Posts Tagged ‘Priss’


August 17th, 2016 Comments off

It’s apparently #blackcatappreciationday, and I have a black cat! So here are some pics of Priss (who used to be Cara) just for fun because I can. Hope you’re having a wonderful day. <3

The only decent photo Priss would let me take today.

The only decent photo Priss would let me take today.

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Priss Loves Paper

June 13th, 2013 2 comments

Yes, that’s Cara. She never really answered to Cara, so her name became Priss. She loves paper.

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If you’ve had your dose of Cute today, you might want to read this tomorrow.

May 30th, 2011 Comments off

<Disclaimer: We at are not responsible for Cute Overdose. Know your limits.>

So a while back, we went to the Farmers market downtown. While we were there, we picked up some organic catnip, because it’s much fresher than store bought, and Cara smelled it the moment we walked in the door. We walked home, and by the time we got here, I’d forgotten we bought the catnip. So when she did this, I wasn’t sure what was going on:

But when the catnip (and only the catnip) came out in her teeth, Read more…

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Wedge/Ramp Shoot Bloopers: Featuring Cara… Of Course

December 16th, 2010 9 comments


Because we’re totally that dorky couple who always talks about their new pet, and because this is the second time Cara insisted on being in the pictures when I pulled out that yellow sleeping bag, I decided to share with you a few of the photos I took of her while she was refusing to get out of the way.

Dad, her iz liar. I no in way.

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There’s no eating in the bird room. -or- Meet Cara, M’s kitty.

October 22nd, 2010 8 comments

Meet Master's kitty, Cara. Cool background, huh? M says it was an accident. It's our new Liberator throe, and my red and black corset.

Bear with me.  I’m getting somewhere.  And while this isn’t exactly BDSM-related, it is very much Master-and-our-relationship-related.

I’ve had cats on and off since I was nine.  My first was a kitten, and she was a gift from my father.  While I was at summer camp, Dad brought home a black and white furball, and let my sister name her.  Pajamas.  PJ for short.  Sis said her markings made her look like she was wearing jammies.  But there was no doubt in anyone’s mind who PJ belonged to.

When I was somewhere between ten and twelve, PJ got out the house by pushing the screen out of my bedroom window.  A dog chased her all the way to my house, and killed her in my backyard.  The only people home were me and Mom.

I went out to the backyard with my baseball bat, by myself, to chase the dog away.  And my mother? Stayed in the bathroom curling her hair.  When I told her I thought my cat was dying, she said she didn’t know what to tell me.  As I lay in the backyard stroking my dead cat’s fur, she came outside and told me I’d better get my ass in the house and get ready for school.  Then she told me I would never get another pet again.  It was my fault my cat died.  Read more…

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