[ Loiosh, an orange tabby wearing a green harness, is standing in a patch of green grass in front of an old gnarled tree trunk. His head is down, and he’s sniffing a tuft of the grass. ]
This grass is far superior to the other grass, not least in that it is across the walkway from the river, & thus Loiosh is much less likely to be able to yeet himself into the EXTREMELY, APPALLINGLY COLD water while chewing on it.
Note I said less likely, not impossible. Even at almost seventeen, the boy has his ways.
[ Loiosh is cronching some lovely green grass. One ear is now tilted back, because, apparently, of Reasons. ]
It was, also, still green & juicy, surely much tastier than the wilting brown stuff near the water.
[ He’s making the wrinkled muzzle face, as if he were removing the innards from an antelope. ]
RAWR NOM TASTY GRASS
[ And now his tongue is sticking out. Just a tiny bit, but it’s there.]
Eat grass, lick chops.
[ His mouth is open, displaying sharp carnivore teeth, and his entire head is blurry, as he strikes at the defenseless grass. ]
He’s just having a very good time with all of this, is what.
