He’s looking at me

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Warning, discussing carnivore thoughts.

You know you are truly owned by a car when it sits on the fridge and stares at you. Where is my cat milk? It seems to say. Is it properly chilled? Not too cold, but just enough to cool the cat on a warm afternoon.

Is there roast chicken in the fridge for him. Delicately flavoured with just the right amount of jelly juices.

You know you are owned when the cat looks down at you, then puts his paw out and catches the shoulder of your tee shirt, claw holding firm and stopping you in your tracks.

If cats could speak what would they say? Probably feed me. Hold me, look after me. Sort out my litter tray, human.

What do we get for this care? Kneeding paws that turn to claws, licked boyyoms then they lick your hand, ew! But you can’t fight those eyes. Those staring eyes.

Crossed paws

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The cat has taken up residence on the microwave. He likes it in the kitchen because I think it’s cooler for him in the evening. The other cat sleeps upstairs. I just move things out of his way and he settles down. I like it when he crosses his front paws over his nose. He looks so cute.

Snuggled.

Paws crossed,

keeping the light out,

closed eyes,

relaxed,

asleep.

Sweet.

Paws twitch,

mad dream,

running and chasing

in his mind.

You can’t catch me,

he thinks,

as he curls into a tighter ball.

 

Crossed cats paws 🐾

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You sat a while, washing, paws crossed in contentment. A tiny leaf near to you, ready for the swift pounce when you see it again. Then dance around the room, catching, lifting it up in the air, only to see it fall again. Your eyes gleam as you lick a back leg, plotting a swift twitch of your paw. A substitute mouse or bird, but far less cruel. Cat you have got cattitude!