Since the first 2 chapters take place concurrently, here is the second.
Lee is a teenage cat from the condo complex near where the action takes place.


Hope you like.

Feedback is appreciated, by the way. Now then:


Ah, a gentle spring sunbeam, nothing better to wake up to.
Of course, about this time of year, the sun starts to show up before Greg's
alarm clock goes off. I'll never understand why it's so important to get up
before or after the sun does. It's not like he goes to bed at the same time
everyday, either, especially with his new mating partner. I mosey over to his room, jump atop his bed, and lay over his neck, then count to ten.

…

There we go.

An hour later, I'm fed, and Greg's out the door. I can finally get dressed. I'd wear my clothing all the time, but I imagine Greg'd probably say something. Aside from that, I wouldn't think he would be too happy about how I had taken one of his mate's gold necklaces. Besides, it was way too bulky for her, anyway. And as much as I enjoy the posh comfort that is indoor living, one can only get high off of nip so many times before they get a little stir crazy. So, shirt, shorts, board, back door.

This walk used to be a lot calmer, and there used to not be nearly so many vermin. It's a full infestation if you ask me. It's almost the end of my fourth spring, and all the scum I saw born two years ago are already shooting out kits. And it's worse than that, what with these loose girls and crotch-for brain guys. Check this, I saw three, count 'em, three different guys being father to two or more sets of kits. And the women don't even mind! There's even this one really big one who's got like, four girls pawing all over him. Of course, there are like, fifteen guys here as a result who are stuck being single, but the other ones don't seem to care. I'd like to hope that when I mate, it's because I love the girl, not because I'm hormones in a fur coat. Trust, me, there are a few girls out there that think I am, but I'm not ready for a litter, especially not with these unpredictable graycoats around.

I take the same path every time I go skating, and it only gets more and more repulsive. I could take a different path, but I'm not going to any more inconvenience because of the filth here.

First thing to really see is if the water rat is under his bush or not. The guy surfs, and then lets the water get into his fur and ends up smelling like- oh yeah, he's in, hold your breath. It's like a rotting carcass mixed with all the garbage he never gets rid of. It's like he doesn't care if he's scum. Next is a hovel full of, like, thirteen kits and one
dominant male who doesn't care about any of them. The smell outclasses the last ringtail's, easy. It's like they just want to concentrate their scent until anything that comes near suffocates. I wish they'd suffocate with it, do us all a favor.

Next is this one guy. He clearly never got a mate, and I can't understand why. The guy actually has an almost-tolerable burrow, and washes what he wears every week. The flowers actually can grow here, so he's at least not an affront to nature.
Further proof that this culture is upside-down. The guy who actually, ugh, females.


Honestly, the girl raccoons here are uglier than the guys. They wear stuff that looks like it was made out of the furniture that Greg got once. It smelled like old and had hideous flowers on it. Thankfully, they're always too self-absorbed to notice me, and from here I should be home free.

The grass ends, and I reach the sidewalk, and stop. More ringtails. Young, new, slightly lost, and big. They can clearly smell the mess I had just walked through, and pay me no mind as they waltz right past me. I made eye contact with the smaller one, for just a second, and then was on my way.

Honestly? I hope those new raccoons stir up some trouble with the old ones. Especially that one territorialist. It'll be nice to see how well they deal with someone their own size. Judging by the gait of the bigger one, I can wager he’s the type who has nothing to say, and says a lot of it. Probably punctuates his sentences with his fist and a swear. Then again, pretty much every coon my age does that.

Cross the street, sidle through a few bushes, and then the skate park is all mine. Can you believe those coons really think they made this place all by themselves? No. A big dog, a fox, and a cat I know did most of the work. These schmucks just came in, threw some meaningless extras in, and claimed it for themselves. They’re usually too lazy to be up and skating this early. But I’ve been wrong before.