"I bite my shit too, but when we do it it's generally pretty socially unacceptable."

Tobias' display of his pearly whites brought an eyebrow raise to my face. The expression was generally amused, but what, exactly, was he trying to show me? The fact that he had teeth for biting? My, what big teeth you have, little kitty man! The better to... bite your things with? I wondered vaguely whether or not there was a fairy tale similar to Red Riding Hood in the were-world. Did they care about actual physical attributes of one another, such as larger or longer teeth? Bemused, I ran a finger over my lips as he turned his head. His actions signified the ownership of his body, mind, soul... whatever. It was hard to wrap my mind around the fact that he believed another individual owned him. Part of me wanted to make a reference to the 19th century United States before slavery was abolished by good ole Abe Lincoln, but I don't think he would understand such a reference. Resigned, I tilted my head to inspect the discoloration of the scar best I could from my angle and location.

"He took a chunk out of you. What, is he a shark? Don't answer that, I don't like sharks."

I crossed my arms over my chest, vehemently opposed to the sudden disappearance of my sandwich through the pearly gates of Tobias' mouth. After he depleted what made the sandwich a sandwich and unceremoniously dropped it on the floor, I found my eyebrows furrowed darkly together, my eyes narrowed. Clearly, he didn't want the bread as it wasn't good enough for the manly god-like feline he was and it was better suited to the floor. Did his mother teach him to eat like that at a guests home? Exhaling hotly, I sat up in the chair opposite him to better see him but also to assert that this was my home and, I was in fact more dominant (at least in this domain, regardless of what my ego and pride would say otherwise). My gaze was met with his curious one, almost begging me for an answer to the relatively colloquial expression of "having your cake and eating it too".

How do you explain propriety to a man who understands little more than animalistic desires? Unsure about how to proceed, or how to explain such things without offending the present women in his life, I shrugged a shoulder.

"If they're capable of baking, then yes. I would assume certain women have cake," I started to explain, slowly enough as to keep myself from answering him in a way that might give "Birdie" plausible reason to desire my demise once more. "But other women? They want a mate because mates make them feel safe, desired, and ... I don't know. Whatever else women feel."

The explanation was short, intended to help rectify the obvious mistake I made in suggesting that some women didn't want a relationship and they wanted their physical needs met alone. In the end, what woman didn't want a mate? The prospect of a life-long relationship that fulfills all of their needs appealed not only to women, but men too if they were being honest enough to understand that desire. The need to protect, the need to be validated... Yeah, guilty.

"They didn't lie, maybe they were simply unclear in their communication of their desires."

There. Mistake rectified. I drummed my fingers on my knee, contemplating what to do with the leopard in front of me as he became agitated with my descriptions. Suddenly he seems to acquiesce to one of my suggestions by springing impatiently from my bed and into a bounding gait towards the kitchen. Who knew such a scavenger hunt would bring so much joy into the simple man's life? With my eyebrows raised in contemplation, I followed him towards the kitchen whose location I knew incredibly well at his exclamation of discovery. I leaned against the door frame, observing my specimen as it â€" oops, he began his trial and tribulation of attempting to create dinner for himself. See? I am a good teacher. In watching him spank the shit out of the microwave, I chuckled as the machine became offended with his uneducated guesses.

"Indeed, she is female. See? Do what they don't like, and they hit you. Wretched creatures," I offered, heading to the machine to press the button for him. "They generally â€" I mean all women, like soft touches and when you coerce er-... suggest things to them. Ladies don't respond well to orders."