Create An Essay About Mole People

The Life of a Mole
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The Life of a Mole
The word mole brings many thoughts to mind. In our day and age, thanks to the aggressive media consumption of the youth, a person my age may think of a police informant. A coward of a person with enough courage to risk their life for the sake of a less than generous reward from the police to snitching on somebody or about something. I would not want to put my life on the line like that. Not even in this story. If you own a lawn in your home, the first thought you would have is probably of the annoying little rodents that dig up tunnels below the ground, and make a mess of your efforts to grow a garden. The two are not moles I have in mind but I will forgive you if you referred to them. Let me tell you about the moles living within your society- those in abandoned and deserted places under the city. People like me, who have become part of the forgotten; forgotten by people we once knew.
There is a hollow shaft in the ground that runs along the road; close to a cave I made my home, which leads to an opening on the opposite side of a restaurant. This opening has become a vantage point from which I call out to a white cat I named Pearl. She basks in the rising sun outside the eatery every morning, and is punctual with her timing. The first time I saw her while staring at the mammoth of humanity coursing through the streets, her brilliant blue eyes caught my attention. She had escaped from a brawl with a grey stray cat in the alleyway next to the building with a bite wound on her back and a slight limp, which I learnt she sustained in an attempt to flee from a brutal beating. That day a chef caught her stealing meat from the kitchen counter and decided to get rid of her. She had frustrated the staff by stealing food and being a nuisance to restaurant patrons as they ate. The poor thing escaped death in the eatery, only to face a wild attack in the alley. That was the day when we met. I could hear her whimper from across the street and called out to her in a tender voice. I consider myself a cat whisperer; and because I knew my way about the creatures, I got her to come to me. We have enjoyed three years of friendship.
My name is Liza. I am at the watch out beside the road waiting for Pearl to come before I carry on with other activities I had planned for today. She will come to me and I will carry her to my cave as I stroke her fur for breakfast. Her presence keeps the fat mice that patrol the streets under the ground at bay. None escapes her sharp claws. I have lived under the busy streets above me for five years now. I am not attending college looking for fancy degrees and diplomas like kids my age. I am looking for the next errand I can run to afford my n...