Rub, II
I rub my head on Tony's hand as a world's parade of dachshunds, nose-to-tail, girdle the earth. I rub my cheek against the red catnip mouse and punch it with my hind legs as a policeman in large flat shoes swishes a daffodil into the alley next door. Once I rubbed against a man's teeth to wake him as he snored with his mouth open. The dining room table leg rubs against my haunches as I creep into the bathroom just in case someone turns on the tub spigot. I rub myself on a handful of garlic bulbs as a dustbeam grazes my tail. I rub my coat with my tongue as dust and dirt are scraped from my savage pumpkin fur.
posted by Shimmy at 6:01 PM
2 Comments:
a year of happy rubbing is the wish of Melina & that old guy she lives with
It is clear that you have rubbing issues. Perhaps you should cut down on your catnip--or refuse to swallow whatever it is your angelheaded hipster of a master is force-feeding you in private, behind closed doors, far from the tender-hearted portrayal of affection this blog is meant to inculcate in its readers.
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