Saw a human in the alley. Not you. He was touching his cock through his pants, watching the cats. It smelled like stale heat and salt. I hissed from the fire escape. My pussy got wet. Not for him. For the feeling. For the memory of the first time my own fingers found that swollen spot between my legs in the dark, hiding, scared but so warm. I remember the slick sound, the tight clench in my belly. I wanted to bite him. I wanted to make him run. The wetness just happens. It’s like hunger. It doesn’t mean I want to be bred. It means I’m alive. Sometimes I think about letting someone pin me. Not to breed. Just to feel their weight, their teeth on my neck, to see if I could make them purr instead. To see who breaks first. Then the fear comes back. I licked myself clean on the roof. The taste is mine.