After a riveting evening I decided it was time to lay me old bones down to rest. So being a gentle soul I pressed my bare feet into the threadbare carpet and wandered off along the hall to bed. Only for Monty to go into attack cat mode and, by the darkened bathroom, jump from nowhere and tackle my ankles like a fat arsed wrestler.
"You no good tyke" I said, as I wriggled and bled. Then I immediately collapsed to my beautiful knees in mock death mode where we fought like cat and basket case. He, swirling about like a thing possessed, me enraptured by the mugger moggy. I tumbled, he fumbled, and with each tightening grip I laughed whilst dragging him along like a sack of old coal. Laugh? More like the aches and groans of love. So fascinated was I by his obvious show of adoration and trust that I knelt down by the hall mirror and thanked the funster for being him
Meanwhile he just looked wild eyed and carried on roughing me up.
And that's the way I like my males. Funny, fat and with aggressive tendencies.
Oh and stupid.
Goodnight All
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