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“When company comes, you must walk the fine line between obvious rudeness and actually making the intruders feel welcome. Sniff the guests' feet, but don't rub up against them. Jump on their laps, but don't stay to be petted. Stick around long enough to hear them say how beautiful you are, but not long enough to let on that you care what they think. The only exception to these rules is when the visitor is a confirmed cat-hater. That's when you need to pull out all the stops—purr, rub, cling and cuddle, until the offending human sneezes and departs abruptly.”

Quote by Globe Digests

Book:Cat Talk A Lighthearted Look at Living with Cats
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Cat Talk A Lighthearted Look at Living with Cats

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Globe Digests

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Book:Behavior Matters for Cats and Dogs
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“I did exactly as Sampson said and I conjured up a creature with rabbit ears, a wolf face, a snake body, frog feet, a pig tail, and spikes running from the top of its head to the end of its tail. “Now,” Sampson said. “This is the kind of magic that you shouldn’t do.”

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Book:Mortal Realm Witch: The Magic Continues
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“The fox barked at her, one sharp, short sound. Without expecting to, Irène laughed. "What?" she said aloud. The fox's mouth opened, showing its white teeth, and its tongue lolled, laughing with her. A sense of recognition tingled in Irène's bones and throbbed in her forehead. Her laughter died. She came to her feet, facing the creature. It scrambled down from the tree trunk, its lithe body weaving through the branches as easily as a stream of water might. It stood on the opposite bank. Its tail arced above its back, a plume of red and black. Its unblinking gaze fixed itself on her. Irène whispered, "Are you here for me?" Again the fox's mouth opened in its grin, and its tail waved once, twice, before it leaped the little brook as easily as if it could fly. Irène stood very still as the fox stepped toward her on narrow black feet as dainty as a dancer's. It---he, she could see now---pressed his cold black nose against the back of her hand, and, when she turned it, nosed her palm. She thrilled at the touch, though the touch of so many other beasts disgusted her. He was different, this fox. It was not just that he was beautiful, and graceful. It was more, much more. Her soul knew him. Her power flared in his presence. He took a step back, his eyes never leaving hers, then whirled and leaped back over the brook to disappear into the forest on the other side. The last thing she saw was that lush red-and-black tail, switching back and forth as he faded into the dimness of the woods. Irène brought her palm to her nose and sniffed the toasty smell of him. She knew what he was, and she knew what it meant. Her mother had Aramis. Her grandmother, Ursule had told her, had had an ugly gray cat. And she---now, surely, a witch in full possession of her power---had a glorious vulpine creature like no other. She had her fox. She would see him again.”

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Book:A Secret History of Witches
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