Crap. It's all crap. Living is crap. Life has no meaning. None. Nowhere to be found. Crap. Why doesn't anybody realize this?
He f**ks even better than he looks”, I settled on saying. Several heads turned. I didn’t care; I was pissed. “And that beautiful face is going to be clamped between my legs as soon as we get home, don’t you worry.
...cursing my heels and debating whether it was faster to stop and take them off--damn ankle straps!--or keep running with the potential neck breakers. Wouldn’t that make a charming epitaph? Here lies Cat. Killed not by fang, but Ferragamos.
Don't care for her tongue, do you? How strange. I find it one of my favorite parts. Bones to Gregor
No one believes you’re serious until bodies start to fall. -Vlad
I resisted the urge to hurl my plate at him. “Of course not, Ian. It’s just that normally at this hour, Bones and I are fucking like rabbits, so I get twitchy when I have to wait for him to climb aboard.
Church was doing what he often did when dropped - lying on his back with all four legs in the air, pretending to be dead in order to induce guilt in his owners.
Who knows what goes on in the mind of a cat?
It's the perfect solution. We argue all the time. We can't stand each other. It's like we're already married.
A philosopher is a blind man in a dark room looking for a black cat that isn't there. A theologian is the man who finds it.
I have lived with several Zen masters -- all of them cats.
It’s not the claws of the cat that bothers me. Rather, it’s the fact that I gave him a reason to use them.
I think this’ll definitely tide me over while we’re apart,”Bones laughed, dragging me into his arms with far more strength and quickness than was fair, considering I still had trouble making my limbs operate. “Oh, Kitten,” he murmured as his lips dragged down my throat. “You didn’t really think we were done, did you?
There was once a tiger-striped cat. This cat died a million deaths, and lived a million lives, and in those lives, various people owned him. None of those people he cared for. This cat was not afraid of death. One life, the cat became a stray cat, which meant it was free. And it met a white female cat. They became mates, and lived together. Time passed, the white cat passed away of old age. And the tiger- striped cat cried a million times. Eventually, the cat died again. But this time, it didn't come back to life.
Who shall tell the lady's grief When her Cat was past relief? Who shall number the hot tears Shed o'er her, beloved for years? Who shall say the dark dismay Which her dying caused that day?
Humans often thought the glass was empty when there was still more in there. I guess if you reached deep enough, you could find something even when there seemed to be nothing left. I always did.
I dread this power he has over me. It makes me want to tell him all my secrets and see if he still wants me.
I had learned that a dexterous, opposable thumb stood among the hallmarks of human success. We had maintained, even exaggerated, this important flexibility of our primate forebears, while most mammals had sacrificed it in specializing their digits. Carnivores run, stab, and scratch. My cat may manipulate me psychologically, but he'll never type or play the piano.
I absolutely adore Agatha Christie; so much so that when I received a kitten for my Christmas present, I called her Agatha, and I already have a cat called Hercule!
If you hold a cat by the tail you learn things you cannot learn any other way.