Exhausted from running thousands of errands, I collapsed onto the couch. Sighing, I took a deep drink of the bubble tea that I had picked up on my last stop. Closing my eyes, I leaned back and chewed the boba.
Freddie jumped up next to me with a hello chirp. I opened my eyes and grinned at him. “Hello to you too,” I said, petting him with my free hand. He plopped down next to me with his front paws resting on my thigh and purred as I scratched.
A gentle reminder of how we do things: 🐱🐶🐦
- Do not troll the diary. If you hate pootie diaries, leave now. No harm, no foul.
- Please do share pics of your fur kids! If you have health/behavior issues with your pets, feel free to bring it to the community.
- Pooties are cats; Woozles are dogs. Birds... are birds! Peeps are people.
- Whatever happens in the outer blog STAYS in the outer blog. If you’re having “issues” with another Kossack, keep it “out there.” This is a place to relax and play; please treat it accordingly.
- There are some pics we never post: snakes, creepy crawlies, any and all photos that depict or encourage human cruelty toward animals. These are considered “out of bounds” and will not be tolerated. If we alert you to it, please remember that we do have phobic peeps who react strongly to them. If you keep posting banned pics...well then...the Tigress will have to take matters in hand. Or, paw.
I bent down and kissed the top of his head. He shook me off like he always did when I tried to show affection in a human way. I giggled and went back to petting him.
“That’s good,” he said.
“You like that?”
“Good,” he purred.
“What if I do this?” I asked, running my fingers down his spine.
“Yes, good!”
His purrs increased in volume and I worked my way from his head to his tail then back again. His butt lifted when I reached the base of his tail, and lowered as I moved back toward his head.
Freddie’s claws dug into my thigh and retracted back into his paws over and over as he made happiness biscuits. It didn’t feel great, but he was having a good time so I tried to ignore my discomfort.
My fingers reached his shoulder blades and I stopped there to give the spot a good massage. He extended his neck out and gave me a blinky laser stare.
“I take it you like this,” I said.
“I like this,” he agreed, his purr now strong enough to shake the couch.
“I guess I should keep going,” I said.
“Don’t stop!” he demanded.
“You’re a demanding little thing, aren’t you?” I said, obediently continuing my attentions.
“Less talk, more pet,” he said.
I laughed and moved my petting fingers to the top of his head, scratching behind his ear.
He closed his eyes, blissed out.
I switched from scratching to stroking just in case it was becoming too much. I didn’t want to trigger petting aggression. I like to keep my blood inside my skin when I can.
He rested his head on top of his paws and gave a contented little sigh. I reclined my seat, wanting to relax and give him my undivided attention. He stood and stretched (“Ohhh! Good stretch!”) then opened his eyes and stared at me. “More petting?” he asked, hopeful.
I grinned and reached under him to rub his belly.
Freddie loves to have his belly rubbed, especially when he’s standing.
He pressed his head against my side and turned the purr up to eleven.
“Is that the good spot?” I asked. “Is that your favorite spot?”
He was too euphoric to answer, so I kept on.
I could feel the grin on my face. There is nothing better than feeling the vibration of a cat purr under your fingers.
He rubbed his head against my side then twisted around and nipped my arm. I stopped rubbing his belly. “Too much?” I asked.
“It’s enough,” he said.
“What if I rub your cheeks?” I asked, digging my fingers into the sides of his face.
“Ohhh,” he said, closing his eyes.
“Is dis too much?” I asked. “Is dis bery good?”
Without opening his eyes he said, “not the baby talk, human. I’m not a baby.”
“Oh my god, yes you are. You are so the baby.”
“It’s true,” he said. “I am the baby.”
“I should pick you up and hold you like the baby.”
“I should bite you like the baby.”
“I know the best spot,” I said, scratching his chin.
“This isn’t the best spot,” he said.
“Not your chin,” I said. “Right here.” I moved my hand to his chest and rubbed the top of his sternum. He stretched out his neck and closed his eyes.
“Right here,” he moaned. “That’s the best spot!”
“I know!” I said. “I know all your favorites!”
He bit me again and I dropped my hand. “Too much?” I asked.
“Too much,” he agreed.
Happy Caturday, Peeps! Now I’ve given away all his secrets. I’ll have to do one on the spots he hates. Peeps, should you meet Freddie, do not touch his tail, his paws, and for the love of all that’s holy do not pat him. He won’t attack or anything, but he will whine in a way that will make you feel really, really guilty.