Cinnamon, one of my beautiful furry beasts, was entertaining the household this morning by doing delightful full body roll and slide maneuvers on the lounge room rug. Zoo commented on the similarities between Cinnamon's and my approach to getting attention. It reminded me of how I used to see a client when I was fairly new to sex work, who asked me to act sexy. It's a difficult thing to summon up on command, so I just started moving around the room like a cat, slow and slinky. He was quite happy, and it's worked for me ever since.
I decided at one point that all cats are in fact femmes - including the toms (whereas there is something rather butch about dogs - except maybe poodles). After all, cats all walk around on heels. And female cats are called queens. I know I feel most sexy when in cat drag. My Lawrence has a hesitant pitter patter, rather like Audrey Hepburn in her ingenue roles, and Cinnamon walks like a drunken Elizabeth Taylor, with the shoulder straps of her slip about to fall off.
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