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Watch Where You're Pointing That Thing!

Last week, I saw something I had never seen before.

Our boy cat, Mr. Cinnamon Nacho, was finally budding into a fine young gentleman cat, though I use the phrase gentleman lightly.

You know, that delicate peak into manhood when they are child no more and they seek the amorous clandestine moments with a lady. When their young, fertile loins ache for the caress of a lovely maiden so they may soldier on through that threshold that sits between childhood and adulthood.

Yeah. Horny Cat Express.

The problem is that our lady is a Senior Citizen, has been celibate for years, and seems to prefer it that way. This did nothing to deter our young romantic though. She would rightfully wallop him when he would become too aggressive with his wooing. Or, in true Dame fashion, she would act as if he did not even exist.

One day, I walked into our library and saw the two of them on the stairs. She was holding court, looking down upon her Queendom. It took me a moment to notice what he was doing.

Wait? What was he doing?

Meow Meow, the reigning Queen of the household, was lounging on her side, halfway up the stairs to her lair. She emanated the cynicism and boredom of a well-seasoned cougar drowning her sorrows in a dry martini at a smoky bar.

Cinnamon was making his over-eager move on the lovely lady, trying to impress her with his energy and style. He was bouncing on her back end, grinding against her, cocksure of his ability to win her affections. It reminded me of the dance-floor creeper of yesteryear who thought rubbing their pelvis against women's behinds was a surefire way to get us to swoon for him. You know that guy. We all know that guy. Everyone has seen him tossed out of the club.

I couldn't help but laugh at our dear, sweet, and insanely dumb boy as he shot his shot with the lovely lady.

You see, he was backward.

That's right. He was humping her...yet facing the wrong direction.


Sounds about right.

One week later and he is now singing soprano in the kitty choir. Of course, I had the usual worries that it would change his demeanor and personality. I was concerned he would instantly be changed into a lazy lump of entitlement.

Boy, was I wrong!

My penance for taking his balls?

The night before last, I was awakened by him aggressively playing with my hair. This is highly unusual as he is usually too busy knocking everything over in the middle of the night. Once I was fully alert, I turned to look at him. He gazed directly into my eyes with a look of sheer contempt on his face. Then I felt it.

As he stared me down, his gaze dark and purposeful, he pissed right down my back.

He was so freaking bold that he didn't even run when I threw a pillow at him. He sniffed the air and turned his head as if to say "Serves you right."

Oh, so now he figures out which direction to point that thing?

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