SEVEN LIVES OF CAT WOMAN
'Unfrequent thyself, lest I snare thee!' is a rough translation. Writing does not have its wits about it but writing has wit about an r, which is close, being a vocalisation, hence snarling. To snarl is to make a ball of yarn excessively complicated, hence the association, and a frequentative of snaren, to snare.
Don't be a pussy. But I am. Pussy sound IS PRISSY. Myself I shit. Pissy. Cornered, a cat will perform. The smell of fear is ammonium what. The message is what. If pushed further you will what. Slash out?
"If a cat is in great pain it will scream in a way that is understood by any human being." I do not understand this. Is any human being so alike? I am unlike and I have feline ways to hide feeling. Must you marry woman and cat with instinct? Must you marry? It is catlike to lead in a line until askance. It is womanlike to unlike like a woman. I am unlike to like. My only instinct is not extinct. To pain is to fail and to sound is to break only a silence.
wanting attention life
Tame me. Ow. Owner, let's pretend you are mother. I will be a baby cat. Look at me. Ow. The babiest of a litter of lions and tigers and cheetahs and pumas and cougars and leopards and panthers. Meerest of cats. Meer seer. Greer. Rula Lenska. I want attention. I want attention.
asking you to follow life
Being tailed, she expects them to enter and to sense it is a house where a cat has been or where a woman has been. Hair, scratches, disturbances. Scent rather than sense. I sense you sense, not to make sense. I have sent, you have sent.
To defend so as not to offend is to subterfuge but not to flee, to be an undying flea. Our interspecies blood sisters, verblike when all the time I was doing when you thought I was done. To flea is to play, to underplay is to weaken defences.
ready to kill life
Can you tell a vole. To blame is human for to kill. I keep my buck and nuzzle its neck. If I bite, if I don't, to say it matters, it is matter, is to say. To meal is to blame and to matter and to blame matter. To die is not to matter and not to bloom.
first seven lives