He didn't think he was much of a cat person until he met Matilda.
It was a long, lazy summer afternoon in the local park. She was swinging gently on one of the children's swings, fingers interwoven with the metal chains, face turned up to the sun. He didn't notice her at first, lying stomach-down on the grass with his nose buried in a book. But his attention wandered briefly from the page and came to rest upon her slim figure and there was something about her that captured his attention.
She was oblivious. She arched her back, stretched her arms above her head, her t-shirt pulled tight across her chest, her movements slow and languorous. Then she turned her head slowly to the side and her dark almond eyes caught sight of him. She tensed, then stood up slowly, approaching him with the careful footsteps of a hunter.
He stayed frozen and watched her approach. She moved with feline grace, long and delicate, and from where her top rose and exposed her belly he could see the outline of her cat-like ribs.
He could learn to like cats, he decided.