Ginger Haired Strumpet

Otis went wild the other day, when I was sitting on the couch dozing through a spate of paper grading. He was meowing plaintively, his nose pressed against the screen door. There was a begging quality to his little castrati voice. And I could see why. Just beyond his reach, on the doormat out back, lay the Ginger-Haired Strumpet. I don't know what her name is, but there she was, her back to the door, her tail flicking back and forth flirtatiously.
I've seen this cat out and about in the neighborhood. No one seems to know to whom she belongs. But she runs to greet me sometimes when I get home late. She throws herself down on her back and rolls around in a tantalizing way, just begging for me to rub her tummy. There was something rather sensuous about that and if I were Otis, I'd have gone nuts, too.

But here is Otis begging her to please-oh-please come closer to the screen door so I can sniff you. Or something else. She is of the ilk of females who don't feel valuable unless someone is hotly pursuing them. My attempts to comfort Otis was to no avail.

She slowly raised up, stretched one back leg at a time, before arching her back and stretching languidly. Off she trotted then, across the back yard and up to the garden. Otis tore through the dining room and up onto the back of the couch where he peered through the blinds into the garden. Little Strumpet then began nibbling on one of the two clumps of catnip that I have out there for Otis. It dawned on me then, why I'd seen so many yellow hairs on the pieces I'd brought in for him. Guess Who had found it. She daintily nibbled on a few leaves before crouching down next to it. She eyed a bird on a branch above her and as she turned back to taste another leaf I could see that her eyes were getting a wild glare in them. Pretty soon she was rubbing her face vigorously on the catnip. That gave away to abandoned rolling around in it, her face a vision of bliss, her body a writhing mass of yellow. Finally, physically spent, she closed her eyes and drifted off. This was too much for Otis, who began throwing himself at the window, calling to her and pledging his undying love for her. She was nearly comatose.

Finally, after about 10 minutes of sleep, she sat up, shook off the dirt from the garden, and gave herself a good bath. It was a bright garden spot and the warmth of the sun must have felt good to her. She soaked it up a few moments before glancing toward Otis--to see if he was still watching her. He was. Off she sauntered, satisfied with the uproar she had created with her feminine charm. And thus it has always been for ginger-haired strumpets.