Catgirls Are Easy

"Clawdia, I'm home," I called out as I closed my apartment door behind me. There was no response, but then I wasn't really expecting one. A dog would have come running to greet me at the door. Clawdia would have been insulted at the notion and would have sulked in the closet for a week if I ever suggested it.

"Oh, Clawdia?" Still no response. She was going to make me look for her.

She wasn't on the sofa, or under the table, so I turned off the livestream of birds and squirrels I had left playing for her on the TV when I went to work this morning.

She wasn't in the kitchen, but her cereal bowl was empty, so I refilled it from a box of Raisin Bran. Clawdia likes the texture contrast between the crispy flakes and the chewy raisins. I also refilled her water bowl with fresh water and put both back down on the floor for her. I was heading to the bedroom next, but a faint jingling caught my attention.

"There you are, silly girl. I should have guessed you'd be in here."

I found her in my study, sitting up on the junior mattress that I had positioned on the floor to catch a beam of late afternoon sunlight. She must have been napping. She was wiping the sleep from her eyes with the back of her paw. She wore her cat-ears headband in her hair and a floofy tail that hung from the garter belt around her waist. The deep purple silk collar around her throat was embroidered with 'Pretty Kitty Princess' and adorned with an antique silver bell that was a pain in the ass to polish. I had bought it for her last birthday.

Otherwise, Clawdia was stark naked, because cats don't wear clothes. At least that's what she says, and I am not about to correct her.

God, she was hot, sitting there completely unabashed by her nudity, giving herself a tongue bath as if it was the most normal thing in the world to be doing. The sunbeam shimmered in her hair and cast seductive shadows across her bare skin. Her plump tits bobbed with every swipe of her foreleg. Her tail curled demurely around her hip and across her lap as she sat with her legs tucked up beneath her. A trail of paw-print tattoos climbed up her thigh from her knee to her hip.

"Did you miss me while I was at work?" I asked as I leaned over to stroke her hair and give her a scritch behind her ear. There were other places I wanted to put my hands, but I resisted.

"Me-errw," she squeaked, finally deciding to acknowledge my presence.

"Y'know, there was note taped to the door from Mrs. Meggler across the way," I told her.

"Sssss," Clawdia gnashed her teeth and recoiled from my touch.

"Let's see what she has to say, shall we?"

With feline apathy, Clawdia shifted her position on her bed and did that yoga thing where she lifted one leg straight up in the air holding it next to her face. Continuing with her tongue bath, she began to casually lick her knee. I'll admit, I was distracted for a moment or two before I forced my eyes back to the unfolded paper in my hand.

"That harlot was parading around in her birthday suit in front of your window again," I read aloud from the handwritten note. "The landscapers were trying to work on our public green space and her shameless display was a constant distraction. I have warned you about her lewd behavior before, and now I shall have to get the Tenant's Association involved."

If I didn't know any better, I'd say there was a sly smile curling the corner of Clawdia's lip. But of course, cats don't smile. Our nosey neighbor can complain all she likes, but I know the public indecency laws in this town and as long as Clawdia is on this side of the glass, the fault lies with whoever is looking in.

Besides, the old guy who runs the Tenant's Association lives in the apartment above Mrs. Meggler, and he likes it when Clawdia visits.

"Did you have fun watching the people outside the window? Hm?" I asked, giving her another scritch behind the ear. "Did everyone see what a pretty little kitten I have? Did they?"

"Me-eew," Clawdia purred and she pitched forward onto her hands and knees. Crawling in a circle around me, she stroked her face and ribs against my leg. The caress of one of her pendulous breasts against my calf as she crawled in a circle around me started my dick swelling in my pants.

"Yes they did, because I have the prettiest little floofy cat, don't I? Hm? I have the prettiest little floofer, and everyone who walks past that window knows it, don't they?"

As a reward for my fawning compliments, Clawdia rolled over on her back and stretched out long and lean for me. Her hind legs opened enough for me to catch the scent of her arousal and see the glistening between her thighs. I knew this was all turning her on and part of me wanted to drop my pants and take her right then and there on the study floor.

But that's not how the game is played.

"Yeah, you're such a good girl, aren't you?" Instead I reached down and tousled her belly. Almost instantly she attacked my hand, playfully swatting with her forepaws and raking my arm with her hind paws.

"Oh, you want to play?" I asked, jerking my hand back.

"Me-erp!" she chirped, rolling up to her hands and knees and looking up at me expectantly.

"Alright, come on. Let's go find your ribbon." As I turned to walk out towards the living room, Clawdia stood up and dashed ahead of me.

While cats don't normally walk around on their hind legs, they do walk with a sultry, tail-swishing grace that can not be emulated by clomping around on your hands and knees. Clawdia prefers to stay true to the sensual spirit of a cat's walk rather than the anatomical accuracy.

With her bare ass swaying from side to side, her tail flicking back and forth, and her bell jingling, she pranced ahead of me to the living room and then dropped down to her knees next to her toy box. She rubbed her face on the corner purring gently until I caught up and pulled out a bright pink length of satin ribbon.

As I flicked the dangling ribbon back and forth, Clawdia would bat at it with her paws and try to catch it in her teeth. When I jerked the ribbon out of her grasp, she would feign indifference until I let the end lie still on the ground, then she would turn and pounce.

Eventually she tired of the game, climbed up on the sofa, and sat on her knees with an attentive look of anticipation.

"All done?" I asked.

"Me-erp," she replied. Her forepaws were in her lap and she pulled her shoulders back putting her pert tits on full display for me.

"And you think you deserve a treat just for playing a game?"

At that, Clawdia looked away with an air of disdainful nonchalance and started grooming her left shoulder and fore leg with her right paw. She knew damn well she was going to get a treat and wasn't about to demean herself by begging for it.

So I put the ribbon back in her toy box, and reached into the bag of Lindt chocolates on the top shelf, pulled out a white chocolate truffle, and unwrapped it.

"Here you are then," I said, sitting next to her on the sofa and holding the chocolate out while I scritched between her ears. She eagerly ate the treat from the palm of my open hand while I stroked her from her collar all the way down her long back. I probably let my hand linger around the curve of her ass a little longer than I should have, but judging by the way she purred as she nuzzled my hand, I don't think Clawdia minded.

"Aw, who likes her treats? Is it you? I think it's you." I let myself pet Clawdia for a bit longer until I noticed that stirring in my pants again. Then I gently pushed her away and stood up. "Alright, I have to go change my clothes," I told her.

She looked up at me expectantly, as if we were going to play another game. I found a stuffed catnip mouse in her toy box and put it on the far end of the sofa. Clawdia crouched down on all fours, wiggled her ass in the air, and then pounced on her prey. She really gets into it.

I loosened my tie as I headed back towards my bedroom, but then I caught a whiff from the bathroom as I passed. Clawdia had used the litter box while I was out.

I really hate this part.

Fighting back the rising gore in my throat, I flicked on the bathroom ventilation fan, scooped the mess into a plastic trash bag, and tied it shut. I've never actually seen Clawdia use her litter box and I really don't want to. Not my kink.

She makes allowances for the limitations of her anatomy when staying true to her feline spirit. God, I hope that includes a human level of bathroom hygiene. Honestly, though I'm too afraid to ask. If she gets off on peeing in a plastic box full of sand knowing that I'll clean up after her, well, I'm all too happy to reap the rewards of being a responsible cat owner.

By the time I finished dealing with the litter box, I found Clawdia had followed me to the bedroom. She was on my bed with her arms and legs tucked up underneath her, elbows to knees, like a sphinx. It looked uncomfortable, and I'm guessing it was because as soon as she saw me notice her, she sat up and mewed at me. That's when I noticed the cat nip mouse sitting on the bed next to her.

"Did you bring me a mousey to play with?" I asked as I started undressing. "Such a clever kitten."

I swatted the toy off the bed and it skittered across the floor. Clawdia crawled to the edge of the bed to watch it go, then gave chase, batting the mouse around the room. At one point it rolled under the bed. I got a nice view of her ass and succulent pussy when she ducked down to retrieve it. Watching my naked girlfriend cavort around the floor of my bedroom, tail swishing behind her, had me seriously questioning if I wanted to put clothes back on or not.

Once Clawdia was satisfied that the mouse had had enough, she picked it up in her teeth, hopped back up on the bed, and dropped her prize for my inspection.

"You're such a good girl, Clawdia!" I told her, scritching her ears again. "Such a brave hunter, yes you are."

I batted the mouse off the bed and the game started once again. By the time the second round had finished, I had managed to will myself to finish changing into my gym clothes. I left Clawdia to her game and headed back out to the living room, but before I was halfway there, she dashed past me, nearly knocking me over. Only the approaching jingle of the bell on her collar gave me a warning to step aside as she barrelled past me on silent bare feet.

She stopped in front of the shelf with the treats, sat down and looked at me.

"Me-awwwrrr," she whined.

"You want

another

treat?" I asked with an exaggerated sigh.

"Mrowwww."

"You have a fresh bowl of cereal in the kitchen."

"Myaaaooowwrrr."

"You'll spoil your dinner."

She leaned forward onto her hands and knees, rubbing her face and body against my bare legs as she crawled in a tight circle around my feet, purring the whole time. The heat of her naked skin on mine was intoxicating, and I reached down to pet her, caressing her ribs, letting my hand linger against her breast and ass.

"Awwww... Who's my slutty little treat-whore? Hmm? Is it you? Are you my slutty little treat-whore? I think you are. Yes I do."

She replied by trilling her tongue in a very good imitation of a purr and bunting her head along my thigh, upward towards my groin. I pulled a caramel truffle from the Lindt bag and unwrapped it with a theatrical sigh of resignation.

"You are so spoiled," I told her, holding out the treat in my open palm.

Clawdia took it between her teeth and dashed over to the sofa, where she bounced up into the corner and curled up with her treat between her front paws. I watched her nibble at the chocolate shell making happy little chiruping noises for a minute or two before I finally grabbed my gym bag.

"I'm going to the gym, Clawdia. I'll be back in about an hour."

She didn't respond.

It was tough to focus on my workout. It had been hard enough to focus on work all day, knowing that she was at home playing out her cat fetish, making herself hornier with every tongue bath and cat nap. Every couple of months she liked to take a day off from work to indulge what she called her 'feline aspect.' As long as I played the role of the doting cat owner, I knew she'd make it worth my while. So that morning I got out Clawdia's collar, fastened it around her neck, and went into the office leaving her lying nude on top of the bed covers.

At the gym, I kept imagining her sitting naked on the window sill as the lawn mowers and leaf blowers passed by outside, getting an eyeful of the sexy exhibitionsit with the cat-ears headband. I could just imagine their reactions and how they slowed down every time they passed my window. I also imagined Clawdia staring back, making eye-contact even, as she licked the back of her paw and then ran her claws through her hair, aloof and cat-like. The image was causing a tent in my gym shorts that was becoming increasingly difficult to hide.

So I cut my workout short, and picked up a pizza on my way back to the apartment.

"Clawdia, I'm home," I called again, and again there was no response. A moment later though, I heard the telltale prattle of her claws on the scratching board, and I knew I was in trouble.

I found her sitting on her knees clawing at the side of her toy box. The panel of corrugated cardboard I had mounted there is kinder to her manicure than a hemp or sisal-wrapped scratching post. Clawdia used it to express her displeasure whenever she was mad at me. I had once caught her up on the kitchen counter and scolded her with a squirt bottle. To retaliate, she spent the evening at the scratching board making sure I couldn't hear the TV.

"I told you I was going to the gym," I explained as she braced her paws on the toy box and stretched out her back, ignoring me. The long slope of her spine flaring into her hips and the curve of her flexing ass had my gym shorts starting to tent again.

"If you're waiting for an apology, you're not going to get one."

She sat back on her haunches and started raking at the scratching board with short, rapid swipes that made her tits jiggle like a pair of maracas. God, she knew how to push my buttons. I found myself resisting the urge to drop to my knees behind her, grab those ripe titties, and mount her like a tom cat.

"Well, you can be sore if you want," I said, reaching down to stroke her hair. She stopped her scratching and finally deigned to acknowledge my presence. "But I'm ready for dinner, and I've got something new for you tonight."

"Mroow?" She put her paws on the floor and cocked her head with curiosity.

"Oh, that got your attention didn't it?" I tousled her hair and she batted playfully at my hand. "Yeah, you know the word 'dinner', don't you? You ready for some dinner? C'mon, let's get some dinner."

I gestured towards the kitchen and she hopped up and darted past me, her hips making her cat tail swish from side to side as she ran. She sat down on her knees next to her supper dish while I set the pizza box on the counter and opened a bottle of beer from the fridge.

"Me-eew," Clawdia complained when I took a swallow.

"Alright, be patient." I took a single-serve can of corned beef hash from the pantry.

We are still in the process of trying out different 'wet food' options for her. Canned tuna had been the obvious first choice, but for all of her feline energy, Clawdia just doesn't like the taste of tuna. Dressing it up as tuna salad made it seem too much like people-food.

She didn't like the instant oatmeal because it didn't come out of a can or a cup, like she thought cat food should. Canned soups and pastas were too messy. So far, yogurt cups were the best wet food we'd found, but she still couldn't eat it without getting it all over her face.

I had remembered eating canned corned beef hash on camping trips as a kid and joking that it looked like dog food, so I thought I'd give it a try tonight and see what Clawdia thought.

"Myaaaooowwrrr," she cried as I pulled a fork from one drawer and the can opener from another.

"I'm going, your highness, I'm going," I explained, picking her dish up off the floor and setting it on the counter.

The hash looked every bit like I remembered it, a tightly packed pink mash of coarse-ground beef and potatoes that had to be scooped from the can and broken up into bite-sized blobs. It sure seemed like cat food to me. I set the dish down on the floor to see what Clawdia thought of it.

She knelt in front of the dish and leaned forward to get her nose in close. She cocked her head in curiosity and then looked up at me. "Meorw?"

"Yes, it's something new," I told her, showing her the can. "I ate this all the time as a kid. Go on, try it. I'll bet you like it."

Clawdia sniffed at her food dish again before extending her pink little tongue and taking a very tentative nibble. She didn't recoil in disgust, and she didn't come away with any of her dinner on her nose or chin either. She took another bite, a little bit larger this time, and sat back on her knees to consider it.

"You like it?"

"Mewm," she chirped, with another cock of her head. Then, instead of going back to her dish for more, she turned and crawled over to the other side of the kitchen. This was not a quick and clompy crawl; it was slow and slinky and her bare ass swayed seductively.

She stopped and sat up and licked her paw in front of the cabinet directly under the microwave. Normally, I'd have happily crisped up the hash in a skillet and served it with a couple of over-easy eggs on top and side of toast. But she wants me to treat her like a pet, not a person. That's the game.

"Oh, no," I protested, "No no no no no. We're not going to start warming up cat food."

"Mrowwww," Clawdia argued, and she did the yoga thing again with her leg straight up in the air, giving me a clear view of her wet little pussy as she gave herself a tongue bath. She was turned on by the game and she wanted me to know it.

"You are so spoiled," I sighed, picking up the supper dish and putting it in the microwave.

"You're lucky you're an indoor cat," I told her as the oven timer counted down. "Yeah, you'd never survive in the wild, would you? You wouldn't even know how to catch a wild corned beef."

Clawdia purred and bunted my thigh with her head as I reached down to stroke her face and scritch her chin.

Once her dinner was warmed up, I put the dish back on the floor and Clawdia dug right in, ignoring me as if I wasn't even there any longer. It looked like the canned hash might be a winner. So, I took my pizza and my beer over to the sofa and I turned on the basketball game.

My team was down by six in the third quarter and I was stretched out on the sofa when Clawdia decided to join me. Kneeling on the floor, she sat up and kneaded her paws gently on my thigh and hip.

"Aw, who's my good girl?" I asked, reaching behind her neck to idly pet her while I watched TV.

The massage went on for a few minutes until Clawdia decided that she wanted to be on the sofa too. She climbed up over me and straddled my waist, with her front paws on either side of my head.

Her heavy tits hung down in front of me. I felt the heat of her naked body and for a moment I hoped that she was ready to be a person again. I almost tried to kiss her, but I don't decide when the game is over and she wasn't done quite yet.

Clawdia turned in an awkward circle, trying to find a space for herself on the sofa that I was filling. She wasn't terribly careful about it either. At one point, I ended up with a knee in my stomach and her puckered little asshole shoved in my face. I finally got the message and sat up, making room for her next to me.

"Is that better?"

She curled up next to me with her head on my lap, purring softly. I gently stroked her hair as we watched my team come back and then ultimately lose the game.

As the post game coverage began, Clawdia rolled over on her belly with her front paws tucked underneath her and her feet up in the air. She started licking on my exposed thigh with short, deep strokes, the way she usually licks at herself when she bathes.