Cycling, macintosh, natural history and life in Singapore - Archives
Sun 17 Jun 2007
Category : meow
Tiger has frequent bouts of affection, or a need for affection or perhaps simply, a desire to bond.
Whatever the motivation, he abandons his general demeanour that approaches indifference and boldly solicits attention by means of a kneading action at your neck! This is somewhat tolerable by a tough-skinned individual such as myself.
Robbed of the natural, rough surfaces that would otherwise contribute to wear and tear, nothing can stop those claws except a special nail trimmer specially employed for the task.
I like a fella to be as wild as an imprisoned, spayed male can profess to be. So I hold off action until such time when that generous terrain which is my stomach is in danger of evisceration from his ambulation.
There have been a lull in stabbings of late, but unbeknownst to me, he now professes a new sheath that could rival Snoopy's neighbour.
Overcome just now, as he is wont to be, Tiger announced his intentions by a series of distinct mews. Clambering onto that same generous stomach, he clutched my neck in a lovingly lethal grip and embedded his left claws gently but deeply into my neck. Then he pressed in his right claws in as welll and twisted those towards the left paw. The resulting sliver of skin is now pinched neatly up, and his left paw-pad forms an anvil onto which the right claws can slice and dice against.
Which he does, in gently repititive strokes, before he releases the skin and begins the sequence all over again. This is repeated, ad nauseam.
The latter is inspired by a breath so foul to wake the dead. Wafts of it sufffocate my nostrils when he rubs his droolling head, against my chin, purring in feline contentment. I never fail to briefly contemplate introducing this foul-mouthed feline to the joys of brushing one's teeth; there is even cat toothpaste once bought optimistically. I say briefly, for the thought passes soon enough, only to revisit with recrimination during the next such event. Such is the way of men.
But I am made of stern stuff, and boast a tolerance that has denied a flinch from creasing my face.
This time though, even my disdain was defeated and I suffered badly at the hands of this grey-coated nemesis. The extreme pain evoked a compensatory mechanism, and the humour of the situation found me. Tickled, I guffawed out loud, and the fussy strangler lept away in a bolt.
Leaving me to contemplate the sore skin on my neck, the bad pong of his breath and generous portion of his drool.
It's not just dogs and babies, lads, the damm cats drool too.