Yet another story of Lloyd Llewelyn, my helpmeet and partner for 17 years...

No history of sexual misdeeds is complete without transgressing species. Lacking dogs, horses, or whatever, I can talk, with some authority, about cats.

Unfixed female cats sometimes need Q-tip service, which is quite another story. What I want to talk about is when the game gets...a little personal.

Lloyd was 'fixed', but ever seeking of love, from queens in the area, from his two wives, and, one afternoon, of me.

He proffered, into my hand, a cat’s erection: about the size of my little finger, armed with a few millimeters of ovulation-producing sandpaper, and, if there be eroticism, a nice tumid red, that I found attractively masculine. Then he stared into my eyes, and purred.

“Whad’ye say, baby? Worth a flutter?” He blinked.

Dogs don’t do this. They have an itch. It’s got to be scratched, whether it be in the vulva of a prizewinner, or the hand of kid playing “Red Rocket”. They do it, and it happens, and think nothing of it. Look in their eyes, it's just...nothing.

This was personal. You, who have been so far a really nice person so far, and have given me all manner of good things, are being asked, by someone who has chosen you to make Their Own, through all kinds of scent markings, and do not seem to have strayed to any foreign cats, to well, help him in an intimate matter.

“But…you’re a cat!” I said, though it did nothing for anything. “I’m a human.”

“Not holding it against you, babe.” I tried to translate. “Shag me,love me, have some kittens, just don’t call on me for child support. You know you want it.”

So I held on. What he didn’t have in the actual organ, he had in the rest of his body, and, perhaps, drama. Never has a male tilted pelvis in the universal dance of true romance, in the words of Iggy Pop, than this cat: it was long, it was hard, and he made a convincing snarl at the end. Then headed for the hills (or to be exact, the other side of the apartment.) I found him, still licking his wet spot, a few minutes later, cheerful and chirrupy as if nothing had happened.

Mea culpa.