I have some news to break to you all.
There is someone special in my life.
He is male.
He goes by the name of Fang.
He is 18.
He is great in bed.
He has a hairy back.
He is cross-eyed.
HE IS A CAT!!!
Fang is the shadow in the dark, windowless hallway. He has risen from his slumber on a chair in the dining room or the fur throw in my room (which he blends into!). On seeing me walk past he casually strolls around the corner into the light of the ground floor living room, his thick, luxurious Mink-like fur exchanging the dark of the shadows for a silvery-grey mottle. His tail lazily flicks up and around the corner of the wall as though for balance as he leans into.....
...wait....
....tail?
...HE HAS NO TAIL!
Poor little blighter... what have they been doing to you here little Fang? I suspect that Mark and Don have a tail-pohobia seeing as neither of the dogs has a tail either. Or perhaps they fixed the tails to the back of their bikes like fox-tails? Oh you never had one?
Fang glides over to me and decides to sit at my feet, so calmly that you almost think he is hoping you have not noticed his arrival. He glances around, blinking as though he has just been pulled out of a deep sleep, the bright light playing havoc on his retinas. And then there is the bald patch on his back where the old thing has neglected himself and a tuft of fur has been removed. Of course he has no idea, in fact I am sure that if he was human he would be like one of those middle aged Englishmen who only cuts his hair under duress... the wife threatening to leave if the locks don't get a chop! This patch suddenly gives puss a comical appearance.
And then he looks up to catch my gaze.
Oh Fang. How can I take you seriously as you gaze up to ask for some love, when you appear to be staring intently at an imaginary fly on the tip of your nose? A cross-eyed cat?! Do you suppose that he is aware he has a special gaze? Does he see two of everything?!
I love to stroke this pussy... he gets such a thrill from it. The paws stretch and relax and the purring rattles the windows. And stroke his belly as he is standing? The back arches up and he stands on the tips of his paws while taking little struts at the same time.... the joy is written all over him.
Fang prefers the dog food. And Fang likes to drink from a tap in the bathroom. And Fang likes to go outside occasionally, retreating as soon as the exciteable pups bound over to lick and sniff him in equal measure. And Fang likes to be with people.
So as I get into bed the Fang struts in and musters the energy to leap onto the bed. Purring wildly he plods over towards my head and begins to find a comfortable spot curled up against me and under my arm. Sleep is only disturbed by his weak bladder, so the occasional plodding of paws on the carpet can be heard as he disappears to relieve himself. Once back in his spot at my side he reats a paw on my arm and drifts off contentedly....
...and then his snoring starts....
There is someone special in my life.
He is male.
He goes by the name of Fang.
He is 18.
He is great in bed.
He has a hairy back.
He is cross-eyed.
HE IS A CAT!!!
Fang is the shadow in the dark, windowless hallway. He has risen from his slumber on a chair in the dining room or the fur throw in my room (which he blends into!). On seeing me walk past he casually strolls around the corner into the light of the ground floor living room, his thick, luxurious Mink-like fur exchanging the dark of the shadows for a silvery-grey mottle. His tail lazily flicks up and around the corner of the wall as though for balance as he leans into.....
...wait....
....tail?
...HE HAS NO TAIL!
Poor little blighter... what have they been doing to you here little Fang? I suspect that Mark and Don have a tail-pohobia seeing as neither of the dogs has a tail either. Or perhaps they fixed the tails to the back of their bikes like fox-tails? Oh you never had one?
Fang glides over to me and decides to sit at my feet, so calmly that you almost think he is hoping you have not noticed his arrival. He glances around, blinking as though he has just been pulled out of a deep sleep, the bright light playing havoc on his retinas. And then there is the bald patch on his back where the old thing has neglected himself and a tuft of fur has been removed. Of course he has no idea, in fact I am sure that if he was human he would be like one of those middle aged Englishmen who only cuts his hair under duress... the wife threatening to leave if the locks don't get a chop! This patch suddenly gives puss a comical appearance.
And then he looks up to catch my gaze.
Oh Fang. How can I take you seriously as you gaze up to ask for some love, when you appear to be staring intently at an imaginary fly on the tip of your nose? A cross-eyed cat?! Do you suppose that he is aware he has a special gaze? Does he see two of everything?!
I love to stroke this pussy... he gets such a thrill from it. The paws stretch and relax and the purring rattles the windows. And stroke his belly as he is standing? The back arches up and he stands on the tips of his paws while taking little struts at the same time.... the joy is written all over him.
Fang prefers the dog food. And Fang likes to drink from a tap in the bathroom. And Fang likes to go outside occasionally, retreating as soon as the exciteable pups bound over to lick and sniff him in equal measure. And Fang likes to be with people.
So as I get into bed the Fang struts in and musters the energy to leap onto the bed. Purring wildly he plods over towards my head and begins to find a comfortable spot curled up against me and under my arm. Sleep is only disturbed by his weak bladder, so the occasional plodding of paws on the carpet can be heard as he disappears to relieve himself. Once back in his spot at my side he reats a paw on my arm and drifts off contentedly....
...and then his snoring starts....
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