whiskers on a face of a human is rather embarrassing. it doesn’t show curiosity – just ineptitude. he wanted them to be something else entirely, but they just showed that he was still a boy. not a man. not a cat. and not a cat in the jazz sense of the word – “a cool guy”. just a boy.
They are scratchy on my cheek and stomache. Whiskers brushing against me let me know that he is at least paying attention to me, that he is intrigued by my skin.
One by one they march in line, boots polished to a shine
with whiskers formed into neat bouquets, the finer thing in later days
the women like their men in form, it made a change from the younger norm
these men were pristine, wise with time, and formed into procession line;
to all the men who served back then, we could say thank you time and again
but to watch your honor never fade, reminds us of a greater age
so thank you for putting your life on the line, so I can live this life that is mine
and someday my generation of men, will protect us too as you did then.
The cats whiskers brushed up against my check. It’s fur soft and smelt like lilac. Where have you been, I silently asked the cat. What have you been doing today?
The gray-striped cat swiped a soft pink tongue over his long, pale whiskers, barely containing a purr of satisfaction as he felt his meal settle in his belly — the first warm meal he had eaten in a very long time. His reflective eyes raked across his surroundings, which consisted of a small clearing sheltered by a few spindly trees and strewn with rocks of various sizes. One of which he was crouched on; his quarry’s remains were flecks of scarlet on the boulder’s smooth, uniform gray surface. The pale blue behind a veil of clouds that passed for a sun in this winter forest cast dim light from above. His boulder heated ever so slightly by its rays, he sprawled into a luxurious stretch before he leapt down to the ground; his paws thudded nearly inaudibly upon the ground, and all that was heard was the soft crunch of snow underpaw.
i once had a cat. his name was whiskers. we called him this because he had a bushy beard, not just the regular style cat whiskers. he was a special cat.
I wish I knew before I worked my way into a tight spot or a tough situation whether I was going to fit, whether I was going to be able to squeeze through and slip out the other side.
whiskers are on all kinds of animals, it also reminds me of whiskey which i wish i could drink right now, i like they way they tickle me face when i kiss my dog, it’s also a weird word to say out loud.
The cat slowly jumped off the counter, landing gracefully, yet lazily on the ground. It smoothed its whiskers and mewed hopefully as it saw its master walk into the kitchen.
cats. Cats are cute. I love orange cats. Orange fat cats. Like Mitchell. He’s adorbs. I’m scared of cats claws though. I’m scared a cat will scratch me one day. I’m kinda scared of them.
Dionysus hopped up on to the bed and curled up next to me, his whiskers tickling my nose. “Hey Big D.” I murmured to the black cat, careful not to wake up Cynthia. My roommate might have been a pain in the arse, but after today even I felt sorry for her…
Dionysus hopped up on the bed and curled up next to me, his whiskers tickling my nose. “Hey Big D.” I murmured to the cat, being careful not to wake Cynthia. She had been on edge lately and she needed her sleep. I don’t know if it’s PMS or the stress Dr.G’s been throwing on her, but damn…I have never seen anyone punch through a wall like that.
Whiskers poked at my face and suddenly I was awake. Curled on my chest, poking her head into my cheek, the calico cat purred, obviously pleased I was awake.
But then the sneezing started.
“I told you we shouldn’t have gotten this damn cat.” I said grumpily, blowing my nose for the hundredth time.
The cat twitched her whiskers in just such a way, and she knew her human could never resist. That little piece of deli turkey would be hers in three … two … gotcha.
Kittens playing in the sun. They are frollicking happily, bouncing in the tall grass. Oh no kittens-your whiskers can’t protect you now. Oh no. The hawk ate the kittens. This is saddening to me. Darn hawk.
whiskers are fun but ticklish…Cats have them and it pisses me off. Why I have no clue they’re smug assets to add to the narcisim cats have in their personalities. FUCK CATS! obviously I’m a dog person.
My cats whiskers are very bristly, and he often rubs them against peoples legs while waiting for food. In addition, they help him find his way in the dark. I have heard they are necessary, as cats would not function in the dark without their whiskers.
sometimes, i like to say i have whiskers, because that is what kittens have, and i wish i was a kitten… although i am not, i still act like one, and say i have whiskers. I use my hair like whiskers sometimes.. but it wont be the same as having whiskers, but i am happy, because it is closer to being a cat, than not at all.
My hand rubbed the whiskers. They always sprouted overnight like weeds. And now I had to mow them down. I wasn’t looking forward to it. Not with this hangover.
Thought of two things: My cat and my man. Well he’s not my man but I do love his beard. He grew it back because I requested it which was sweet. He’s so baby faced without it. And I am SO glad he’s no longer 16.
The great cat’s whiskers brushed the leaves as he moved though the jungle. The sound of his prey close by, he stops to scent the air. Close the man is coming close. Crouching in the underbrush the beast waits for the moment to pounce.
Whiskers, like feelers, help a cat find its way. I wish I was so gifted. I wish I had whiskers, to warn me of impending danger, to guide me through darkest night. I wish I had whiskers too.
when i pull back,
my hair snags on your snaggles,
whiskers scritching down your cheeks and chin
and i wish the same
because i don’t want to leave either.
“wantta keep those whiskers,old ma?,”sneered powerful girl,”then take your eyes off my cleavage and concentrate on the problem at hand.”> “hypocrite,”sneered the professor back to her,”don’t show ’em then bitch because people are looking.”
On her neck, they were scratchy and itchy. She hated the way they left her feeling raw, peeled, exposed. Jason had laughed and apologized, but still rubbed his stubbly chin against her check. But now she doesn’t wake up to beard growth. The cat sniffs her cheek, twitches his whiskers, and she wakes up alone.
His weathered face retained his age, his wisdom. The way he noted all of the exits when walking into a room was carefully acknowledged. It wouldn’t be a surprise if he transformed into an oriental creature.
the cat was sitting on the bed, sunlight streaming through the open window as the beams danced across his glistening whiskers. One paw reaching up to stroke through them as it cleaned its face, a low rumbling purr growing from his chest. The cat began to shift slightly as the sunlight moved from his resting place, no longer warming his spot. A slight look of discontent crossing his face as he followed the moving heat. Infernal light.
the cat’s whiskers brushed the cool peach plane of her cheek. her eyelids wrinkled, gently urging annamaria into conciousness. she groaned, one of those big deep breat groans that starts from the pit of your stomach and comes out of top of your head.
meow
cute
oh my gosh!
smiley face
puppies
kitties
people
children
laughter
bunnies
I love puppies!
Shut up Ariana!
I like it!
I’m thinking!
It hurts!
Hi
whiskers on a face of a human is rather embarrassing. it doesn’t show curiosity – just ineptitude. he wanted them to be something else entirely, but they just showed that he was still a boy. not a man. not a cat. and not a cat in the jazz sense of the word – “a cool guy”. just a boy.
They are scratchy on my cheek and stomache. Whiskers brushing against me let me know that he is at least paying attention to me, that he is intrigued by my skin.
One by one they march in line, boots polished to a shine
with whiskers formed into neat bouquets, the finer thing in later days
the women like their men in form, it made a change from the younger norm
these men were pristine, wise with time, and formed into procession line;
to all the men who served back then, we could say thank you time and again
but to watch your honor never fade, reminds us of a greater age
so thank you for putting your life on the line, so I can live this life that is mine
and someday my generation of men, will protect us too as you did then.
The cats whiskers brushed up against my check. It’s fur soft and smelt like lilac. Where have you been, I silently asked the cat. What have you been doing today?
The gray-striped cat swiped a soft pink tongue over his long, pale whiskers, barely containing a purr of satisfaction as he felt his meal settle in his belly — the first warm meal he had eaten in a very long time. His reflective eyes raked across his surroundings, which consisted of a small clearing sheltered by a few spindly trees and strewn with rocks of various sizes. One of which he was crouched on; his quarry’s remains were flecks of scarlet on the boulder’s smooth, uniform gray surface. The pale blue behind a veil of clouds that passed for a sun in this winter forest cast dim light from above. His boulder heated ever so slightly by its rays, he sprawled into a luxurious stretch before he leapt down to the ground; his paws thudded nearly inaudibly upon the ground, and all that was heard was the soft crunch of snow underpaw.
i once had a cat. his name was whiskers. we called him this because he had a bushy beard, not just the regular style cat whiskers. he was a special cat.
I wish I knew before I worked my way into a tight spot or a tough situation whether I was going to fit, whether I was going to be able to squeeze through and slip out the other side.
whiskers are on all kinds of animals, it also reminds me of whiskey which i wish i could drink right now, i like they way they tickle me face when i kiss my dog, it’s also a weird word to say out loud.
The cat slowly jumped off the counter, landing gracefully, yet lazily on the ground. It smoothed its whiskers and mewed hopefully as it saw its master walk into the kitchen.
His whiskers dripped with milk from the bowl
cats. Cats are cute. I love orange cats. Orange fat cats. Like Mitchell. He’s adorbs. I’m scared of cats claws though. I’m scared a cat will scratch me one day. I’m kinda scared of them.
i love cats, they are so cool. cat fish are weird, i wonder what tthey are like. i wonder if they are anything like cats are. dogs have whiskers too.
Dionysus hopped up on to the bed and curled up next to me, his whiskers tickling my nose. “Hey Big D.” I murmured to the black cat, careful not to wake up Cynthia. My roommate might have been a pain in the arse, but after today even I felt sorry for her…
I woke up, and there you were. Your face shows up, often and unexpectedly. I wonder what you wouldf have thought of this cat I found,
I would love to have whiskers like my cat. She is cool.
Dionysus hopped up on the bed and curled up next to me, his whiskers tickling my nose. “Hey Big D.” I murmured to the cat, being careful not to wake Cynthia. She had been on edge lately and she needed her sleep. I don’t know if it’s PMS or the stress Dr.G’s been throwing on her, but damn…I have never seen anyone punch through a wall like that.
Whiskers poked at my face and suddenly I was awake. Curled on my chest, poking her head into my cheek, the calico cat purred, obviously pleased I was awake.
But then the sneezing started.
“I told you we shouldn’t have gotten this damn cat.” I said grumpily, blowing my nose for the hundredth time.
meow! cute, prickly.i don’t really like cats really, by dog has whiskers and hes cute :)
The cat twitched her whiskers in just such a way, and she knew her human could never resist. That little piece of deli turkey would be hers in three … two … gotcha.
T
Whiskers – they poke you and they tickle you. I personally do not like whiskers! They are like sharp spears waiting to hurt your poor, flawless skin.
Kittens playing in the sun. They are frollicking happily, bouncing in the tall grass. Oh no kittens-your whiskers can’t protect you now. Oh no. The hawk ate the kittens. This is saddening to me. Darn hawk.
whiskers are fun but ticklish…Cats have them and it pisses me off. Why I have no clue they’re smug assets to add to the narcisim cats have in their personalities. FUCK CATS! obviously I’m a dog person.
My cats whiskers are very bristly, and he often rubs them against peoples legs while waiting for food. In addition, they help him find his way in the dark. I have heard they are necessary, as cats would not function in the dark without their whiskers.
sometimes, i like to say i have whiskers, because that is what kittens have, and i wish i was a kitten… although i am not, i still act like one, and say i have whiskers. I use my hair like whiskers sometimes.. but it wont be the same as having whiskers, but i am happy, because it is closer to being a cat, than not at all.
My hand rubbed the whiskers. They always sprouted overnight like weeds. And now I had to mow them down. I wasn’t looking forward to it. Not with this hangover.
cat, think dog, alot of cats mice wiskers 3 times hi um,….. alot of cats a lot is spelled with a space…. i dont know mice.
Thought of two things: My cat and my man. Well he’s not my man but I do love his beard. He grew it back because I requested it which was sweet. He’s so baby faced without it. And I am SO glad he’s no longer 16.
The great cat’s whiskers brushed the leaves as he moved though the jungle. The sound of his prey close by, he stops to scent the air. Close the man is coming close. Crouching in the underbrush the beast waits for the moment to pounce.
Whiskers, like feelers, help a cat find its way. I wish I was so gifted. I wish I had whiskers, to warn me of impending danger, to guide me through darkest night. I wish I had whiskers too.
when i pull back,
my hair snags on your snaggles,
whiskers scritching down your cheeks and chin
and i wish the same
because i don’t want to leave either.
Whiskers look like a moustache on my cat. Sooooo cute!
My first Halloween my parents dressed me as a cat. I hate cats. I wonder if that’s why?
“wantta keep those whiskers,old ma?,”sneered powerful girl,”then take your eyes off my cleavage and concentrate on the problem at hand.”> “hypocrite,”sneered the professor back to her,”don’t show ’em then bitch because people are looking.”
On her neck, they were scratchy and itchy. She hated the way they left her feeling raw, peeled, exposed. Jason had laughed and apologized, but still rubbed his stubbly chin against her check. But now she doesn’t wake up to beard growth. The cat sniffs her cheek, twitches his whiskers, and she wakes up alone.
His weathered face retained his age, his wisdom. The way he noted all of the exits when walking into a room was carefully acknowledged. It wouldn’t be a surprise if he transformed into an oriental creature.
the cat was sitting on the bed, sunlight streaming through the open window as the beams danced across his glistening whiskers. One paw reaching up to stroke through them as it cleaned its face, a low rumbling purr growing from his chest. The cat began to shift slightly as the sunlight moved from his resting place, no longer warming his spot. A slight look of discontent crossing his face as he followed the moving heat. Infernal light.
the cat’s whiskers brushed the cool peach plane of her cheek. her eyelids wrinkled, gently urging annamaria into conciousness. she groaned, one of those big deep breat groans that starts from the pit of your stomach and comes out of top of your head.
meow
cute
oh my gosh!
smiley face
puppies
kitties
people
children
laughter
bunnies
I love puppies!
Shut up Ariana!
I like it!
I’m thinking!
It hurts!
Hi
He stroked me with his rough hands, his whiskers stinging my face. I was only a child, yet he stole my innocence as a thief in the night.