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Spy grumbled, dragging himself back to his humble abode amidst the forest. Though he'd much prefer the comfort of a sturdy house and furnace to sleep by, this is what he had to grow accustomed to.
It wouldn't be nearly as easy to beg for scraps if he were living an evidently lavish life. Not that he was unfamiliar with the game he played, hell, he'd been taking advantage of people since he was a kitten. It was in his blood. Though it wasn't necessarily in his son's as well, he still took pride in seeing the runt of the litter bring home little prizes he'd show off relentlessly to any potential suitors. It was, when he really thought about it, more than a bit embarrassing. He couldn't help but feel a bit proud, though. The smugness ran in their blood too, he supposed, though the wits seemed lacking in his youngest.
Rolling his eyes, he slipped into the mossy undergrowth with practiced precision, following the trail he'd both left and taken dozens upon dozens of times.
He wasn't fond of the place. It was small and cramped and dirty, but nevertheless, he'd done his best to make it more suitable to his tastes over the years. He took the time to lay out the moss to act as bedding, gathering scraps of torn clothes and wool to form a blanket.
He decorated the edges of the den with freshly picked flowers when he got the chance to pick them, which made the little alcove smell a bit more welcoming as well as brightening up the place. Some dried herbs and berries helped with that much, too, especially in the wintertime.
It was that very wintertime that Spy so dreaded spending holed up in his den alone for the most part. On occasion his son would swing by to visit, perhaps bringing him a lackluster gift of a half-eaten hunk of cod or a greasy chicken bone. But for the most part, his winters were lonely.
Luckily for him, he found himself a decent gig, if one could call it that.
See, the locals could be quite affectionate. He'd seen it firsthand, his son running in despite his warnings, ending up entirely unscathed and with a few goodies for the road.
After some refinement, Spy learned exactly how to play those people like a fiddle.
Purr happily, rub against their legs, tilt his head and twitch an ear if they seem hesitant.
It wasn't an exact science, of course, but it worked wonders
That much was obvious, as after just a few moon cycles, Spy found himself begrudgingly having to widen the entrance to his den.
He was positive that this development would help him throughout the winter, though, the extra insulation under his pelt doing wonders to keep him warm.
And soon enough, fall came, and along with it, much more activity from the people living nearby as they too prepared for the coming winter months. Even with much to do, they still left scraps out for the strays to eat, much to the delight of Spy, who was fond of eating alone.
With food in his mouth and more in his stomach, Spy sauntered into his living space and flopped down onto his makeshift mattress. Licking his paws clean, he began to dig in, taking care to avoid ingesting any of the toothpick like bones of the fish he called his dinner.
Perhaps dessert were a more apt comparison, however, as obvious by his rounded stomach, he'd already had his fill for tonight. He hardly ever got the chance to indulge like this, though, and he would find it ridiculous not to seize the opportunity with both paws.
Even with his stomach already pleasantly full, he just couldn't help but sink his teeth into the delicate and flaky flesh of the fresh catch bestowed upon him. He could see that part of himself in his son; the greed. In moments like these, it was hard to resist that urgent call, the rumbling in his already full belly for more.
So he feasted. Purring vacantly into the buttery yet tender meat, the salinity not too strong to parch but enough to season. His pupils dilated as he tore into the scaly exterior and into the delicacy within.
Bite after bite made its way into the stray cat's stomach, filling him in a way he hardly fathomed possible on hungry nights alone. Though he found it difficult to admit, he still felt a bit poor, all on his lonesome in his mossy den. There was only congenial warmth, not tangible save for himself and the occasional sunbeams that grew fewer and further between in these colder months. He found himself longing as he ate, filling the ever-growing void inside of him with the fresh and tender flesh of the fish he sunk his teeth into over and over again.
Spy wasn't hungry anymore. He hadn't been for a long while, now, that fullness a foreign sensation in the pit of his stomach. It was late, the sun had long since set, but he still focused on eating every last bite of the delicacy that he could. He was certain he looked pregnant with a healthy litter of kittens due to how obscenely round he felt. He tried to pay it no mind, though the gentle ache he felt needed tending to with his left paw from time to time.
Despite that, he continued to feast with no abandon.
His paw pressed gently against his furry abdomen, a low growl resonating in his throat. He was stuffed, but he couldn't stop. He wasn't entirely sure why. Perhaps led by the instincts learned by living as a stray for so long, he continued. He chose not to think about it too hard. He was hardly able to think at this point, anyhow. Like a mantra echoing between his ears, Spy was easily swayed to keep on eating.
The more he ate, the warmer he felt. Some sort of reaction in his body, though there was a chance he was flustered by his own appetite. Either were equally likely, enough to coincide with each other. What mattered was that he felt warm and cozy, and in a daze of gluttonous stupor, not even that mattered.
What mattered was the fish in front of him and the little that remained of it.
Slowly but surely, Spy swallowed down the last remaining bits of his second dinner. He hadn't even realized he was done until he went to grab another bite and found his teeth met with bone. A blush rising to his face, he shoved the remains aside haphazardly and stretched out on his bed of moss, purring contently as he rubbed his belly, taking care not to nick himself with his claws.
Warmth. That was what he felt, even as the dewy chill settled over the nighttime landscape. Like a campfire, or like a lap to lay on; a furnace or torch to lay under.
It was that very warmth that overtook him as he settled down for the night. He was full of it, and it only made him crave even more.