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.

Started: 2014-01-14 11:55:46
Finished: 2017-07-23 11:07:24

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