Caturday: You Probably Shouldn't Read This.

The following story is disturbing and says some dubious things about my character.  However, it's also pretty funny, so I'm going to go ahead and share it.

A year or two ago, my friend Mordecai* found himself suddenly without an apartment.  He and his cat Tulip* ended up staying with me for a month or two while he looked for a new place.

Tulip was a teeny little slip of a thing -  not technically a kitten anymore, but smaller than a normal adult cat and in possession of the biggest, most vacant eyes I've ever seen. She was also unspayed and currently spending about half her time in heat.  She'd have about a week where she was all sweet and well-adjusted followed by a week in apparent agony, and it'd just kind of switch back and forth.

A cat going in and out of heat looks kind of like this.

So one day Mordecai and I are sitting on my couch watching tv or whatever, and poor Tulip is languishing on the floor making a constant stream of "CAN HAZ SEX NOW PLZ?" noises, and Mordecai sez to me, he sez:

"I heard you can satisfy a cat in heat by using a Q-tip [name-brand cotton swab]*."

[Note: you should have an inkling by now where this story is going.  If it skeeves you out, please hit the "back" button on your browser.  It only gets worse from here.]

And I'm like, "Huh.  I did not know that."

And Mordecai goes, "I could never do that to Tulip, though.  She's like my daughter."

"That's understandable."

Pause.

"Apparently it's totally safe for the cat, though," Mordecai says.

"That's good."

Pause.

"Yeah, and they love it.  It makes them feel better."

"Interesting."

Pause.

"My friend's veterinarian recommended it for her cat.  An actual veterinarian!"

I can't figure out why he keeps bringing this up.  Then, finally, realization dawns: "Mordecai, do you want me to [name-brand cotton swab] your cat?"

"Yes.  Yes I do."

I look over to where Tulip is writhing around in a frenzy of sexual frustration.

Normally I would never consider what Mordecai is proposing.  I'm an enlightened person, dammit!  I know about the importance of informed consent!  But still...Tulip looks like she's really suffering.  She seems like she might die if she doesn't get some action.  ('Course at this point in my life I've been single for a long while so I might be projecting a little bit.)  And hey, if even vets endorse this practice...

"Get her and hold her down," I say.  It feels totally surreal hearing those words come out of my mouth.  It feels even more surreal when Mordecai - who apparently thinks of his cat as a daughter - sets Tulip on the couch, grabs her by the scruff of the neck, and lifts her tail for easy access.

I go to the bedroom, get a [name-brand cotton swab], and lube it.  Then I go back into the living room and - how to put this delicately? - swab my friend's cat's vagina like it's the deck of a really filthy pirate ship.**

Okay, I'm exaggerating a bit: my movements were actually much more slow and careful than that pirate metaphor made them sound.  Still, the moment I "breached her hull", Tulip let out a howl that made all the hair on the back of my neck stand up.  Then she began to thrash.  I'd heard before that cats are loud and violent during sex, so I was kind of prepared for this, but it still freaked the hell out of me.  "OH MY GOD MORDECAI DON'T LET HER GO!" I shrieked.  He yelled back "I'VE GOT HER!  I'VE GOT HER!  IT'S OKAY!"

I continued gingerly probing Tulip's kittybits while she bucked and yowled and Mordecai held her in place as best he could.  Finally she let out a screech so totally bone-chilling that we both simultaneously leaped away from her in fear for our lives. 

The whole episode, from "get her and hold her down" to the Screech of Imminent Dismemberment (which I think may actually have been a catgasm), had lasted three minutes, tops.  Once released, Tulip was utterly  blissed out - total pleasure overload - so happy she didn't know what to do with herself.  She started purring like a jet engine and alternately rolling around on the floor and running up to various articles of furniture to rub her cheeks against them.  Her cheeking was so passionate, so vigorous, that Mordecai joked, "Damn, if Tulip were an outdoor cat she'd be pushing a parked car down the street with her face right now." 

Also, for the next few days she didn't seem to be in heat anymore. 

So overall I guess the [name-brand cotton swab] experiment was a success - although Mordecai and I ultimately felt weird about the whole thing and agreed not to do it again.  But first I told him I was gonna construct a cotton swab strap-on "for next time" (and pantomimed holding a cat up at hip level and thrusting) just so he'd go "ARRRGH EWW NO."  He is hilariously squeamish sometimes and I can't resist messing with that.

* Name changed to protect the guilty.
** Clearly, I'd either be really bad at writing romance novels, or superfuckingawesome at it.  I haven't yet decided.