She knew he loved her,but there was something off about him today. Not something that would be immediately perceptible,of course,he was the epitome of poise and composure,especially after one or two of those shiny silvery things he stuck up his arm. No. this was different, she had seen him long enough to know that there was something amiss. Heck,she had even spawned two litters since she wandered into this mess which passed off as his home. Something was wrong. Even the whirring of the fan seemed awkward. She could feel it seeping in through her furry exterior, the same way she felt his hand stroking her. Stroke stroke pinch. Stroke stroke pinch. In happier times it used to be stroke stroke stroke. Stroke stroke stroke. pinch sowed the seeds of doubt in her feline mind.
You see,the feline rule book is pretty unambiguous about a pinch. It unequivocally communicates the fact that the guy/girl is a mess. Her tail began to twitch rather violently,the pinch to respond in kind,and she let out the catty equivalent of a wince. He seemed to say something,no,shout something,and then took off in the direction of the kitchen. She needed some air to clear up her mind. So four contemplative legs carried the gingerbread mass,a brooding tail in tow,across the teapoi,which was littered with a lot of needles and spoons and out through the door.
His guy hadn’t come,and neither did the Thing that came along with him. Scarcity,he was told. Supply demand mismatch. He didn’t need economics,he needed the Thing. The last bit of his stock sat there in front of him,on a spoon,awaiting the warmth from his lighter underneath it. But he wasn’t in a mood to cook up,there was something bothering him. Stroke,stroke,pinch. She was his only companion,and she got his undiluted affection and care,there anyway wasn’t anyone else to split it with,but her sinfully soft fur was not helping today. His spirits,which should have been high after morning’s needle were woefully low. Was it that the Thing no longer sent him into raptures of ecstasy like it did before? The very thought was alarming,blasphemous even.. He had been doing this Thing for the better part of 1 year,and this was the first time he didn’t feel good. Stroke stroke pinch. Her tail was twitching violently,and it was making him lose his train of thought. Stroke stroke PINCH. Meow. Sounded like the wahwah pedal got jammed or something. So where was he? Yes,Nothingness. It seemed as if the homeymoon had ended and the ship had entered rocky waters. The needle used to make love to him in those days. Now it was just nonchalant,indifferent penetration,as if he were a harlot. Trainspotting was on tv,and the withdrawal bit drove him nuts. Was this his withdrawal phase. Was this the annulment of a bad marriage? Or was it that his guy was giving him rubbish? Was he looting him? He was quick to dismiss this possibility. Contemplative stroke stroke pinch. The thing was,the bond between the Thing guy and the taker guy was founded on a rock solid base of trust and comradeship. Betrayal was for the other side of town,the blazer clad politicians and industrialists and all. A parent might let down his child,but a Thing guy would never let down his Taker. Breach of trust was out of the question. Oh what the heck,the spoon was now being the seductress. No lighter. Damn. He got up rather labouriously and heaved his mass off in search of the lighter. It was then that he heard the spoon hit terra firma. She was stupid, but even stupidity couldn’t justify the lack of civility in walking over the teapoi. Oh,wait, that was the last of his stock. No more Thing. Nothing. It was time she felt the enraged sharpness of his knife.