He left the warmth of the garage and ran swiftly into the field beyond the house. He knew the tangle of weeds and shrubbery was full of endless possibilities and his instincts told him to head towards the glade of birch trees. He felt weak and light-headed, as if every limb was weighted down, each step forward took great effort and concentration. He knew tonight would be his last chance. If he could not catch a meal he would surely die.
All at once, only feet ahead of him, he heard the distinct sound of his quarry chattering aimlessly to itself. He crept slowly towards the sound, belly flat against the earth. He knew that complete silence was a necessity. To be found out would be to go hungry for yet another night. His stomach rumbled loudly, to him it sounded more like thunder. He winced and stared intently at the place where his adversary has stood seconds before. It was gone.
He scanned the area and focused in on some nearby movement. His fatigued body screamed in anguish, he fought against the pain and leapt up, muscles straining, racing into motion. He summoned all his remaining strength to use in the pursuit.
He followed, swiftly and smoothly, his feet rhythmically touching the ground. He sprinted through the grass, which towered above his head, less confidently than when he'd run the same course a few weeks earlier. He paused, a warm breeze washed over him carrying with it the distinct smell of his rival. In seconds he was off again, this time in a different direction. He hadn't been fooled by this minor deception.
His chase was now leading him towards the river bank. The ground grew colder with each bold step forward and soon grew moist. When he began to sink slowly into the mud, he stopped. His instincts told him that he must turn back immediately, but the pangs of hunger deep within him held him steadfast in his search.
A few feet ahead he heard the breaking of some reeds. Its tiny head appeared, beady eyes staring deep into his own. His opponent too had stopped, realizing that to continue following this path would be suicide, but not to run would also hold certain death. It turned around, no longer facing him it crouched low to the ground and then quickly scurried to the left.
He chance had arrived. Right away he pounced and landed true. He was successful at last. He clutched the squirming mouse between his paws and ripped at its throat with his canine-like teeth. He could feel the warm syrupy blood ooze out over his fur. This cat would not be hungry tonight.
I am not really sure that it meets the showing criteria of the assignment... but I got a good mark... Feels strange to read stuff I wrote so very long ago... I was once sent a photo of myself by a friend. I was wearing a shirt I can't ever remember owning. Its a bit like that.
Trust me when I say the telling piece isn't worth cut-n-pasting here.