Frill exposure

It is well known that thousands of years ago cats were worshipped as gods. I have not forgotten this. In my quest to find a minion worthy of caring for my every need, I sought out one that venerated not only the feline species but the highest caste within said species - the Ginger.

Since choosing her as my minion seven years ago we have formed a strong bond, she as my disciple and I am her familiar. The Chief MInion is diligent in her duties, she will do even the less pleasant tasks without complaint (litter tray cleaning, removal of vomited hair balls and, when I was ill - bottom cleaning with warm moist toilet paper). She is kind, caring, attentive and loving at all times but, oh my goodness, she is not very intelligent. 

When relaxing on my pouffe, and this is something all cats do, I can reach a state of near nirvana, a blissful zen like experience where I am chilled out without a care in the world. I roll onto my back exposing my magnificent frill and revel in the warmth and safety I feel in my chosen home. The Chief Minion gets very excited when I do this and often comes to worship at the frill altar. She calls me her 'cuddly teddy bear' and gently kisses my head. I put up with display of affection as it seems to be important to the minion to express her love in this way.  Not content with this the minion will start stroking my exposed white bib and chest and then working her way down to the frill. Mine is rather splendid, even if I say so myself. Our cousins, the lions, have their awesome manes and I have my frill of epic proportions. Her hand strokes the baby soft fur as she coos endearments however, the frill is extremely sensitive. It is very near my tom bits and, as every male knows, these need to be protected at all times. I allow her a few strokes hoping she will stop, but no. She never learns. Always one stroke to many and I have to teach her a lesson (again). In an instant all twenty claws unsheath and my four limbs enclose around her hand, like a ginger Venus Flytrap her hand is caught in a terrifying vice like grip of fur, claws and fangs. Her reflexes are fast, but not fast enough. I manage to get my fangs into  her soft flesh just before she snatches her hand away, moaning and complaining before sloping off to attend to her wounds. I resume my nap immediately, mulling over the fact that this happens everytime the frill is revealed.

Pigeons learn faster than her.