Jayfeather was ThunderClan's medicine cat. He could not see, but he knew every herb by its smell. One morning his catmint pile was smaller. "Not my herbs!" he growled.
The next day it was smaller again. Jayfeather sniffed the floor. Milk. Moss. Tiny paws. "Kits," he muttered. "Not my herbs!"
That night he lay very still behind the herb pile and listened. Pad, pad, pad. Two small cats crept in and took a mouthful each.
"Stop right there, Dovekit and Ivykit!" said Jayfeather. The kits squeaked and dropped their leaves. "Not my herbs!"
"We're sorry," said Ivykit. "It's for Mousefur. She lies in the elders' den all day and won't talk to anyone." "We think she's sick," said Dovekit.
So Jayfeather went to see. Mousefur lay in her nest with a heap of catmint leaves all around her, not eaten. "I'm not sick," she snapped. "Nobody visits anymore. That's all."
Jayfeather sat down. The kits were not thieves, and Mousefur was not sick. There was nothing to mend with herbs at all.
The next morning, Jayfeather carried his herbs into the elders' den and sorted them there. Mousefur sniffed. "That's not tansy, that's yarrow," she said. "I knew that before you were born."
Soon Dovekit and Ivykit came too. Every day Mousefur told them a story, and Jayfeather sorted his leaves and pretended not to listen.
One day Dovekit reached for a catmint leaf. "Not my herbs!" said Mousefur. "Those are Jayfeather's." And Jayfeather's whiskers twitched.
