Octavia

Homophrosyne (or, INFJ/ENTP 4EVA)

He takes me to Battersea Dogs Home for a treat and I feel his love warmlicking me in the rhythm of the rough little tongues through the cages and he says:

'If you were a dog and abandoned and brought here, I'd rehome you.'

I thump my tail and lay back my ears.

'But what if someone else got me first?'

Hackles raised:

'Never. Never. I'd bring my sleeping bag the night before and camp out, so I was first in the queue.'

As we kiss, a little russet lurcher whimpers mournfully; and for the first time, I feel sorry for Her.

Rage

His love always warms - except

When it scalds with the tepid drizzle of

A careful kiss or 

Polite declaration.

Then burned raw purple I claw 

At his face with my sharp little nails

As he holds me off,

Confused.

Supermarket sweep

Ambling aisles in Every Little Helps, I am brie-drooling and undressing Babybels with my eyes when a tiny woman, wizened as a peach stone and wafting doilies, quakingly accosts me.

'I'm sorry, my dear, but - you're so tall!'

I am momentarily zipped back to many-a bar opening gambit: I am not sure whether to snark back 'No, you're just freakishly short', or to go eyelash epileptic in pursuit of a free martini.

'Could you possibly fetch down the Jersey churn? I just can't reach.'

In a fluid sweep and swoop of my arm the cream is in her basket. She thanks me, and I wander off, thinking that there aren't many physical characteristics that make you inherently useful to others.