cats choose us; we don’t own them
The ice inside me melts. Suddenly, I’m burning up and terrified, scared I’ll be too weak to resist.
Scratch that – I’m petrified I’ve already given in.
I even pulled out the can of cat treats. Yes, I’d bought him treats. Give it another month and I’d be collecting his shed whiskers and claws like a proud momma preserving her baby’s first haircut and lost teeth.
Translating from #cat is easy – you just ignore everything, then you decide what you want it to have said, thought, or wanted.
I think this’ll definitely tide me over while we’re apart,
He’s crazy,” Bruno said, twirling a finger in circles around the side of his head and whistling to indicate just how crazy he thought he was. “He went up to a cat on the street the other day and invited her over for afternoon tea.” “What did the cat say?” asked Gretel, who was making a sandwich in the corner of the kitchen. “Nothing.” explained Bruno. “It was a cat.
If you are going to do that, would you mind not jostling the bed so much?’ came a sarcastic voice near the head board. ‘Perhaps you could roll around on the floor.
There is no ‘cat language.’ Painful as it is for us to admit, they don’t need one!
The lustful glances thrown his way made me wish he wasn’t such a damned bowl of eye candy.”
– Cat re: Bones
Minky, the littlest cat, look as if she stepped in snow when she was a kitten and the snow never melted. She is all black except for her white paws and the spots on her head and tail where the snow didn’t melt either.