Date: Fri, 08 Sep 2017 14:44:53 +0000
From: herb_cat@lycos.com
Subject: Theodore and Terrence (Revised)

Copyright 2017 Herb Cat. Do not reproduce or distribute this story
without the author's permission.

Please note: this story depicts gay sex. If that offends you or are
illegal to publish in your jurisdiction, or you are under the age of 18,
read no further.

The characters, locations and incidents in this story are fictional. Any
resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.

As an author, I welcome feedback on my writing. Please send any comments
about this story, positive or negative, to Herb_Cat@mailcity.com. Thank
you.

.oOo.

Theodore and Terrence

Theodore was a rescue cat. I hadn't gone to the animal shelter intending
to get a pet. I had redecorated my bathroom and was getting rid of the
towels which no longer coordinated with the verdant color scheme.
Someone had told me the shelter could use old towels as bedding. But as
I stood there by the counter on that memorable March day, this poor
feline waif looked at me through the bars of his cage and I was smitten.
I paid the price, which included a pet carrier and brought him home. I
named him after my college roommate, the bottom boy who had made me feel
good about my sexuality, but once he was in my home a few days,--the
cat, that is, not the roommate,-- he was so fucking sweet and gentle I
started calling him Teddy. Teddy's was the last face I saw on the pillow
when I turned out the light, and the first thing to greet me at
daybreak. I bought him the best cat food available and began cooking
more fish dinners. I took him to a vet to examine him, even though the
shelter assured me he had been neutered and had had all his shots. I
kept his litter box immaculate, and none of my bed partners complained
that my flat had that telltale cat smell. Speaking of bed partners,
Teddy was so considerate in that regard. He knew when there were two
stem glasses on the coffee table, the wine was chilling and I was
wearing my skin tight lycra pants, that I would be using the bed later
for something other than sleeping. He would then curl up on the divan,
and try to ignore the climactic screams, the smell of jizz and
testosterone-rich perspiration in the air, and the tempting colorful
rubbers dropping on to the rug. Teddy would just wait until he heard the
lover leave before joining me in bed. Such a sweetheart.

It was a heavy mid-August rainstorm that brought Terrence into our life.
I was coming back home from a night at the local strip club, where I had
scored more BJs in the bathroom than I remember, as well as two tender
assholes, a cop and an airline captain, in a private viewing room. I was
feeling good about myself, but when I climbed out of the cab in front of
my building, there was this pitiful wet rag of an animal crouched on the
stoop. I unlocked the front door, skipped up the stairs to my flat and
rushed inside to the kitchen. Teddy rubbed himself against my wet shins.
I knew he could smell my reek of sexual success. He jumped up on to the
counter as I opened one of his tins and dumped it on to a paper plate,
not his cut crystal dinner bowl. He gave me a look. Then I grabbed the
cardboard mailer off the bed that I had opened earlier that evening. The
one that had the rakish Stetson which had completed my outfit and may
well have played a small role in making the evening at the club so
successful. I hoped the rain hadn't ruined the hat, but at that moment I
was more interested in the box. I grabbed my shears and cut a neat hole
in one end, stuffed a perfectly good verdant towel inside and went back
downstairs. The soggy animal was still there, but when I tried to
approach him, he backed off. I placed the plate of food and the Stetson
box on the stoop, and went back inside.

Teddy was pleased when he saw me take down his cut crystal bowl and open
a second tin. He ate daintily and listened to my tale of exploits. He
likes to hear all the details, especially when I mimic the bottoms
whining, pleading for my cock, and when I smack my lips to portray the
sound of a sphincter giving way to my penetration. However, as much as I
knew Teddy wanted to hear about my evening, I kept thinking about the
beast on my stoop. Did he eat the catfood before the rain turned it into
soup? Did he figure out the purpose of the hat box and have enough sense
to get in out of the rain? I couldn't resist. I had to peek.

I asked Teddy to excuse me and went back downstairs. When I opened the
front door, I could see the paper plate had been licked clean. A corner
of the towel sticking out of the hat box told me something had gone
inside it. Reassured, I smiled and turned to go back and finish telling
Teddy my story. However, that particular night, the story would remain
unfinished, because when I got back in my flat, Teddy was perched on the
highest shelf of my bookcase and the soggy animal was devouring the food
in Teddy's cut crystal bowl.

At the time I couldn't figure out how he did it, but a couple days
later, when I was telling the security man about it (following our
weekly fuck,--you see, I always had a thing about fucking a man in
uniform), he suggested we check the tapes. The cam above the stoop
showed clearly that as soon as I opened the front door to peek at the
poor stray who had me so worried, he had snuck right in between my legs.
And all this time, I thought I always knew what was going on between my
legs. The cams in the hallways showed him sneakily tailing me to my flat
and then darting in as soon as I opened my door. In a flash, he had
absconded Teddy's food. In the same flash, Teddy had sought refuge from
this invader. And in the same flash, my entire world was turned upside
down.

I named him Terrence after a young man who had similarly crashed my
place a few years earlier, making himself at home, eating my food, using
up my condoms. Terrence the human stayed about three months. I wondered
how long Terrence the cat would be in my life. Three days later, with no
little difficulty, and more than a few scratches, I got Terrence into
the carrier and brought him to the vet, who gave him the required shots
and removed the contents of both my wallet and Terrence's scrotum. I
thought a neutered male of any species was supposed to become more
docile, but Terrence played hooky the day that lesson was covered in cat
school. His demeanor was just as cocky after castration as before. I
began to call him Terrence the Terrorist. I was now the owner of two
cats, two very different cats.

The Terrorist was not the finicky cat Teddy was. Sometimes he pissed in
the litter box, sometimes on the living room carpet, the back of the
closet, the bedspread. Apparently, he was marking his territory. He
managed to keep his defecating confined to the litter box, but when he
covered his turds, he kicked litter out three feet. He wasn't picky
about food and ate his generic cat food from a disposable metal pie
plate; then proceeded to glom whatever he found left in Teddy's crystal
dish. I had to sneak Teddy extra treats to make sure he ate enough. I
had long discussions with Teddy about our new roommate. I asked him many
times if I should put the Terrorist back out on the street, but he
always insisted on giving him another chance. Teddy was very forgiving.
As the Terrorist stole his food, Teddy would simply lay on his back,
belly exposed, waiting his turn. So I kept the Terrorist, and bought a
rug shampooer and lots of air fresheners.

My love life changed drastically. Battle-wearied war veterans who had
endured the smells of blood and napalm and gunpowder, couldn't stand the
stink in my apartment. Navy officers who did manage to stay long enough
to doff their trous and assume the doggy position, ended up with claw
marks on their ankles and wrists. There were numerous coitī interruptī.
Ex-Marine POWs insisted we fuck at their place rather than endure the
torture at mine.

Mark was the exception. A big burly fireman, Mark was 6'3", 230 lbs of
well toned muscle. Able to descend a ladder bearing the weight of a
victim over his shoulder. Whether in uniform or naked, his appearance
was commanding. Mark was also married with two kids he adored. His wife
never questioned his erratic schedule, so he was able to come to my flat
on a regular basis every Thursday at 7:15 PM. And Mark was a sub. He got
his jollies from being dominated. Other Masters he had gone to had St
Andrew's Crosses, whips, chains, ropes. I had Terrence. While I used
Mark's naked muscular body as the cum bucket it was intended for, the
Terrorist used it as both a scratching post and pissing post. Mark would
leave my flat with dried jizz on his face, wet jizz dripping from his
asshole, bleeding from open wounds and smelling from head to toe of cat
piss. Those Thursday sessions that autumn were satisfying for all three
of us.

And then I fell. It was stupid, I know. Well, falling is never the
brightest thing one can do. It was the first Thursday in December.
Terrence and I were preparing ourselves for an evening with Mark and
Teddy was settling down for a quiet nap. Looking over my supplies, I
realized I was short of condoms. On principle, I don't do bareback. It
was already after 5:30, so I slipped on a jacket and ran down the block
to the drugstore. Literally ran. It had drizzled that afternoon and I
didn't realize the puddles had frozen. Three feet from the drugstore
door, I slipped and fell flat on my ass. I couldn't move. Someone called
911 and soon I was riding in an ambulance to the ER. Only victims of
gunshot and accidental poisoning get immediate attention in an ER, so I
knew I was in for a long wait. I began checking out the staff. Shit,
those guys in their scrubs were a lovely sight. Then, I remembered. I
called Mark's cell phone and explained; he was already on his way to my
flat. As a fireman, he knew it was important for me to get everything
checked out. Then I called my brother.

I should explain. Julian and I were never that close. We have very
little in common besides our parentage. He's the typical homophobic
beer-guzzling, sports-crazy, pussy-chasing straight. But one thing about
Julian: he knows about cats. He's a behavioral biologist, working on his
PhD. His thesis: cat behavior. He agreed to go to my flat and see that
Teddy and Terrence get fed. I warned him about the Terrorist.

After two nights in the hospital, multiple sonograms, EKGs, Xrays and
CAT scans, the medical staff failed to discover any broken bones,
concussions, or damage to internal organs. I was sore all over but was
declared healthy enough to leave. Julian came to drive me home. I
studied his hands. No scratches. I cursed him assuming he must have
forgotten to tend to my little menagerie. No, he maintained, he had
lived in my flat the entire two and a half days and the cats were just
fine. I asked if he wore oven mitts the whole time. He laughed. He asked
if I ever noticed that Teddy had no Terrence-induced wounds on his
little body. I realized for the first time that my sweet little Teddy
was unscathed despite over three months of living with the Terrorist.
Then Julian began explaining to his ignorant brother about cat
psychology:

Terrence is the alpha male in the house. Always was, always will be.
Teddy knew this from the beginning and immediately accepted his role as
subservient to Terrence despite his seniority. Terrence must make sure
everyone else learns that he is dominant. Of course, my status in the
house is somewhat complicated. I am not at the top of the totem pole.
That is Terrence's perch and his alone. However, he recognizes my role
as provider and caretaker. He also has come to respect the way I don't
let anyone else who comes in boss me around. As long as I serve a useful
function in his life, Terrence will tolerate me as another almost alpha,
but one he will need to keep a careful eye on. To Terrence, everyone
else is just a bitch, and the sooner they learn that, the better all
around.

So I asked Julian what his role was. Oh, definitely a bitch. No
question. As soon as he arrived at my flat the evening I fell, he could
size up the situation. So he proceeded to let Terrence know in no
uncertain terms that Julian was his underling. If Julian were a cat, he
would have flattened his ears and tucked his tail between his legs.
Lacking the proper anatomy, he instead turned his face away to avoid eye
contact, lowered his head and crouched down low. He lay down on the
floor, on his back, a vulnerable position that indicated his
acquiescence. When the Terrorist began to relax, although still on
guard, Julian turned over on his belly, crawled next to him and rubbed
Terrence's cheek with his own cheek. Then he turned back over on to his
back, this time perpendicular to Terrence. He lay like that a long time,
and apparently Terrence got the message. Julian knew his place in this
household. From then on, Terrence allowed him to stay, to bring him
food, to change his litter box, and to sleep, although not in my bed.
Terrence wouldn't let him go that far. Julian had to throw a blanket on
the floor and strip down to his skivvies for the night. Teddy was happy
to have another submissive in the house.

All this was proving extremely interesting to me. I could see so many
parallels between Terrence's treatment of others and my own. For all
those pre-Terrence years, whenever a man rang my bell, regardless of
what uniform he was wearing, he had to learn quickly he was in the
presence of a true Dom. His role in my flat was to serve me, to fawn
over me, to pour my wine, to strip for me, to suckle my cock in his cunt
mouth and swallow my jizz, to present his cunt asshole to me for
ramming, and to thank me when it was all over. That is the whole purpose
of having bitches in the world. Teddy was right. It would have been a
huge mistake to get rid of Terrence, and I count myself fortunate that
the Terrorist chose my flat to sneak into that rainy night.

In the months that followed, Mark resumed his weekly visits. I made sure
Terrence had plenty to drink so he could give Mark the piss bath he
deserved. I never explained to him how to show true submission in feline
language, for he wanted to get scratched. Some other men began coming by
on a regular basis for similar abusive treatment: a park ranger, a ferry
boat captain, two twin cops, and a doorman from up the block. In
appreciation, Terrence, who no longer felt he needed to mark his
territory, saved his piss for the litter box and for our visitors. Sweet
Teddy wanted to show these guys how to avoid getting scratched, but he
didn't understand that a true human bitch wants to get clawed. Julian
and I began to form a true fraternal bond, and when he completed his
PhD, he dropped by my flat wearing his cap and gown,--shit, it's still a
uniform! Terrence and I gave him the treatment we had perfected by then,
and my straight brother got his virgin cunt asshole deflowered. He slept
on the floor that night for old times sake, while I rested fulfilled on
my bed, Teddy curled up on my right and Terrence with one eye open on my
left. I promised the Terrorist for our one year anniversary I would go
to the animal shelter and bring home another little Teddy for him to
lord over. I know a Dom can never have too many bitches.

.oOo.

As an author, I welcome feedback on my writing. Please send any comments
about this story, positive or negative, to Herb_Cat@mailcity.com. Thank
you.