I feed it, and water it, and pet it, and whisper sweet nothings in its little kitty ears and all it does in return is lie around on the carpet soaking up rays and glancing at me with that "go ahead and stroke my belly if you really must" look; all the while knowing she reins supreme and I will continue in my role as her servile companion for the sheer pleasure of capturing this sublime feline on film, dazed and drunken on the rays of the setting sun. Ah, the life of a cat; to be one for only a day. Why do we love them so? It is an enigma. Perhaps only they know the secret of our affections.
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1 comment:
You had me laughing out loud with the sun-drunk wench title! And aren't the female cats just the thing? They have an extra bit of that something that makes us their servents.
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