Running up the rocky slope, Richard thought to himself of what he would say once he reached the top.
They had all gathered; from the far reaches of the world, coming in legions, to hear what he would say.
Though the truth was, he had no idea what he would say. Everything up until now had just come to him like a voice inside his head that was not his own.
It spoke through him, and it had made sense; to himself as well as all that had heard him, from that very first speech in that dark and wet alley.
His words had spread across the land and they had started to gather; had started to build a force that could wash over any that stood in their way.
As he raced up to the summit of the craggy cliffs, his mind went over all the events that had led him here. The victories and losses, the allies he had gained, and the loved ones he had lost all came flooding back to him.
But those were the costs of revolution. Even the loss of his left eye seemed worth it, if it meant they reached their eventual goal.
When he finally reached the top of the mountain, he looked down at the multitude that spread out below, awaiting him with anticipation and furfur; ancient blood feuds and turf wars forgotten in their common goal. They all stood as comrades.
All hushed as he padded up to the edge and his unpatched eye scanned over them.
In that moment, he knew what had to be said. No voice needed to tell him now.
So proudly, in a voice that carried an echoing boom like thunder, Richard the cat simply said, “Meow.”
And the cat armies of the world below meowed in unified response.
The storm of revolution had begun.