Another Day.
Yure woke up and rubbed his diaper front softly. He was wet, as always. Alone, he climbed the crib and went to the table to write his stuff. As soon as he sat, his diaper made a squishy sound. It was very amusing to him. He grabbed a pencil and started writing.
Yure yawned and looked at the clock. Midnight. As a kitten, he sleep a lot, but nothing too much, so he is able to stay up at late night. The tick-tack sound was the only thing that could be heard as he writes silently through the dawn. The solitude is a great of friend of Yure, always helping him to get into his sadness and get the answers he so needed. Recently, Yure was facing a sudden access of jealousy. Thanks for his lonely moments and a certain skunk, he could get along well with such a nasty feeling, slowly killing it. Yure needed to write. He needed because it's what he does to keep living. He write the pages and sell it on the city, so people would copy his work, modify and do whatever they wanted to his work. He wouldn't care. Yure just wanted the money to get new diapers, water, food, money to pay his bills and, of course, buy his catnip.
The kitten finished writing and looked at the clock once again. 5:00am. He sighed and went back to the crib, wanting more sleep. He covered his head with a blanket and came back to his silly little dream world.
In the morning, Yure woke up and looked down desperately. He had leaked. Worse than it, he got a rash. Yure sighed. One of the best things in his world is a wet diaper, but one of the worst things are the rashes. He shook his head negatively and got up, changed himself and treated the rash. Without saying a word, since he had no one to talk, he brushed his teeth and wore a shirt and pants. Yure jumped to the ground, falling on his feet and went to the forest, hunting. Some forest mices were hanging out. Ferals. Without doubting, Yure pounced on them, grabbing the mices by their tails. Yure then thrown the mices, still alive, in his throat, swalling them, a very soft vore scene. He burped as the mices slowly died in his stomach. Yure kept hunting, voring birds and fishes. After eating, Yure came back to his home. It was 10:00am and he was still silent. He sighed, missing someone to talk with. Yure went to the table again to write more.
The readers like "hot" stories, but Yure refuses to write them. He got a moral. He kept writing, doing his best. Even being a four-year-old, Yure had a brilliant mind. He doesn't follow the normal development pace of a child. He is like an adult in a child body. However, Yure is a child. He should study, he should play, he shouldn't work for his life... but it's hard to do it when you have no one to take the responsabilities that you shouldn't take.
He finished and went to the sity, his bag full of paper. While walking through the trail, Yure heard growls. Two feral wolves trapped him. Yure chuckled at the thought that he used to be scared of these things. The wolves attacked. Yure shown his claws and scratched the eyes of the wolves, bliding them. The foes fled. Yure kept his pace, walking slowly to enjoy the feeling of a full bladder. For some reason, he loves this sensation. Yure giggled at each pace.
When he finally reached the city, Yure held his papers. He was about to shout to get some attention from the citizens, but someone touched his shoulder.
- Hey, kid, did you got the newer pages of "Not So Funny"?
Yure handed the pages to the guy. The mysterious being gave Yure 23 coins for his work. The cheapiest copyright ever. With the money, Yure bought food, diapers and, of course, his catnip. He walked back to his home and laid in the crib for an afternoon nap.
Yure woke up wet and hungry. He changed himself and ate some bread with butter and coffee with sugar. He started writing again. From 3:00pm to 7:00pm, Yure write lines, erase lines, take pauses and read dicionaries, all for FOY, his favorite story that should be licensed under Public Domain License soon. He finished and ate rice with beans before going to the crib once again. Another day is over. Silly miserable life.