Contributing To The Deliquency Of A Minor

I am bewildered. Less than a month ago, I took my feline friend, Monkey, into the vet to have his "boys" removed. I felt a little guilty about the process, because I'd never want someone to take me for that procedure by tricking me with a promise of "going to Disneyland", but if I'd have told him the real reason we were leaving the house that early morning, I doubt he'd have agreed to it.
None-the-less, the procedure went off without a hitch. He came home, every bit as happy as he was before we left that morning. He did have a small look of confusion, however, when he'd whip his leg back during bath time, and the process took him less time than he did before, but he quickly got past that.

Maybe a week or so went by. He wasn't anymore calm than he was pre-op, as he continued to bite and scratch just about as often. But there was one more attack he had added to his repertoire. He began to latch onto my leg and wrestle with it. My leg was safely beneath my bedspread, so I never worried about any scratches or bites. He did seem, however, unusually aggressive. Clamping his jagged little teeth down hard, then kicking and adjusting his legs. Given my love of professional wrestling, I took some comfort in the idea that he was now embracing one of my loves, instead of his usual guerilla attacks on me. So to play along with this scenario, I'd flail and buck my leg, knocking him loose quite often. He always sit back, study his target, then pounce once again. Then, just like he had before, clench his teeth down hard, and begin kicking.
Early one morning, instead of allowing me to sleep in, which I like to do on the weekend, I was awoken by the cat, who's always an early riser, pouncing on my leg and again, kicking and flailing his legs. I tried to reason with him, hoping he'd f*ck off and tend to one of his other projects, like running in circles, looking out the front window, or maybe grabbing something to eat, but he'd have no part in any of that. So again, I'd buck my leg as he clenched and kicked. Only this time, he stopped kicking at one point. I looked down at him to see what he was doing, and that's when it hit me. I noticed his little bottom pumping up against my blanketed leg. The little f*cker was... Well. Doing just that. He was f.. Humping my leg.

Disgusted at the idea that he would find my appendage such a sexual turn-on, I quickly bucked him off my leg, calling him a "homo" in the process. He sat back, looking at me with such offense and disdain, and harbouring a massive chub. He attempted to resume humping my leg, but I had no part of that. "F*ck you!" I said to the little fella. "Homie don't play that shit!"

For days and days afterward, he continued to try to "wrestle" with my leg, and everytime, I'd shove him off, accusing him of being a homosexual. A label that he's still not happy with me calling him.
Finally, the other morning, tired with continuing to shove him off me at every pass, I came up with a brilliant idea. I would get him a surrogate. A sexual-device that he could "wrestle" with, and hopefully, would help him forget all about my enticing left leg. So last night I put the plan into effect.
I'd stepped out, making a run to Wal-Mart to pick up a few sale items I'd circled in the latest flyer. After filling my cart, I darted over to the toy section, with hopes of finding a cute fuzzy little feline that might turn my cat on. Alas, my efforts were not met. Up and down all the aisles in that toy section and I failed to find what I was looking for. But before I'd abandon all hope, I found a suitable facsimile. A cute little white bear on one of the endcaps. And it was on sale. Just $5. Five bucks to end my nightmare of my cat splooging all over my bedspread. Granted the little guy's fixed, but I'm not familiar with veterinarian medicine. I remember doctors on television saying that a man who receives a vasectomy, still runs the risk of impregnating his wife in the early stages after his procedure. I didn't know if there was a chance of my bed-spread being impregnated with my cat's demon seed, and I didn't want to chance it. That's a mess that I just did not want to address.
So five dollars was (and is) a small price to pay to avoid such an awkward situation. "And besides..." I thought to myself, reading the tag on the bear, "All proceeds go to fight breast cancer." The proverbial "two birds, one stone". I like my bed spread the way it is and I'm also a fan of boobies. Win/win!

However, as I looked down at the bear in my hands, a wave of guilt overcame me. It's those blasted Toy Story movies. I don't know if those movies are based in some kind of reality. That the toys all come to life when outside the peripheral view of humanoids like ourselves. Did I really want to subject this cutesy little teddy bear to a barrage of violent sexual predation at the hands... er, paws of my pet cat, Monkey? So I did hum and haw at the premise for several minutes while standing before the shelves of charity bears, but in the end, I purchased the bear. Toys coming to life, after all, is proposterous.

So I brought my purchases home, and no sooner did I retrieve the bear from the bag, than was my cat interested in it. I placed it on the floor and looked on. I didn't want to watch, but like a brilliant car accident at a light, sometimes it's too difficult to look away. Besides. I remember my sister's dog T_____ humping his Cat In The Hat when he was a young pup. That was ALWAYS funny shit, and though on a much smaller scale, her dog being a St. Bernard, I thought the premise of my cat f*cking a teddy bear would be hilarious.
He wrestled with it a little. Pouncing and attacking it from different angles, but soon the little white bear failed to pique his interest and he abandoned it. I even... YES, I took some initiative to buck the the bear around similar to how I did with my leg on those early mornings. This got his attention some, but he'd lose interest just as quick.

In the end, I woke up to him "attacking" my leg, to which I quickly threw him off my bed, citing his homosexuality and questioning myself why he'd choose my dark bed spread over his new little white bear... Then it donned on me. He doesn't like blondes!!!