+By+ Lord Jesse Elliott

Fleyring, an orange cat, swung his tail lazily over the windowsill on which he lay. To any innocent passerby, he would've looked to be napping, but indeed he was only observing. If you looked at him long enough, you would see that his ears twitched at every sound in the house. His eyes were closed, yet he was observing through sound and vibrations in the walls alone.
His observing was presently interrupted by the annoyed, screeching voice of a woman. The one Fleyring hated the most. The mother-human in the house.
"Fayheart!" She scolded him. A wave of annoyance flooded him. She had rubbed against his pet peeve. Humans having the nerve to name animals which already had names. If Fleyring hadn't known that she would not understand, he would have snapped back with an angry "Go 'Fayheart!' the dog, they like that sort of thing. And while you're at it, toss him a bone."
But being the more mature and wise cat that he was, he simply opened one lazy eye and endured her complaining.
"Fayheart! How do you expect my plants to get any sun, with you blocking the window like that? We bought you a nice, comfy bed! Why do you still insist on napping in the windowsill?"
Comfy. Had she tried sleeping on it? No, the only comfy place was the foot of Annabelle's - the young girl-human's - bed. He had been banned from there, too.
He thumped his tail against the wall space in-between the window and the counter. He was perfectly in time with the babble of the brook down the road. Bored.
Now, some creatures might think that keeping time to a brook would be considerably interesting, for not everyone has the ability to understand a brook's babble, let alone keep time with it. But for anyone who has ever been owned by a cat, you would understand that boring, to a cat, is anything it decides is boring. It could be doing the most interesting thing, but suddenly decide it's boring, just for the sake of being bored.
The window was open, and Fleyring was hot. It was the only place in the whole house with breeze sufficient enough for him. Yet, despite how wonderful the breeze was, the old orange cat wasn't happy. He was bored on a sticky Sunday afternoon, with absolutely nothing to do.
Michael, the boy-human, came running down the steps, another person to disturb Fleyring's boredom. Oh joy.
"Mom!" the boy half-shouted half-whined, "Can I go on a quest?"
Fleyring's little cat-ears perked up. A quest? Well, now that sounded like something worth doing. While Michael and the mother-human argued about whether or not a quest was more important than a clean room, Fleyring wondered just what kind of quest he would go on.
Seeing as though Fleyring was a very brilliant cat, who was always bursting with ideas, he should have no trouble at all coming up with a quest. But all brilliant creatures need some inspiration every ever so often. He knew this, being the type of cat he was, and leapt down from the window so he could hear the boy-human argue.
Michael rambled a bit about how he had prepared for this quest for quite a while, and how his room would just get dirty again, so why bother cleaning it?
His logic seemed quit logical to Fleyring, but he still hadn't got any inspiration yet. Michael wasn't the type you could easily get inspired from. What he needed was Annabelle, his favorite human. She always seemed to say the right things at the right times, and was the perfect type to get inspired by.
Just as he was finishing his thought about her, Annabelle stepped gracefully down the steps, skipping the last one as a personal precaution. If she didn't leap from the second-to-last step to the ground, she would trip 90% of the time.
"How can you go on a quest, you don't even have a sword." She said with distaste at her younger sibling, as she walked into the kitchen to get an apple.
A sword! Yes, that is what he should quest for! A sword, with magnificent powers. A magical sword! That way, if he ever needed to go on another quest, he would have it.
So off he went. He walked casually and gracefully over to the door. It had a square cut into it with a flap that moved as he walked through it. The humans called it a dog door, which made absolutely no sense at all because the dog was too short and fat to fit through it! It was mentally added to Fleyring's "Endless List of Stupid Things I Simply do NOT Understand About Humans". Well, at least that's the shortened title.
He wandered acrossed the pebbled walk and suddenly realized that he had absolutely no idea where to begin in his search for a magical sword.
After a few seconds of pondering, he finally decided on those beautiful storehouses of treasure, the neighbor's trash bins.
He tipped one over, the closest he could find, and found a lot of wonderful items, such as tuna fish cans; an old sack; three big marshmallows, still in the bag; and an old glass jar that smelled of vinegar.
He ignored these fabulous finds, however, using the greatest amount of patience and self-control he had accumulated over the years, for he was on a quest, and would not stray from it until it was completed.
The next trash bin held more treasures. A torn baseball glove, a broken watermelon-scented candle, and a bag of stale chips. He made a mental note on his 'to-do' list, to come back to that bag of chips and finished the job an obviously incompetent human had started.
He didn't get very far on the third, for an old woman with a broom chased him off before he had a chance.
Finally, though, he reached the fourth bin. As it tipped over, the remains of a pirate-themed birthday party spilled out on the driveway. Fleyring surveyed the contents, not finding much of interest, until something shiny caught his eye. It was a plastic bag, filled with small, plastic swords! His tiny cat-heart leapt with joy, as he carefully chose the one he thought had the most power. It was slightly transparent, lime green, and pricked him when he had been inspecting the tiny blades. That is how he knew it was magically.
Cautiously placing the miniature rapier between his teeth, he made his way home. He dodged trash bins, whose contents had been strewn about all over the neighborhood, and wondered what dog could have knocked them over in its carelessness. No cat would make such a horrid mess.
At last, he reached home. Leaping into the window, he settled the sword between his paws and watched the mother-human as she complained, "Look, you are still sitting in that windowsill! Do you ever move, you lazy cat?!?"
But he didn't care. He had his sword and had completed his quest. But most of all, he knew and was sure, that Annabelle would be very proud of him.