Late last night, my wife was awakened by an unnatural love.
Ben Franklin, having been denied the affections of his masters since the arrival of their son, took a firm grasp on his feminine friend Mona and attempted to take things to the next level. He did this despite the fact that his precious testes were callously tossed into a veteranarian’s dumpster several years ago.
Like the real Ben Franklin, our cat is not one to let biological futility or marriage vows stop him from seizing the rough love that he so cravenly desires.
After a swat and a scold from my wife, Ben Franklin scampered off the bed and down the hall for an extended, vigorous session of groin-licking. Mona remained still all along, as disinterested as she always in all manner of interaction that doesn’t involve birds. If she were a thoughtful companion, she would recognize that brusque, silent humping is Franklin’s love language. However, she did not reciprocate. Their relationship is a passionless arrangement, like Bill and Hillary Clinton.
Here’s wishing some one-sided cat love to all of you today!