In which I amuse you with cat stories
Mingo likes to suck his thumb.
Or would, had he a thumb. (I have no thumb and I must suck.)
Instead, he sucks his paw. He sucks his whole. gorram. paw. slurp…slurp…slurp.
He does this when he’s content. So if you pet him, and you’re all nice and cuddly and yum the cat he warmeth the lap, all of a sudden…slurp…slurp…slurp. Fuckin ew.
I’ve tried to stop him. I’ve put my hand between paw and slurpyface. He persists. He will either prevail, or depart the lap, or (heaven forbid!) suck something else. I fear this last. ‘tother night he started sucking a pearl on my beaded sweater. Suck the paw, fertheluvagawd!
He is, I should tell you, transfixed. Rapt. His eyes get squinty, and I’ve noticed that there’s a pause. A paw pause. He holds the paw up in front of him, and he squints, and slooooowly he approaches the paw, and then slurp…slurp…slurp. Leading me to believe there’s a profound sensuality to the experience, one so deep that he teases and prolongs it. Which is, y’know, a little gross.
slurp…slurp…slurp.
