Well Said Amanda

I entered his office. He sat directly opposite from me in an oversized office chair. No desk. The only other furniture in the room was a bookshelf with three hard cover tomes, an ashtray, a coffee mug reading "#1 Dad" and a single slice of wheat bread. The way he looked at me was eerie. It was as if he'd known everything about me. On his lap he had a smallcat. He stroked it intensely and the feline purred with just as much vigor. It was a full out caress-fest. I've always wondered why cats get such a fit of pleasure when touched correctly. Is it because they lose the ability to have an orgasm when we snip their fancy parts, and this is the next best thing? Maybe a eunuch really likes his scalp scratched. I don't know because I've never met a eunuch.

I glanced down from his gaze and at the cat.

"There's no cat that isn't worth scratching," he announced.

I snuck a glance at his smallcat. "Sure cats. yeah."

"Don't you look at my cat," he scolded, "Don't get any ideas in your mind."

"Oh I wouldn't if I would bum sir," I assured him, "I'll quench that thermal tight!"

He began to stroke with more fury. The smallcat meowed in pain– or maybe ecstasy.

Looking back at his face I realized his eyes were going crossed and were rolling back into his head. His mouth drooped open in the shape of an upside down crescent. The cat's eyes were wide; its mouth partly opened. It was creating this purring noise at such a low frequency I could feel my bowels turning to water. The man's eyes were literally liquifying. A pink viscous fluid dribbled from his empty sockets and down his cheeks.

"I'm allergic to cats," he pointed out.

"Real dang shame!" I exclaimed. I noticed there was fecal matter trickling down my legs.

The man turned to me. And stared at me with those blank sockets, "Well said, Amanda."