Dear Cat,
You and I have been dwelling in the same space for a while now. I like to think we pretty much know each others routine and what not by now. I kind of just figured you know I rub one out twice a day, I don’t expect you to understand this need as you no longer have your ovaries, but trust me when I say, I NEED to. Its kind of like I understand your need to run around the house and chase imaginary things, fuck my OCD gets the best of me at times too so I let you be. However this shit has to stop
If you ever took the CAT SATs, you might have seen this example analogy:
Getting off : me :: licking your ass : you.
Having established that, I request of you: Please do not disturb the fucking blinds when I’m watching porn!
You’re a cat, not a dog, so don’t give me that puppy-eyed look. You know what you’re doing. As soon as I settle back in my chair with some hot chick, full-screen, you awaken from a dead sleep and run through the floor-to-ceiling blinds. I often shriek and my rhythm gets all fucked up like Dolly Parton trying to do the “drop it low and make it clap”.
I should have gotten a ferret.
Hugs and purrs,
Tayjon
P.S. And don’t stare at my tits. You give the same look to a string before you’re about to pounce on it. That frightens me.
A LOT!!!