Matilda was the first woman he'd ever dated that had been a cat before surgery. She told him at the end of the third outing, to the Italian restaurant, a night of sexual tension, sweaty waiters, mixed up menus and his clumsiness knocking over the carafe of white wine over her lap. She smiled, pink lipstick still intact after a meal of coiled pasta and mince. No leaping up off the chair in horror, running to the bathroom, telling him to F O and never call again.
Matilda held his arm as they left the restaurant and stood looking over the large white French yachts in the marina, looking straight at him with those slanted green eyes and revealed her secret.
Hedidn't believe her of course. Nobody would.
Even her purring didn't mean a thing.
But the talons on his back....................maybe just maybe..........