Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle - and Betty MacDonald fan club fans,
we are very happy because Betty MacDonald fan club honor member Mr. Tigerli is back today.
Mr. Tigerli's unique memories are a golden Betty MacDonald fan club treasure.
We adore Mr. Tigerli on his new motorbike.
Thanks a million dearest Letizia Mancino, Mr. Tigerli and Mary Holmes.
Enjoy a very nice Thursday,
Lars
Vita Magica
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Betty MacDonald fan club organizer Linde Lund
Mr. Tigerli's memories
Copyright 2015 by Letizia Mancino
Translated by Mary Holmes
All rights reseverd
My birthday!
I, Mr. Tigerli, can hardly save myself
from being submerged in red roses! Oh dear, a loving cat has his
problems.
Surrounded by a sea of flowers!
Mind you I’ve earned it. I have risked so much for love in my life!
I have become famous because of being such a great lover. I am a Casanova cat.
Am I exaggerating? Are there not cats more famous than me, artists who paint or play the piano?
That may be so, but they are “nobodies” in the art of loving!
Look in the internet under “Erotica Felina”! You will see that my name immediately appears on the screen.
People boarding their plane in Singapore have found me at once on Google.
I am a world famous cat.
Oh
no, I don’t loose my head over female cats. But women! I love women.
Yes only women. These wonderful creatures give me everything! Not only
affection, good conversation and food.
I was four months old when I discovered my partiality for women.
One
time I was cavorting on the bed with Roswitha, my first love – although
it was strictly forbidden to get onto the bed – when under the woolen
blanket I suddenly felt a wonderful soft plump area! Roswitha’s tummy! I
was running backwards and forwards across it when suddenly a shot of
adrenalin rushed through my cat brain. At an early age I became a slave
to love!
But
it was Roswitha’s foot that surprised me with my first erotic feelings.
She had unknowingly stretched it out of the bed under the pressure of
my four paws and for the first time I saw the naked foot of a woman.
Five small tempting little sausages attracted my attention. How
delicately the points moved. They were more attractive to look at than
the mice in the fresh grass. I miaowed to them “I’m going to bite you”!
I understand men who kiss the feet of women so ardently.
I immediately lost my head and my innocence.
Now I began to nibble at these five little porkies.
Roswitha
continued to sleep and sighed softly. Encouraged I licked her whole
foot. Roswitha laughed sweetly and delightfully in her sleep.
Within eight months I was familiar with her leg.
I
love beautiful legs. Without hair, without ticks or other insects. They
have such a wonderful perfume. I could lick women’s legs without any
saliva. Wonderful! A refined lover begins with delicate movements, not
by taking the female creation by storm. Only goats climb on the back of
their females without paying a single compliment. You know, Betty, that
a Casanova doesn’t come straight to the point!
Roswitha,
I love you Oh, my first love! I felt so good in your bed. I lay at your
feet in the night. But after two intimate years deeply in love with
your feet, your husband came home. His field service away from home was
over, and sadly my home service with you too.
“Get
out of my bed”, he shouted. It’s not right to treat a loving cat so
rudely, even when men have the right to be jealous of us. We are after
all superior to them. We are supple and seductively beautiful until old
age. We are not rude or, even worse, drunkards! A woman can spend
romantic hours stroking us or even sleep with us in her bed and still
believe in platonic love, which is hardly possible for them with a man.
Women never become pregnant with us and this has advantages. Casanova
was the inventor of the condom. We are the condom.
I
was thrown out. Are men all so brutal, Betty? The bedroom door was
locked. But I was still allowed to live in the house: three sofas in the
living room, a bed in the guest bedroom, and an old divan in the cellar
were available for me. Roswitha could come to these. But I was
appalled!
Mr. Brummi avoided my dirty looks. Since then I have not befriended men, to say nothing of cats!
Without Roswitha’s feet I had to eke out a miserable existence in the house. And she complained that her feet were cold.
The
husband however was obdurate. He tried, without success, to take my
place: to stroke Roswitha’s feet, to rub them, to tickle them! But
Roswitha’s five little white toes remained in the bed as motionless as
if rigor mortis had set in.
There
were no more giggles. The doctor recommended an evening foot-bath. To
think that I should be replaced by a herbal bath! How outrageous!
Should
I have scratched at the bedroom door every night? I am a proud cat! I
would rather look around! She wouldn’t have heard me anyway. The husband
snores as loudly as a vacuum cleaner on the point of collapse. Should I
have dropped five dead mice in front of the door? But I don’t bring her
these presents any more. If you love me, I thought, get divorced!
“Darling” I hear her say to her husband, “Couldn’t you snore more quietly?”
I
comforted myself with her socks. The dirty ones, naturally. There were a
few flakes from her skin that I swallowed with joy. Some men even sniff
underwear. Idiotic love. That’s going too far for me. I, Mr Tigerli,
don’t do that because I am an aesthetic cat. Gradually I’d had enough of
the socks. Should I look for a new woman? The thought of being
unfaithful came to me quite suddenly.
The
nights in my basket passed peacefully - and also the nights in
Roswitha’s bed. Cold feet and migraines are two passion killers. The
husband was sullen. She never suffered with me. I laughed - even if cats
can’t laugh – behind my beard and knew that she had remained faithful.
I didn’t. I found the young servant in the house very fascinating. Her
legs were not so beautiful as Roswitha’s , but the risks were low. The young
woman was a Russian, temperamental, pretty and I liked her. Infidelity
was for me a triviality.
“Oh, Mr. Tigerli”, cried
Putziputzi (that was her pet name. I’ll say no more, she had two
brothers) “why are you licking me so tenderly?”
I could have answered. “You are my
second choice. I am missing Roswitha’s feet.” But I wrapped myself
round her leg, as all loving cats do.
She gave an even louder cry and ran away! I was perplexed!
I had no idea that genuine love-play begins with “No, no, I’d rather not, please don’t”.
I still had a lot to learn. Then I
thought: Quick , Tigerli, follow Putziputzi and sing her a song! After
that wonderful days followed: I showered her soft thighs with delicate
little love-bites. It was intoxicating!
We constantly changed the spot we
chose for our love-making. On Mondays and Fridays we lay on the three
sofas, on Tuesday on the bed in the guest room, but most of the time we
spent together in the cellar. She was crazy! Is this sex,
I asked myself. What man can make a woman so happy?
Putziputzi was soon dismissed from her job.
I have no great opinion of
husbands and I must admit I have good reasons for this. But that their
wives should react with such jealousy was for me an insoluble puzzle.
It wasn’t long before I was lying in bed with Roswitha again.
The husband had probably seen that
the loss of a servant can have serious consequences. Now it was his job
to vacuum the whole house: from the cellar to the attic. Roswitha
assured him this would only be for a short transitional period, until
she had found a replacement for Putziputzi.
“Yes, yes! But the replacement
must be ugly and unattractive and she should only work in the house and
she must not play with Tigerli”, he answered.
“Yes, yes! I agree”, answered Roswitha, “and it would be wise if you would allow Tigerli to sleep in the bed with me again”.
The husband willingly gave his consent.
He nodded his agreement and it was clear that he saw me in a new light.
I was no longer a competitor.
What the heck, he thought! The guy was sleeping in my bed with my wife when I was away anyway!
So thanks to the vacuum-cleaner I was able to continue my love-affair with my first love Roswitha.
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