It had been drizzling all morning, and Dapplestone couldn't help flicking his ears every few seconds to rid them of the accumulating wetness. Of all things, the tom hated feeling damp, but he put up with the discomfort as he crouched in the underbrush, struggling to keep himself still despite the light downpour that chilled his tortoiseshell coat.
What's that? Suddenly a mouse appeared, and his senses strained toward the little gray creature. It was still a ways away from him, ignoring the rain as it scurried into the clearing from across the way, nibbling at the fresh strands of grass. Carefully, Dapplestone readjusted himself, intent on his prey.
At the right moment, he blasted out of the foliage, sending leaves flying. He covered the distance in two bounds, and the mouse started to flee-- but he was already on top of it.
Preparing for the killing swipe, Dapplestone lunged to one side after the critter. Then his feet suddenly slipped on the slick ground and he found himself sprawled out in the grass, mouseless, and splashed with mud.
"Well isn't that just my luck," he grumbled aloud and he gathered himself under a nearby tree canopy and tried to rid himself of the muck in his fur.