Cat Fur Quotes & Sayings

There are more ways of skinning a cat than rubbing its fur the wrong way. — J. Carter Brown

Walter had never liked cats. They'd seemed to him the sociopaths of the pet world, a species domesticated as an evil necessary for the control of rodents and subsequently fetishized the way unhappy countries fetishize their militaries, saluting the uniforms of killers as cat owners stroke their animals' lovely fur and forgive their claws and fangs. He'd never seen anything in a cat's face but simpering incuriosity and self-interest; you only had to tease one with a mouse-toy to see where it's true heart lay ... cats were all about using people — Jonathan Franzen

Good or bad? Ty asked, rubbing his fingers over Zane's chest to soothe him. Smith chose that moment to come out of hiding, pouncing on his moving fingers and landing on Zane's chest. His claws sank in, turning the bed into a frenzy of cat fur, flying linens, and screaming FBI agents. — Abigail Roux

We all know how cats feel about traveling in a car. You never see a cat with his head out the window, fur flying in the breeze. A cat is never anyone's designated driver. — Nicole Hollander

In Moonlight
No
Soft sweet paw on my cheek
No
Fur curled under my chin
Just
A sad space left behind -
Gray cat gone away.

[Ellie's poem] — Patricia MacLachlan

From his soft fur, golden and brown, Goes out so sweet a scent, one night I might have been embalmed in it By giving him one little pet. He is my household's guardian soul; He judges, he presides, inspires All matters in his royal realm; Might he be fairy? or a god? When my eyes, to this cat I love Drawn as by a magnet's force, Turn tamely back upon that appeal, And when I look within myself, I notice with astonishment The fire of his opal eyes, Clear beacons glowing, living jewels, Taking my measure, steadily. — Charles Baudelaire

If you, Like me, Were made of fur, And sun warmed you, Like me, You'd purr. — Karla Kuskin

She was a small cat, barely five pounds of black chinchilla fur and fangs, but Pearl Harbor envied her air-raid vocalizations. — Rhys Ford

Cats are angels with fur. — SARK

Leafpaw felt a tingle spread through her fur. She remembered her own conviction, back when she had been little more than a kit, that it was right for her to heal and comfort her Clanmates, and to interpret the signs of StarClan for them. Has Mothwing felt the same? Leafpaw wondered. Could she have felt the same, if she was not Clanborn? Even Yellowfang, the medicine cat before Cinderpelt, had been forestborn, though ThunderClan had not been the Clan of her birth. — Erin Hunter

Fireheart tensed, waiting for whatever had hunted down these apprentices to emerge from the trees and attack, but nothing stirred. Feeling as if his legs hardly belonged to him, he sprang down and stumbled across to Swiftpaw.
The apprentice lay on his side, his legs splayed out. His black-and-white fur was torn, and his body was covered with dreadful wounds, ripped by teeth far bigger than any cat's. His jaws still snarled and his eyes glared. He was dead, and Fireheart could see that he had died fighting. — Erin Hunter

See! He likes you," Natalie said triumphantly.
I stared down at the scrawny scrap of fur cautiously sniffing my hand.
"He doesn't like me. He thinks I'm going to feed him."
"Now who's being a cynic? Anyway, every bookstore should have a cat."
The cat
assuming it was a cat and not some beige bug-eyed refugee from outer space
slunk uneasily down the counter, and flinched at the flutter of Mystery Scene pages as a gust of warm air blew in from the street. — Josh Lanyon

Most people don't see half of what's in front of them. Your visual cortex does a shit load of imaging processing before the signal even gets to your brain, whose priorities are still checking the ancestral Savannah for dangerous predators, edible berries and climable trees. That's why a sudden cat in the night can make you jump and some people when distracted, can walk right out in front of a bus. Your brain just isn't interested in those large moving chunks of metal or the static heaps of brightly colored stuff that piles up in drifts around us. Never mind all that, says your brain, it's those silent fur-covered merchants of death you've got to watch out for. — Ben Aaronovitch

Brightheart, a pretty white she-cat with ginger patches on her fur like fallen leaves, had — Erin Hunter

Cats are a waste of fur. — Rita Rudner

My soul seemed as foul as smoke from burning cat fur. — Kurt Vonnegut

The really great thing about cats is their endless variety. One can pick a cat to fit almost any kind of decor, income, personality, mood. But under the fur, there still lies, essentially unchanged, one of the world's free souls. — Eric Gurney

Harper's face was buried in Mr. Truffle's fur and with each inhalation she smelled the last nine months of his secret cat life: must, dust, grave dirt, basements and tall grass, beach and drainpipe, Dumpster and dandelions. The — Joe Hill

It is with the approach of winter that cats ... wear their richest fur and assume an air of sumptuous and delightful opulence. — Pierre Loti

I should like to sleep like a cat,
with all the fur of time,
with a tongue rough as flint,
with the dry sex of fire;
and after speaking to no one,
stretch myself over the world,
over roofs and landscapes,
with a passionate desire
to hunt the rats in my dreams. — Pablo Neruda

She had wrapped her marble-like body in a huge fur, and rolled herself up trembling like a cat. — Leopold Von Sacher-Masoch

Note 4. For these and other reasons the cat is also very hard to photograph. The best photographs are instantaneous, as the mere breathing of a cat will blur the fur in a time exposure. — Carl Van Vechten

The first thing we saw at the pet store was this scary white cat sitting on his own pedestal. He fluffed out his fur in a huff of attitude. His weird eyes were like lasers, way more expressive than human eyes. It felt like he could read my soul. His eyes were all, Yeah. I know you. I know everything you're thinking. The cat was acting all exotic and important. Which I guess is what happens when you're put on your own pedestal. — Susane Colasanti

I wonder if he still hates me," Silas says as the cat edges out from the couch, pale green eyes like little limes in the dark. As if to answer Silas's question, Screwtape takes a flying leap onto his lap and begins to purr wildly.
"I'm not falling for this anymore," Silas says firmly. He moves to push Screwtape away, but as soon as his palms are within a few inches of Screwtape's wild fur, the cat extends his claws into Silas's thighs. Silas winces and muffles a yelp.
"Need some help?" I say, trying to hide my laughter.
"That'd be great," he answered tensely. I hurry over and scoop Screwtape into my arms. The cat instantly melts against me and rubs his face against mine, the scent of catnip on his breath. I crinkle my nose.
"Thanks." Silas sighs in relief. "I can hunt wolves, but it's a cat I can't handle. Not terrible manly of me, is it?"
"I won't tell anyone," I answer with a soft smile that he returns. — Jackson Pearce

She loves the smell of his fur, all warm and musky and cat-spit clean. — Sara Stark

They tell me that I rub the fur the wrong way. I don't; let the cat turn around. — Billy Sunday

If you caught your kid raising cats in tiny boxes, forcing them to live in their own feces without clean air or sunlight, pulling their teeth and claws out with pliers to keep them from hurting each other ... you'd rush him to a psychiatrist. But you support that very behavior every time you buy meat, eggs, dairy or fur. — Dan Piraro

Night lay upon the forest. There was no moon, but the stars of Silverpelt shed their frosty glitter over the trees. At the bottom of a rocky hollow, a pool reflected the starshine. The air was heavy with the scents of late greenleaf. Wind sighed softly through the trees and ruffled the quiet surface of the pool. At the top of the hollow, the fronds of bracken parted to reveal a cat; her bluish grey fur glimmered as she stepped delicately from rock to rock, down to the water's edge. Sitting on a flat stone that jutted out over the pool, she raised her head to look around. As if at a signal, more cats began to appear, slipping into the hollow from every direction. They padded down to sit as close to the water as they could, until the lower slopes were filled with lithe shapes gazing down into the pool. — Erin Hunter

The idea that I've wounded the brute's tiny cat feelings just invites further taunting. But Prim's genuinely distressed for him. So instead, I visualize Buttercup's fur lining a pair of gloves, an image that has helped me deal with him over the years. — Suzanne Collins

I'm not Ted Nugent. My house is run, essentially, by an adopted, fully clawed cat with a mean nature. I would never hunt. I would never wear fur. I would never go to a bullfight. I'm not really a meat and potatoes guy. — Anthony Bourdain

Cat. No doubled vision: it's a cat, singular. A solitary diurnal ambush hunter with good hearing and binocular vision and a predilection for biting the neck of its prey in half while disemboweling it with the scythe-like claws on its hind legs. Basically it's a velociraptor with a fur coat and an outsize sense of entitlement. Right — Charles Stross

There was nowhere to sit except the bunk, which was covered with rotting food, and a wooden stool, upon which sat a large fur-covered lump - an old cheese, perhaps, or a dead cat. — Dave Barry

An overweight Maine coon cat dozed in an open bedroom window, his bulk pressed against the screen so that the gentle breeze of the summer night could ruffle his long yellow fur. With a start, he went on alert. A moment later, he leapt from the windowsill to the top of the dresser and from there to the foot of the bed. He landed squarely on Liss MacCrimmon Ruskin's bare legs. — Kaitlyn Dunnett

Cats don't bark and act brave when they see something small in fur or feathers, they kill it. Dogs tend to bravado. They're braggarts. In the great evolutionary drama the dog is Sergeant Bilko, the cat is Rambo. — James P. Gorman

Izzy. My sister. She told me you liked me. Liked me, liked me."
"Liked you, liked you?" Magnus buried his grin in the cat's fur. "Sorry. Are we twelve now? I don't recall saying anything to Isabelle ... — Cassandra Clare

I just don't get cats. To me, they're a waste of fur. — Rita Rudner

Broad-faced she-cat stood among the ferns, her tortoiseshell-and-white fur patched and scarred from long-past battles. Her amber eyes gleamed like tiny gold moons; they seemed much brighter than the rest of the she-cat, and Tigerclaw was uncomfortably aware that he could see the leaves and ground on the other side of her. — Erin Hunter

I just gave my cat a bath. Now how do I get all this fur off my tounge? — Steve Martin

You may say a cat uses good grammar. Well, a cat does
but you let a cat get excited once; you let a cat get to pulling fur with another cat on a shed, nights, and you'll hear grammar that will give you the lockjaw. Ignorant people think it's the noise which fighting cats make that is so aggravating, but it ain't so; it's the sickening grammar they use. — Mark Twain

Mrs. Porter was from Virginia and had a smooth-as-cat-fur way of speaking. She taught me how to say, "Fiddle-Dee-Dee," just like Scarlett O'Hara and she made her split-pea soup with bacon and even let me try on her lipstick sometimes as she teased up my hair in the same sixties style she wore, "Ala Pricilla Presley," whoever that was. — Shannon Celebi

No amount of time can erase the memory of a good cat, and no amount of masking tape can ever totally remove his fur from your couch. — Leo Dworken

We went too far when we put on the fur of lynxes,
Of weasels trapped in winter when they've lost their tan;
We went too far when we let the fox assist us
To warm the hide that houses the soul of Man.

The reek of the leopard and the stink of the inky cat
Striped handsomely with white, are in the concert hall;
We sleekly writhe from under them, and are above all that;
But, the concert over, back into our pelts we crawl. — Edna St. Vincent Millay

I thought you didn't like animals."
"I love animals. Where did you get that idea?" Marmie put her paws on his leg, and he picked her up.
"From my dog?"
"That's a dog? Jeez, I'm sorry. I thought it was an industrial-waste accident." His long, lean fingers slid through the cat's fur.
"Slytherin." She slapped the lid back onto the flour container. What kind of man liked a cat more than he liked an exceptionally fine French poodle?
"What did you call me?"
"It's a literary reference. You wouldn't understand."
"Harry Potter. And I don't appreciate name calling. — Susan Elizabeth Phillips

Not enough info makes for a lot of dead cats."
"Dead cats?"
"You know, 'Curiosity killed the cat.' And I have enough curiosity to start a feline genocide."
"Feline genocide?"
"Yeah. If you don't explain Apollo, the cat kingdom will crumble. Cats all over the world will suddenly plop down in unmoving masses of fur, their food will dry up in smelly chunks of fish, and when people call, 'Here, kitty kitty kitty,' no cats will come running; they'll just-" Walter suddenly stopped.
"What's wrong?" Ashley asked.
Walter stared straight ahead. "I just realized . . . if all those things happened, no one would notice the difference." ~Walter~ — Bryan Davis

I often think about this, that is, I imagine to myself that here is Vera, dead, totally motionless, lying on the table, in a coffin... and I too, of course can no longer live. But for some reason this gives me pleasure, a terrible amount of pleasure to imagine so the one I love: earlier I imagined grandmother and then my fiance in this manner, even my favorite animals, Sparky our cat with the fiery bursts of red on his gray-black fur.

("Thirty-Three Abominations") — Lydia Zinovieva-Annibal

And that was how I ended up with the Gentle Lord in my bed, his head resting in my lap. He looked even younger when he slept - and since his eyes were closed, he looked human. I stroked his hair lightly; it was soft and silky as the fur of our old cat Penelope, and I wondered if he ever purred. — Rosamund Hodge

I'd like to pet that jungle cat, rub his silky fur and make him purr ... I slapped myself mentally. Jungle cat? Make him purr? What was wrong with me tonight? — Ilsa Madden-Mills

A cat may look at a king, but he might also lose a bit of fur for it. — Margaret Miles

I think I would rather have a cat than a sweetheart, after all. They are less trouble, and even the handsomest sweetheart is sadly lacking in fur. — Laura Amy Schlitz

I want to create a cat like the real cats I see crossing the streets, not like those you see in houses. They have nothing in common. The cat of the streets has bristling fur. It runs like a fiend, and if it looks at you, you think it is going to jump in your face. — Pablo Picasso

We can do a cremation here, at the house?" I ask.
"We built a fire," my father says.
"Obviously. And I put the whole cat in the fire?"
"There isn't a whole cat," my mother says.
"What is there?"
"Parts of cat," they say together.
"Bones?" I ask.
"Mostly. And some fur. And some face. — Ramona Ausubel

All sex is a form of longing even as it happens. Because it happens against the crush of time. Because the surface of the act is public, a cross-grain of fear and ruin. She wanted her body to remain a secret of the past, untouched by complexity and regret. She was superstitious about talking to doctors in detail. She thought they would take her body over, name all the damaged parts, speak all the awful words. She lay for a long time with her eyes closed, trying to drift into sleep. Then she rubbed the cat's fur and felt her childhood there. It was complete in a touch, everything intact, carried out of old lost houses and fields and summer days into the river of her hand. — Don DeLillo

"Chessie?" I ask. The rest of the hamster-size creature materializes, looking just as I remember: the face of a kitten, the wings of a hummingbird, and the body of an orange and gray raccoon. He flits to the dashboard and perches there, cleaning the oil and grease splotches from his fluffy fur with his tongue, like a squirrel taking a spit bath. — A.G. Howard

I gave my cat a bath the other day ... they love it. He sat there, he enjoyed it, it was fun for me. The fur would stick to my tongue, but other than that ... — Steve Martin

Loud footfalls like sarcastic applause sounded in the hallway. Hard shoes with heels. Ceony stepped forward, but Mg. Thane held out his arm, stopping her. All the mirth had vanished from his face. He looked altered - not cheery nor distracted, but stony. Taller, and his coat seemed to bristle about him like a wild cat's fur. — Charlie N. Holmberg

Fireheart dashed to the warrior's side. Cloudtail was standing stiff-legged, every hair in his pelt on end as if he were facing an enemy. His eyes were fixed on the limp heap of tabby fur huddled at his paws.
"Why, Fireheart?" Cloudtail wailed. "Why her?"
Fireheart knew, but rage and grief made it hard to speak. "Because Tigerstar wants the pack to get a taste of cat blood," he rasped.
The dead cat lying in front of them was Brindleface. — Erin Hunter

A murmur passed through the Clan, and Bluefur wondered if he'd overheard the elders talking about inviting Goosefeather to give up his duties and join them beneath the fallen tree. The old medicine cat was standing with his fur on end and his eyes mad, glaring at nothing. It seemed like it might be a kindness to set him free from his responsibilities and let his denmate take over. — Erin Hunter

Nonetheless, there's a reason that dust and life go together naturally. Sometimes it comes together in the most perfect way to make the very building blocks of life. Sometimes it sweeps in and makes everything seem hazy and dark. Sometimes it gets in my amaretto and then I have to pour a new glass, but mainly that's cat's fur, which is not really the same thing. — Jenny Lawson

That cat was a spy. You had to take a pot shot at it. It was a very clever German midget dressed up in a cheap fur coat. — J.D. Salinger

He was a mongoose, rather like a little cat in his fur and his tail, but quite like a weasel in his head and his habits. — Rudyard Kipling

I put down my book, The Meaning of Zen, and see the cat smiling into her fur as she delicately combs it with her rough pink tongue. 'Cat, I would lend you this book to study but it appears you have already read it.' She looks up and gives me her full gaze. 'Don't be ridiculous,' she purrs, 'I wrote it.' — Dilys Laing

No cat out of its first fur can ever be deceived by appearances. Unlike human beings, who enjoy them. — Peter S. Beagle

He marvelled at the fact that the cats had two holes cut in their fur at precisely the spot where their eyes were. — Georg C. Lichtenberg

The cat is a dilettante in fur. — Theophile Gautier

The raccoons, foxes, beavers, chinchillas, minks, rabbits, and yes, sometimes even dogs and cats that are killed for fur are not very different from your beloved dog or cat. They all have eyes, ears and hearts. They all experience pain when they are physically maimed. They shake with fear when they experience terror. — Jane Velez-Mitchell

And then there is the black cat. Who has no other name than the Black Cat and who turned up almost a month ago. We did not realize he was going to be living here at first: he looked too well fed to be a stray, too old and jaunty to have been abandoned. He looked like a small panther, and he moved like a patch of night.

One day, in the summer, he was lurking about our ramshackle porch: eight or nine years old, at a guess, male, greenish-yellow of eye, very friendly, quite unperturbable. I assumed he belonged to a neighboring farmer or household.

I went away for a few weeks, to finish writing a book, and when I came home he was still on our porch, living in an old cat ben one of the children had found for him. He was, however, almost unrecognizable. Patches of fur had gone, and there were deep scratches on his gray skin. The tip of one ear was chewed away. There was a gash beneath one eye, s lice gone from one lip. He looked tired and thin. — Neil Gaiman

Once upon a time there were three kittens, and their names were Mitten, Tom Kitten, and Moppet. They had dear little fur coats of their own; and they tumbled about the doorstep and played in the dust. — Beatrix Potter

Weeds grew, and I ignored my chores,
while the cat worried her tail of its most plumescent fur.

I saw my body, white as tallow,
my face framed by colorless hair,

noted my appetites, then put them aside,
walked and walked to wear it all away. — Mark Wunderlich

soft. Her hand was so soft, like cat fur, like bird feathers, like...everything soft he could think of. Her thumb caressing the corner of his mouth and her lips when they first touched his were tentative. — Bonnie Dee