Bubala rolled around on the floor tonight virtually purring in pleasure, getting his head scratched and rubbed. So beautiful and full of pure bliss and contentment, he reminded me of a cat in a sun streak, and a line from a Marge Piercy poem:
"You're a sponge for love, a recirculating fountain... 'Ravish me,' you say, 'with kisses and tuna fish, for I am your happy, long-haired id, and I know how to accept pleasure.'"
Ah Larsy.
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