Soft. He brushes up against me.
He wants it, I can tell.
His green eyes lock my brown ones, pleading.
If I don't answer him right away he continues to rub,
slowly circling me, softer, slower.
Finally, I feel myself beginning to cave,
finding him less of a bothersome nuisance
and more of a loving, caring nuisance,
and I start to want it too.
I bend over, and he comes near,
and my fingers lock in his hairy back
and I pet the cat just the way he likes it.
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