This morning my cat, Dodger, was full of passion. I sat on the steps near the staircase landing, my toes hanging over the edge, and he rubbed against them
m'yowww'ing at me. The more I scratched him the more he turned to give me tiny love bites. He was so full of sensuous catness. The roiling and rubbing and nipping at my toes and fingers. Harry came out of the bathroom and that cat rushed to the corner of the railing and pushed his head through, a whoosh of passion rushing over him towards his boy. "Pet me! Rub me! I looooove you!" he seemed to say.
A little while later I found him here:
curled up on a sleeping bag on the floor of my bedroom (Toby had slept there the night before).
A little while after that I found a BIG dead mouse smack in the middle of the kitchen floor.
Aha.
More like, proud brave kitty, home from the kill. (Although, I will admit the mouse seemed almost flattened on one side and quite dead...not sure if Dodger did it. But he was oh so proud all the same!)
There's nothing like battle to turn on the passions.
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