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She was wearing blue cotton stockings. They

  • She was wearing blue cotton stockings. They stretched tight over her knees so I could see the skin beneath. When she crossed her legs, they made a slight scratching sound.
  • I scooted closer, fascinated, tail twitching. I lay my head on her thigh, purrrring. She rubbed my ears absently & I stretched out as she turned the page of her Harlequin Romance.
  • I kneaded my claws into her stomach and sat on her copy of 'Forbidden Fire.' She tried to push me off as held on tightly. A book won't come between me and the woman who feeds me.
  • I magically turned my 12-lb feline frame into 40 lbs of dead weight. Letting my purrbox hum, I smashed the side of my head into her romance novel. She pretended not to enjoy it, bu
  • t I knew deep down it was really tickling her up the right way. Unfortunately, the lunch I had was certainly not doing the same for me. Dead and decaying bird was a bad choice.
  • Which is why one should never pick a restaurant by throwing darts at a map. What I needed was antacid. I needed her credit card to buy it.
  • There was just enough money and I bought the last one. Next day, the place burned down. One less fish market in town meant we had to go to the next town instead or eat meat.
  • Those were the only choices left to us: travel or eat meat. I could remember the days when we could do both; sometimes even at the same time. The fishmonger had died in the fire bu
  • t his spirit lived on in our chum bucket constantly offering navigation advice and cracking jokes at the expense of Mariana Trench. It was as if he had never died.
  • Even after we threw him over the edge and he was swallowed by a whale we could still hear him. Desperately the whale followed our boat for many miles, begging us to get him out.

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