She laughs. "Do I look pitied? I can go wherever and do whatever I want, and at the end of it I'll be fed whether or not I've caught anything. I'm four winters old and perfectly healthy, and I'll probably live to be at least fifteen. 'Lazy' I'll accept, but I'd much prefer 'smart.' I'm not hungry. I'm not cold. Why should a harder life be a better one?"

"But - don't you have any pride?" he insists.

"Do you even know how to hunt? Could you, if you wanted to?"

"I can't eat pride," Cat points out. "And of course I can hunt, and I do. It's fun and interesting. Why, can't you?"

"Of course I can!" he replies indignantly. "I already told you that." 

They're still moving in the wrong direction, deeper into ShadowClan territory.

"—do you have no sense of direction?" 

"Nope," Cat lies blatantly and cheerfully. The scent of unfamiliar cats is stronger here; she pulls back her lips to taste it better.

"What happens if you don't catch anything?" she asks after a moment. "You don't eat?"