We writers like to cat around, driven by temptation...
We sit in unison and stare or join like others, observing is our job. At night our tails twitch, and our piercing neon eyes open wide, as we hissed and spat in rage, We're height obsessed, sailing like air-blown tissue, playfully twirling right then left in spirals, we dally with our prey, only one... Sign in to see full entry.