"Why didn't I have you declawed while I had the chance?" Rachelle muttered darkly as twenty pounds of grey feline sized up her lap for colonization.
Her options on the couch for protection were slim: Justus' pullover sweater—one of her favorites on him, or her own thin white button-up. Thick or thin, the choice was obvious.
She yanked over the sweater in the nick of time, just before Sophocles pounced, tested the material, then curled up onto her stomach, tearing the clothing until it was sufficiently comfortable.
"Crazy cat," she griped at him.
Undisturbed and thoroughly content, Sophocles purred.
Kingdoms and Thorn Ficlet: Ode on the Death of a Favorite Shirt, Torn in the Claws of Sophocles
"Why didn't I have you declawed while I had the chance?" Rachelle muttered darkly as twenty pounds of grey feline sized up her lap for colonization.
Her options on the couch for protection were slim: Justus' pullover sweater—one of her favorites on him, or her own thin white button-up. Thick or thin, the choice was obvious.
She yanked over the sweater in the nick of time, just before Sophocles pounced, tested the material, then curled up onto her stomach, tearing the clothing until it was sufficiently comfortable.
"Crazy cat," she griped at him.
Undisturbed and thoroughly content, Sophocles purred.