The screeching and howling suggested a fight of such violence that I expected something would certainly not survive the contest. To my dismay, two feral cats were connected, one front and the other behind. Both howled in apparent animalistic delight as one ratcheted its hips into the other.
Your hand grazed my shoulder and you leaned forward saying, “Does the old tom cat feel up to a growling match?”
Lacquered nails ran across my chest as you turned and walked seductively away.
A faint “meow” was left in your trail of French perfume.
It could be the “cat’s meow”.
