The White Cat's Divine Scratching Post Novels & Stories

At this time, the little white cat looked at Philip curiously before it jumped from his shoulder to his hand. It looked at the wound and shook its head, and a puzzled look crossed its eyes. It stuck out its tongue and tentatively licked the wound. In the next second, its eyes lit up as if it had eaten something delicious. It started to frantically lick Philip's palm. Philip looked down at the strange touch and was confused by the little white cat’s action. What was that little thing doing, eating poison?

Instinctively, she took a step back. A white Persian cat, one eye blue, the other yellow, looked at her with great satisfaction. Felicia's snow-white hands held the little cat, and she smiled, "Why are you scared, third younger sister? This is the long-haired cat that Eldest Brother sent to me. Look, it's so cute!" Emma recognized this cat from her previous life; it was Felicia's beloved pet, a proud and stubborn creature that once scratched Phil's tiny hands, making them bleed.

“Their membership was revoked and they were kicked out. I believe the white witch was enraged that day.” “Did you just say white witch?” Dylan checked. “Yes, that is how the owner is referred to.” “Are you talking about a real witch or something?” “To be honest, I don't know, but what I noticed was that she only wore white clothes and had white hair.” “Is she really that old?” “She appears to be very young; no one knows anything about her. She's a mystery, but she's also the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.” He couldn't believe such a thing existed, but whatever it was, it wouldn't hurt to see for himself.

She the purred louder, rubbing her head against the princess's hip, trying to get her to continue petting. She leaned over slightly, kissing the top of the cat's head, then scratching under her chin. "She really likes it when you scratch there..." she informed him. The cat sat and craned her neck upward, as if encouraging her to pet there more. She scratched her jaw harder than put her hands behind her back, signaling she was done petting.

We got in and settled on the chairs, while the kids found a space on the mat. We heard a meow and a white cat came out from nowhere and settled on Fiona's lap. “Oh such a cutie,” She exclaimed. We turned to see the cat and something familiar about it struck me. “Where did you get such a fine white cat?” I asked Grayson. “I don't know myself, woke up one morning to it lying at my front door. Master Marcus asked me to either keep it safely but he would not want to see it,” He replied. “Clara,” I called.

A big cat. The mewing has stopped. Now she is quiet. But the scratching continues. And every few seconds, I hear her try to say one word. The only word she remembers. "Dada." I don't know what came home with me tonight. But I know it is not my daughter. And I know that Whiskers tried to protect us. He died for it. The scratching is getting louder.

His wife, Iliana Granger, was Adrian's bitch of a mother, so we knew now that it was our little white Dove that we were on our way to claim. The name white dove had come from my mother, Nina. She said her coos always reminded her of a dove, and her soft white hair was as white as snow, and since then, the name White Dove had stuck. My mother was more of a mum to the five Vassilev children, and it broke her when Vi was taken, she felt like her own daughter had been taken from her. Their mother didn’t give a shit about the family; she just wanted the money and the lifestyle that came with being a part of the mafia. She had never been much of a mother to her children, and she was so jealous whe

My skin prickled immediately as if something cold had brushed against it. I couldn't help but gape at her; she was wearing a red silk dress that hung loosely on her body. Her hair, white in color, was long, and it fell over one of her shoulders. In her left hand, she held a white cat, whose fur she was slowly caressing with thin, slender fingers, where her nails were creepily long and crooked at the edge, and it didn't look natural at all. The cat let out a soft meow as she casually caressed it, the sound cutting through the quiet like a warning.

4 The room was dim, the windows were open, the night breeze tugging at the curtains. Everything inside was white and spotless, too neat to be Maxello’s. It had to be Rolex’s. On the bed, a white cat lay lazily licking its paws, its tail flicking. My hands itched to touch it, so I sat on the bed and stroked its fur until it rolled onto its back, purring. “Hi, kitty. I’m Mia,” I whispered. The cat blinked, and I took that as permission to scoop it into my arms.

"Because I hide my scent." "And why is that kitten?" He tucked a strand of my hair behind my ears. I was back to not making eye contact with him. "It's OK, you can tell me when you are more comfortable." He whispered. "No! Now!" I let out almost immediately. He nodded. I was still straddling him while he was being so gentle with me. I scratched my head slightly before saying. "I'm not an ordinary wolf." I looked up at him. He frowned in confusion and motioned for me to continue.