Indeed, that was the question.
PussyGirl had been a nomadic kitten for much of her life, settling in places for some time and then taking off again when she felt the kitty wanderlust.
She had undertaken voyages far and wide, learned many languages in order to converse with the locals and enhance her own experiences in lands far flung and nearer to home. While she exhibited levels of caution at times, conversely she enjoyed nothing more than taking off on another adventure, be it long or short haul. She was, in summary, and slightly paradoxically, a cautious adventurer.
This pussycat's recent excursion had been a short one, but nevertheless, enjoyable and memorable in equal measure.
One clement autumn evening, she had taken off in the Pussymobile to the countryside for some fun and frolics, aided and abetted by her pussypal, FashionKat.
They arrived late on Friday evening, admired the mountain silhouette in the dark of night and then headed for the hotel bar. And it wasn't long before they had made inroads into the wine stash. PussyGirl remarked to herself how much she liked these getaways, acknowledging her need for stimulation, intellectual or otherwise, not to mention a good old fashioned knees up.
It seemed, she thought, that this would be another of those slightly raucous weekends, fuelled by fun and doses of very nice wine - and the occasional anecdote to pack in the luggage for the journey home. Much to her delight, PussyGirl was wrong. She had not counted on meeting SharkMan in the mountains, and this encounter made her trip unforgettable in all sorts of ways.
Their collision had been a beautiful and unexpected one. He was a curious creature, bit of a loner, slightly kooky and hugely entertaining. He admired her leopard print gabardine and she admired his sense of adventure - he travelled the globe counting and conserving endangered sealife. "How very sustainable and ecological," thought our feline friend.
They sat under the light of the silvery moon, while he played owl to her pussycat. There was no pea green boat, but there was a crate load of pussy petrol and more than enough kitten cocktails. They caroused and cavorted under the sparkling carpet of midnight blue, giggling and sitting closer each time. "This", thought PG, "is much more like it - a man of intellect, humour and kookiness who likes a drink or six. Hurrah for the faraway!"
Alas, like all good stories, this one burned bright and short. PussyGirl could not quite fathom where it had faltered as she took out her pen to scribe him a farewell note. They had met again on her second night, continuing in much the same vein. But something went wrong, and for the life of her, she was not sure exactly what. There had been more PussyPetrol and more laughter, that much she remembered. And she recalled SharkMan leaving abruptly, almost without warning. He had planned to meet her when he was in the big smoke; but this night, he felt should draw to a close. His explanation was vague, she thought. True, their squiffiness might impede true love from flourishing, but this had hardly stopped them the night before.
No matter, his mind was made up - she urged him to reconsider to no avail - to which she declined his offer to meet the following weekend in the smoke. Why then and not now? Later, upon reflection, she would come to rue this utterance, but at the time it seemed a fair retort to the rejection she felt.
She signed off on the note and placed it gently under the doorway; she hoped he would at least read it.
"Dear SharkMan
A short note to tell you how lovely it was to meet you - really.
Please email or call if you would like to see me when in town; I can come and meet you.
Meantime, good luck with your seafaring voyages and look after those lovely sharks!
Yours with much affection,
PussyGirl"
xxx
And with a deft stroke of her pen, she ended this short episode and kissed goodbye to the mountains, the fresh air and their beautiful collision.
PussyGirl had been a nomadic kitten for much of her life, settling in places for some time and then taking off again when she felt the kitty wanderlust.
She had undertaken voyages far and wide, learned many languages in order to converse with the locals and enhance her own experiences in lands far flung and nearer to home. While she exhibited levels of caution at times, conversely she enjoyed nothing more than taking off on another adventure, be it long or short haul. She was, in summary, and slightly paradoxically, a cautious adventurer.
This pussycat's recent excursion had been a short one, but nevertheless, enjoyable and memorable in equal measure.
One clement autumn evening, she had taken off in the Pussymobile to the countryside for some fun and frolics, aided and abetted by her pussypal, FashionKat.
They arrived late on Friday evening, admired the mountain silhouette in the dark of night and then headed for the hotel bar. And it wasn't long before they had made inroads into the wine stash. PussyGirl remarked to herself how much she liked these getaways, acknowledging her need for stimulation, intellectual or otherwise, not to mention a good old fashioned knees up.
It seemed, she thought, that this would be another of those slightly raucous weekends, fuelled by fun and doses of very nice wine - and the occasional anecdote to pack in the luggage for the journey home. Much to her delight, PussyGirl was wrong. She had not counted on meeting SharkMan in the mountains, and this encounter made her trip unforgettable in all sorts of ways.
Their collision had been a beautiful and unexpected one. He was a curious creature, bit of a loner, slightly kooky and hugely entertaining. He admired her leopard print gabardine and she admired his sense of adventure - he travelled the globe counting and conserving endangered sealife. "How very sustainable and ecological," thought our feline friend.
They sat under the light of the silvery moon, while he played owl to her pussycat. There was no pea green boat, but there was a crate load of pussy petrol and more than enough kitten cocktails. They caroused and cavorted under the sparkling carpet of midnight blue, giggling and sitting closer each time. "This", thought PG, "is much more like it - a man of intellect, humour and kookiness who likes a drink or six. Hurrah for the faraway!"
Alas, like all good stories, this one burned bright and short. PussyGirl could not quite fathom where it had faltered as she took out her pen to scribe him a farewell note. They had met again on her second night, continuing in much the same vein. But something went wrong, and for the life of her, she was not sure exactly what. There had been more PussyPetrol and more laughter, that much she remembered. And she recalled SharkMan leaving abruptly, almost without warning. He had planned to meet her when he was in the big smoke; but this night, he felt should draw to a close. His explanation was vague, she thought. True, their squiffiness might impede true love from flourishing, but this had hardly stopped them the night before.
No matter, his mind was made up - she urged him to reconsider to no avail - to which she declined his offer to meet the following weekend in the smoke. Why then and not now? Later, upon reflection, she would come to rue this utterance, but at the time it seemed a fair retort to the rejection she felt.
She signed off on the note and placed it gently under the doorway; she hoped he would at least read it.
"Dear SharkMan
A short note to tell you how lovely it was to meet you - really.
Please email or call if you would like to see me when in town; I can come and meet you.
Meantime, good luck with your seafaring voyages and look after those lovely sharks!
Yours with much affection,
PussyGirl"
xxx
And with a deft stroke of her pen, she ended this short episode and kissed goodbye to the mountains, the fresh air and their beautiful collision.
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