Please Don’t Lick Me

The thing that I like about pets is that they are soft, they don’t say much (and they don’t talk back), they are easily impressed, they are easily repressed, they can sometimes do neat tricks, and if you (accidentally) punt them they only pout for a short period of time.

I have two pets, or rather, two pets live with me in my house. One is named Neo’s Morpheus (or Morph for short) and the other is named Samuel Mace Windu Jules Winfield Jackson (or Mace for short). Collectively I like to refer to them as Havoc and Destruction (heh, I just made that up. .. but it fits).

Mace and Morph are Bengals, which is a breed of cat. They are pretty large animals that look a lot like an Ocelot, which is a type of wild cat. I’ll see if I can upload some pictures later. Since I’ve had them, I’ve had to replace:

1) 30 or so ceiling tiles (I don’t know how, but they were able to get into the ceiling in my basement bathroom)
2) The lid on the tank of a commode (again, not sure how they managed to break this as I have trouble lifting the thing off).
3) Ripped up carpet.
4) Layer upon layer of skin.

But what really bothers me about these animals (and really any animal) is that they sometimes lick me. I don't ask to be licked. I don't present my hand in front of there mouths in the hopes that they'll drool on me. Yet, they insist on licking me when I am least expecting it. Sometimes I think they get a great deal of pleasure out of the noises of disgust I make when they sneak up on me, in that sneaky and silent way cats have, pounce and lick me. I don’t want to be licked by something that has seen use as TP and/or a genital hygienic. Even if the latter part of that sentence were not true, I still wouldn’t want to be licked. Licking is gross. It feels gross (slimy and wet and icky) and I want no part of it. I'd rather they stick their alarming large canines into my sweet and yielding flesh (wow, that was hot). Oh, they do that too.

When the girl that I’m seeing (occasionally seeing; as permitted by the Kyoto Treaty) recently had an impure thought and sensually flicked her tongue along the smooth silkiness that is the epidermis of my throat (in essence, licking my neck), I barely suppressed a cringe and calmly (bravely even) replied, ‘please don’t lick me.’

To which she replied, ‘what?’

To which I replied, ‘don’t lick me.’

So, she did it again.

To which I replied, ‘don’t lick me, woman!’

To which she replied ‘why not, man?’

To which I THUNDERED, ‘I AM NOT A POPSICLE!’

…. Hmm… I may regret that …