OWEEEEEEE! We all hear the scream, this time it's ManSlave, Gracie has just run up his naked back as he stood drying his hair in the mirror. He is stood just below the wardrobe, where recently, everyone wants to hang out. On the top shelf are our cat treats. We get one or three after ManSlave has dried his hair.
There he is, vulnerable, holding in the pain of a kitten balanced on his back and shoulder with the only sharp claw she possesses dug into his skin to hold on. He is bleeding from the four scratch marks already and the pain from the hanging nail is making him wince. It was then that I saw my moment. Boing, slippy slippy, grippy and I was up and over a prostrated ManSlave and onto the wardrobe and sat there like the King I am. I left ManSlave to struggle with a slipping Gracie. On my way up I had only used two claws. I am fast and fleet footed, but as heavy as four and a half bags of sugar! I had left puncture wounds in his ribs.
Lillibet, never one to miss an opportunity, follows me in hot pursuit. Anyone bending over near the wardrobe is a likely step ladder to the world beyond and freedom to trek about in the dust and sniff the cobwebs. Oh, it's such a fab place. ManSlave yelps as three and a half bags of sugar round on him and break his spirit. He is bleeding profusely now and poor Gracie is still struggling to hold on, too small to make the wardrobe unaided. ManSlave is gripped with pain and still trying to absorb with his arms flailing about to try and remove the source of the pain, but she skittles about his naked back like a woodpecker on a tree. Round and round she goes and all the while digging in her little feet to hang on.
No, wait, it can't be. Really... oh no. Faith is up and over in one leap, she barely touches him, but he is winded by the further three and a half bags of sugar that have landed squarely on his flank and flown into the air like a trapeze artist. But, unfortunately for ManSlave, this new arrival upsets the balance on the wardrobe and I make a mad dash for freedom from two very busy CatWomen and pound my four and a half bags of sugar down onto his back, knocking Gracie from an almost perfect position for jumping and this creates it's own problems for her and him, but I am free to thunder around the house and YAWP!
The Yawping sets the CatWomen off and down they come like Tate and Lyle, raining down onto ManSlaves blooded body and off down the stairs to join me in a mad few moments of running and yawping. Gracie is still manoeuvring about his body in complete shock, does she follow or tempt fate and try for the empty wardrobe? She of course tries for the wardrobe and in her haste gives ManSlave his final wound, which is deep and unforgiving of a single bag of sugar.
All this time, Momma is sat, hysterically laughing and not really helping matters by raising the happiness and laughter mood and that makes us a little more giddy. Oh what fun this is. Momma dresses ManSlaves wounds and rubs special ointment on him and soothes his furrowed brow. He feels used and battered. But he still rewards us with a snack each, and keeps well away from the wardrobe whilst doing it!
KS =^..^=
There he is, vulnerable, holding in the pain of a kitten balanced on his back and shoulder with the only sharp claw she possesses dug into his skin to hold on. He is bleeding from the four scratch marks already and the pain from the hanging nail is making him wince. It was then that I saw my moment. Boing, slippy slippy, grippy and I was up and over a prostrated ManSlave and onto the wardrobe and sat there like the King I am. I left ManSlave to struggle with a slipping Gracie. On my way up I had only used two claws. I am fast and fleet footed, but as heavy as four and a half bags of sugar! I had left puncture wounds in his ribs.
Lillibet, never one to miss an opportunity, follows me in hot pursuit. Anyone bending over near the wardrobe is a likely step ladder to the world beyond and freedom to trek about in the dust and sniff the cobwebs. Oh, it's such a fab place. ManSlave yelps as three and a half bags of sugar round on him and break his spirit. He is bleeding profusely now and poor Gracie is still struggling to hold on, too small to make the wardrobe unaided. ManSlave is gripped with pain and still trying to absorb with his arms flailing about to try and remove the source of the pain, but she skittles about his naked back like a woodpecker on a tree. Round and round she goes and all the while digging in her little feet to hang on.
No, wait, it can't be. Really... oh no. Faith is up and over in one leap, she barely touches him, but he is winded by the further three and a half bags of sugar that have landed squarely on his flank and flown into the air like a trapeze artist. But, unfortunately for ManSlave, this new arrival upsets the balance on the wardrobe and I make a mad dash for freedom from two very busy CatWomen and pound my four and a half bags of sugar down onto his back, knocking Gracie from an almost perfect position for jumping and this creates it's own problems for her and him, but I am free to thunder around the house and YAWP!
The Yawping sets the CatWomen off and down they come like Tate and Lyle, raining down onto ManSlaves blooded body and off down the stairs to join me in a mad few moments of running and yawping. Gracie is still manoeuvring about his body in complete shock, does she follow or tempt fate and try for the empty wardrobe? She of course tries for the wardrobe and in her haste gives ManSlave his final wound, which is deep and unforgiving of a single bag of sugar.
All this time, Momma is sat, hysterically laughing and not really helping matters by raising the happiness and laughter mood and that makes us a little more giddy. Oh what fun this is. Momma dresses ManSlaves wounds and rubs special ointment on him and soothes his furrowed brow. He feels used and battered. But he still rewards us with a snack each, and keeps well away from the wardrobe whilst doing it!
KS =^..^=
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