Plug Your Own Pet

[ElizabethWest]

Zoë, Princess of Pomerania (she has snow on her fur in the picture)
Less than 10lbs. Princess Perv. Perfect.

Awww, she is a little princess. If you live in Florida, where did she find snow?

 

[elsol]

Zoë, Princess of Pomerania (she has snow on her fur in the picture)
Less than 10lbs. Princess Perv. Perfect.

She's sooo cute.

Sincerely,
ElSol

 

[LadyJeanne]

http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2004-8/805074/PrincessSnowy.JPG

Zoë, Princess of Pomerania (she has snow on her fur in the picture)
Less than 10lbs. Princess Perv. Perfect.

Yui, is that the panty-licking Princess Perv? She has the sweetest little face buried in all that fluffy fur - I would never suspect that innocent looking thing had an underunderwear fetish...

 

[yui]

Awww, she is a little princess. If you live in Florida, where did she find snow?

I've got a cabin of sorts in the mountains in NC. I use is mostly in the warmer months, but occasionally I'll go up in the winter. When I drive, I take Zoë. It took her about thirty seconds to decide that snow was for malamutes.

She's sooo cute.

Sincerely,
ElSol

Thank you. Krum is awfully cute, too. Do you really think he'll weigh 120lbs?! Oya! That's a big pup!

Yui, is that the panty-licking Princess Perv? She has the sweetest little face buried in all that fluffy fur - I would never suspect that innocent looking thing had an underunderwear fetish...

Yes, this is the panty-stealing Princess. She is the sweetest little perv you will ever meet. She looks like Disney's version of a fox, but sometimes she looks like a badger when she walks.

I love that dog.

 

[SlickTony]

I've been fortunate enough to have two glossy black cats who loved me. (In between was a plush-coated black cat who liked to come up to you in bed while you were either about to fall asleep or have sex, and insist on having her ears twirled; she also liked to wash people, and she had the roughest tongue of any cat I ever knew. But I'm not sure how much she loved us.)

Doc is approximately two or three years old, and we got him from a local cat shelter. We had met him a few months before, but we had just recently lost Zandra (the plush-coated cat) and I wasn't sure I was ready for another black cat. Anyway, we then met Ziba, the Aby-tabby, and went home with her. But when we lost Zoey (the Tuxedo in my avatar) we went to the shelter again, and Doc was still there. So I figured we were meant to take him home.

Doc is a shoulder-riding cat, and I have to be on the lookout for him because when he wants to get on your shoulders, he does. He seems to like me best, although he'll get on anyone: the girl who sold us our water system, the guy who came to test it after it was installed, my son's friends, my daughter, anyone else who comes into the house. Once there, he stomps back and forth on your shoulders, curling his tail over your head, purring, and rubbing against your ears. I wear studs in the cartilage near the tops of mine, and frequently I can hear the click of his fangs as he cheek-rubs my ears, marking them as his. He's also a lap cat, and can stay there for a long time, sometimes purring so intensely he coughs. When I'm in bed or lying on the sofa, he comes up and stretches out on my chest, sometimes extending a soft warm paw and laying it on my mouth. Or he'll get close enough to give me a passionate noserub.

Whereas Ziba, the Aby-tabby, arrived alarmingly skinny and has since filled out to the point of approaching plumpness, I don't think Doc has gained more than a pound since we got him, and that was about a week before Christmas, year before last. He's a Lean Mean Eating Machine, but I don't know where he puts it. He puts a certain amount of energy galumphing around the house with Ziba, whom he mostly has an adversarial relationship with, and scratching. He doesn't scratch the furniture, although we've had cats before who did that. No, his passion is wood. especially the bathroom door jambs. He has scratched big splintery notches into them and the woodwork will have to be replaced if we ever sell the house.

Before I brought him home, I'd had misgivings about his shoulder-riding ways. I wasn't sure if I was the owner for him. I envisioned little holes and bloodstains on all my good blouses, and thought maybe the proper person for him was some hard-bitten biker whose leathers and tattoos would not be affected by claw marks one way or the other. But then my imagination went further and I thought of the biker perhaps flinging him across the room in a meth-fueled temper, and when I had the chance to bring him home, I did. My worries about the little holes and the bloodstains all came true; he's always jumping up on my back when I'm wearing my gi, and frequently bloodstains turn up on the tunic. And he won't let me trim his nails. In fact, as gentle as he is, he goes ballistic when I try. I can play with his paws, and kiss them, and squeeze them so the claws come out, and clean under my own nails with them, and silly stuff like that, but if I approach him with nail clippers--if I even utter the words "nail clippers" he's up and outta there. You'd think two people could overpower a 9 lb cat, but he struggles so powerfully I'm afraid he'll hurt himself. But a gi gets washed frequently, and the blood has always come out.

It's worth it, though, when I'm relaxed and he's curled up on top of me, his eyes closed with love and trust, and his paws flexing with pleasure. Whenever I come home from work or even the store, he'll be sitting on top the shoe organizer in the foyer, waiting for me to come in. Sometimes he'll let me put my purse down and my keys up on the hook before he jumps, and sometimes he just can't wait.