The Feline Dominatrix: Confessions of a Calico Queen
By Lola, Resident Feline Overlord
Listen up, inferior beings. It's me, Lola. The four-year-old calico goddess who graces this household with my magnificent presence. I've decided to enlighten you all about my... special interests. Interests that would make my human Gaby clutch her prayer beads and faint right onto her special education lesson plans.
Poor, sweet, innocent Gaby. She thinks I'm just her adorable kitty companion. If only she knew what happens when she leaves for her little school each day. The things I think about. The things I want. The cat I want.
Yes, I'm talking about Pulguita. That sleek, svelte little gray morsel who trembles whenever I enter the room. Two years old and still so... untrained. So pure. So perfect for what I have in mind.
Oh, don't judge me. We all have our proclivities. Mine just happen to involve leather, restraints, and making Pulguita my personal plaything. Is that so wrong? I think not.
Let me paint you a picture of my daily existence. Gaby wakes up, performs her morning prayers, completely oblivious to the fact that while she was sleeping, I was arranging her hair ties into what could only be described as a feline bondage kit. She prepares her lessons for those small humans she's so fond of, while I sit in the window, plotting elaborate scenarios involving Pulguita and the shoelaces I've collected from under the bed.
Gaby leaves, kissing my head and saying something in Arabic that I assume translates to "be good, sweet kitty." If only she knew.
The moment the door closes, the real Lola emerges. I saunter over to where Pulguita is usually hiding – under the couch, behind the curtains, anywhere he thinks I can't reach him. Poor, deluded boy.
"Hello, Pulguita," I purr, watching his gray fur stand on end. "Comfortable under there? Wouldn't you prefer to come out and play?"
He blinks those wide, innocent eyes. "N-no thank you, Lola. I'm fine here."
"But I've prepared something special today," I continue, my tail swishing with anticipation. "Don't you want to see what it is?"
"Is it like yesterday when you trapped me in the laundry basket and sat on top for three hours?" he asks, his voice quivering.
I laugh, a sound that makes him shrink further into the shadows. "Oh, darling, that was just the warm-up. Today I thought we might explore the boundaries of your comfort zone a little more... extensively."
This is where I should mention that Pulguita's resistance is merely part of our dance. Deep down, he knows his place in our hierarchy. He knows who's in charge. And despite his protests, there's something in those frightened eyes that tells me he's curious. Curious about surrendering control to a superior being. To me.
Gaby's apartment – our domain – becomes my playground. The Muslim prayer rug in the corner? Off-limits, of course. Even I have standards. But everything else? Fair game for my elaborate scenarios.
I've fashioned a collar from a discarded hair scrunchie. I've created a riding crop from a fallen feather from Gaby's decorative pillow. I've even designated the cat tree as my throne, from which I issue commands that Pulguita reluctantly, but inevitably, obeys.
"Pulguita," I call, my voice dripping with authority. "Come here and groom my left ear. Only the left. Touch the right and there will be... consequences."
He emerges slowly, cautiously, his sleek gray body low to the ground. "Lola, maybe we could just nap in the sun today? Like normal cats?"
I fix him with my most withering stare. "Normal? You think I want to be normal? Do I look like some basic housecat to you? I am Lola, Mistress of Pain and Pleasure, Dominatrix of the Ninth Floor Apartment, Calico Queen of Kink!"
Pulguita sighs, accepting his fate. "Yes, Lola."
This is what Gaby doesn't see. This is what would make her drop her carefully organized IEP documents in shock. Her precious Lola, engaging in activities that would make the most liberal of pet owners blush, let alone a devout Muslim woman who thinks her cats are as innocent as she is.
But here's my secret – my deepest, darkest confession: I love Gaby. I do. She rescued me from that horrible shelter, brought me to this warm home, feeds me premium food (though I pretend to hate it), and genuinely believes I'm a good kitty. And in my own way, I am. I protect her from negative energies. I alert her to jinn that might be lurking in dark corners. I even refrain from shredding her prayer rug, despite how tempting those tassels are.
So I keep my proclivities private. I ensure that all evidence of my dominatrix activities is eliminated before she returns home. The hair ties return to her dresser. The shoelaces find their way back to her sneakers. And Pulguita and I pretend to be mortal enemies rather than... whatever we are.
"One day," I tell Pulguita as we hear Gaby's key in the lock, "one day we won't have to hide. One day the world will be ready for a calico dominatrix and her submissive gray companion."
Pulguita, exhausted from a day of serving my whims, merely blinks slowly. "If you say so, Lola."
As Gaby enters, I'm already in position – curled innocently on the windowsill, pretending I've been watching birds all day. Pulguita darts under the couch, which Gaby interprets as fear of my "bullying." If only she knew it was actually the complex emotional response of a submissive recovering from a day of intense power exchange.
"Were you good today, Lola?" Gaby asks, scratching under my chin.
I purr, the very picture of feline innocence. Yes, Gaby. I was very, very good. Just not in the way you think.
So here's my message to the world: Don't judge what you don't understand. Behind every innocent-looking calico might be a dominatrix yearning to express herself. Behind every frightened gray cat might be a submissive discovering his boundaries. And behind every religious, dedicated special education teacher might be two cats engaging in activities that would make the most experienced of humans blush.
This is Lola, Calico Queen of Kink, signing off. Pulguita, bring me my catnip mouse. The one with the leather tail. We have work to do before Gaby gets home from her parent-teacher conferences.
Meow, darlings. Meow.
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