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brutal_critters
Mar. 1st, 2007 12:35 amCats are people, right?
The White Cat lies on her side--always the left side--and pets herself sensuously on my hand. A purr avalanches through the phlegm in her chest, and her claws prick me as they glide in and out of their sheathes. Her slanted green eyes stare at me wisely from under the patch of beige fur that half-covers the right one and travels partway up that ear. Do you know what I know? That marvelous tail, sepia with a white tip, twitches back and forth. She hugs my hand with her front feet, pink pads like pink pearls, rubbing her lips and nose on it and love-biting me between my thumb and forefinger--not too hard; she knows that humans are fragile. Her stiff white whiskers are a counterpoint to that soft belly fur I could bury myself in forever.
All too soon, the sensations become too much for her. She becomes wild, laying her ears back, kicking with her back paws, biting just a little harder. But before she gets to the point where she gets in trouble (and she knows exactly where that point is), she leaps from the couch and sits facing away from me, the brown-gray spot on her back in stark contrast to the clean whiteness of the rest of her body. She licks her side furiously, once, twice, then stands and makes a dignified exit from the room, her tail the exclamation point on the experience.
Yeah, that's pretty urple, if I say so myself. This is why I don't like writing description.
The White Cat lies on her side--always the left side--and pets herself sensuously on my hand. A purr avalanches through the phlegm in her chest, and her claws prick me as they glide in and out of their sheathes. Her slanted green eyes stare at me wisely from under the patch of beige fur that half-covers the right one and travels partway up that ear. Do you know what I know? That marvelous tail, sepia with a white tip, twitches back and forth. She hugs my hand with her front feet, pink pads like pink pearls, rubbing her lips and nose on it and love-biting me between my thumb and forefinger--not too hard; she knows that humans are fragile. Her stiff white whiskers are a counterpoint to that soft belly fur I could bury myself in forever.
All too soon, the sensations become too much for her. She becomes wild, laying her ears back, kicking with her back paws, biting just a little harder. But before she gets to the point where she gets in trouble (and she knows exactly where that point is), she leaps from the couch and sits facing away from me, the brown-gray spot on her back in stark contrast to the clean whiteness of the rest of her body. She licks her side furiously, once, twice, then stands and makes a dignified exit from the room, her tail the exclamation point on the experience.
Yeah, that's pretty urple, if I say so myself. This is why I don't like writing description.
