Writing practice

Instructions

Milo had never, ever set foot outside the Barn. Day after day, each morning, afternoon, and night was filled with the scent of hay, animal dung, and that all-too-familiar, underlying whiff of mice. But, as a young cat should be, he was curious. Ever since he was a kit, the elder cats had told him frightening stories of the outside world- tales of huge dogs and wolves, not to mention the savage Clan cats. They always warned, "Don't ever leave the Barn. The Barn is our safe place. Dangers lurk around every corner out there." Milo, of course, did not care at all. He had the same risk of being attacked by dogs and foxes and wild cats in the Barn as he did outside. So on one pleasant, cloudless day, while the others were in the middle of their afternoon nap, Milo snuck out of the Barn. The sights and smells and wonders awed him. Fresh, clean air filled his lungs as he just breathed and took in the wonders around him. The sun was warm and delightful, and the grass under his pads was beyond soft, much more comforting than the scratchy hay that he had never grown used to. Milo trod on, going farther and farther from the Barn, through meadows and marshes and thick trees galore. He crossed streams (which were refreshingly cold in comparison to the warm trough water he drank from) and rolled in patches of herbs and small plants. The birds' songs, dancing around the lake, were much more ear-pleasing than the snorts and honks of the farm animals. Then a yowl, laced with fury, cut through the air. Milo stopped dead in his tracks, heart racing and legs quivering. The roar came from a bush behind him. Milo's worst fears came true as he whipped around, eyes widening, to see a lean, striped tom stalking right up to him. A Clan cat. The glint of the tabby's unsheathed claws in the sunlight made Milo's blood run cold. The elders' tales were right- the wild Clan cats here were dangerous. And one was standing right in front of him, teeth bared and muscles tensed, ready to attack. Milo knew he wouldn't stand a chance. Suddenly another yowl echoed through the forest, and the tabby grew rigid. With a final glare at Milo, he retreated, tail lashing. Milo immediately ran off, breath racing as he ran. There was no way he had survived an encounter with a savage, wild cat. He pondered this as he approached the Barn, where he knew the elders would be lying awake, ready to scold him. Milo didn't die that day, but the experience would stay with him forever. And you might think that Milo would never, ever set foot outside the barn again. But day after day, every morning, afternoon, and night, Milo would leave the Barn and have a short little adventure of his own. Never too far from the Barn, and never in the Clan cats' territories. But just far enough that he could satisfy his cravings for adventure. And Milo spent the rest of his days a free cat, not confined to one place, able to roam about. He was happy.