was a time that I did not have to do this sorting, this thinking all the time. Some days I long for the unthinking time to be upon me again. NO! I cannot allow that!I have to think to survive. To survive this place.Not so long ago a person (I know his scent) helped me regain this twolegged, speaking dimension which I now find so disconcerting. I still don't remember why I was feral without memory of speaking form. It is the hardest thing I have done, to remain cognizant of this fraction of myself.

I’m no longer sure I want to be here. Being in this form, I feel like I have to follow certain rules which are not written down. Anywhere.I was lost, naked, insane. I did not know it. He was quiet, strong and angry. Why did he show me myself? I remember a day. He pointed to the clear meadow outside the comfort of my forest and said one word. “Go.” I hesitated. He handed me a small pack, put his hands on my shoulders,frowned down at my questioning face, turned me around and pushed me toward the sunlight. I took a few stumbling steps and turned back. Gone. Only his scent lingered. It smelled like a frown.

Now I am here. Struggling to remain upright. I want to run on four paws and never look back. He’s not here, though at times in the back of my nose I think I smell that frown.There was another. A similar scent. A brother to the first. He did not leer. He did not laugh. He did not. Circumstances caused a distance, now he too is gone. He is gone because I ran away. He did not pursue. He did not hunt and hold. He’s too good. I never find his smell anywhere.