I adopted my kitten from an unwilling feral mother. When I found her litter in my backyard, she bailed. Like most pussies, the mom got intimidated at the sight of my burly physique. She moved all but the cutest baby, so I made the last one a member of my cool Kim clan.
After feeding the kitten from my supple bottle, it grew up into one striking orange beauty. It’s a shame she’s a jerk. I would have named her Red Sonja if I had foreseen her violent warrior nature. But, I named her Faye because I only knew of her cuddles at the time.
I now have the scratched chest of a rapist. Every time I put on a shirt, Faye thinks it’s fun to launch into my torso. I always shriek at her method of acupuncture.
Cat blogs state that I need toys to keep Faye occupied. I spent a small fortune on distractions. The purpose is to teach her to separate pouncing the toys from loving the humans. Sadly, she’s too fond of drawing blood. I doubt she’ll ever stop trying to murder me.
Faye’s favorite toys are mice stuffed with catnip. She loves getting high. Anytime I need to work, I throw a laced mouse on the ground and Faye flurries about for hours.
There are times when I wish I could grab a catnipped mouse and play with her. I just can’t play with belligerent druggies. She growls. When Faye’s got her mouth on a mouse, she shoots me a stink-eye and swats her evil razor claws at my hands.
I was a fool to fall in love at first sight. Now I’m trapped in marriage to an abusive catnipoholic. Faye just lies around the house all day, naked. She exerts her dominance by degrading me into shoveling her poop out of sand and doesn’t even make herself dinner. I have to fetch her every meal, or else she glares and meows about how I’ve been letting my looks go.
I still love her though. I love her for the kitten she was and the cat she could be. The nights are sweet as she snuggles by my side, despite her breath always reeking of the nip. I dread the mornings when she insists on biting my toes.