I've recently adopted a kitten. I know, it seems like it's not my style, but this kitten was too much like me to leave at the Animal Rescue League. I remember seeing her for the first time, smoking through the bars and giving me the finger. At the same time, her eyes screamed 'Love Me!'.
I was fucked before I signed the papers.
By the time I got home, I was fucked and bleeding. Her nails were sharp and a cigarette burn was seething in my lap, leaving me gasping with the first taste of regrets. She licked the burn right through my jeans, leaving a rather awkward sensation to distract me while driving. I scraped the curb twice, and narrowly avoided a ticket. Buyer beware?
Buyer be scared.
Getting her home was no easy feat, and it wasn't the end of it. She tossed my entire fridge, clearly a cat of higher standards than my unrefined palate. It was nothing but mahi-mahi and soy milk for this rarefied pussy, and if I didn't like it, well...I liked having a face, didn't I? It was now official – I was a battered wife in my own home, victimized by a kitten.
It got much worse when the tomcats started visiting, covered in tattoos and high with all manner of alleycat candies. The smell won't leave my couch.
So, if you could please hurry? If I don't get this new diamond-studded leather collar to her, I don't know what's going to happen to me! I'm at my wit's end, a broken man, a slave to the feral queen of my once-prosperous kingdom. She won't let me into my own bedroom without that caviar, so fuck you, I will not accept a substitute brand!
If I bring everything home early, she might even let me pet her. So please, if there is a God that isn't her, have some fucking mercy and just use my third credit card.
Please?
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