“My fur coat is still wet, not from the rain, but from where my cat was licking it. Well, my future fur coat. I have yet to kill and skin it.”

“I let the feeling wash over me, and then I dried off with a fur coat and went for a walk on my unicycle.”

“Cats have tongues with the texture of bricks, and fur as warm and soft as blankets.”

“My writing, it’s all I have. Well, aside from my health. And shelter, food, and clothing. Oh, and my cat.”

“Sometimes I wish I had been born with cat fur, whiskers, and a tail, though I guess I am grateful that at least I was born with my very own litter box.”

“Cats are bundles of cute, wrapped in fur and purrs.”

“The moonlight filtered through the trees like water from a strainer. Agatha’s hair was the color and consistency of wet noodles. I said she might look sexy as a redhead, and she asserted she’d be staying a creamy alfredo. I touched her tight skin they way a drummer might strum a guitar. She called me Mozart, and I didn’t know how to reply so I simply belched. Before I had finished, her open mouth was on mine, and she was huffing my essence like David Hasselhoff hoofing it to the liquor store. I remember what color panties she wore. They were transparent with the texture of flesh. I rubbed her back while she purred. Her skin was as soft as a fur coat. We made love for what seemed like days, but was in fact 3:58.95—a personal best for me. I felt like Roger Bannister, and she felt like a cheetah. Literally. I told her she’d look good on my rug, as a rug, and she playfully pinched the folds on my stomach. She explored my naval cavity with her pinky, and what started out as foreplay turned into a scavenger hunt. While she might have expected to find lint, nobody could have ever suspected she’d find the lost Templar treasure.”