Gin stretches his limbs, letting out a little yawn, “Mearow” escaps his lips. Continuing to stretch, he briefly stands up and extends all his limbs out as far as they could possibly go, then relaxes. He inches over a step from where he was previously laying and takes a couple steps in a circlular pattern around the new spot to sit. Satisfied he found the perfect spot, a few rays of light escaping the clouds making it the choice location, he lays down, enjoying the small pleasure of nature warming his fur.
Licking the back of his hand and brushing it against his face and ears, he begins to reflect what brought him to the ruins away from the den he once called home. Faces of those whom he called family float by in his mind and memories of loss from the pride either from them running away or worse and thoughts of the human like rules he had to follow. Lazily or not wanting to think about it, his mind drifts and he thinks of the mouse he saw wandering around the trash dumps near main street, laying on his back, wiggling back and forth, clouds of dust fly up, the cement soothing his itching back, he swipes at the air as if catching the mouse in his mind and batting it around, encouraging it to run from his grip so he could chase it. His head looks to the street below, scanning for the mouse, any mouse, but there is none to be seen. He considers to start a hunt, lazily feeling the hot sun on his belly he drifts to sleep, the though of a hunt in his dreams begin.