Meow Love Quotes

Yearning for love made her feel like a cat that was always twining around ankles, meowing Pet me, pet me, look at me, love me.

It was hard to imagine feeling that magical tingling sensation in the pit of her belly anytime soon. Best not to worry about it, she thought. She didn't need it. Well. She didn't want to need it. Yearning for love made her feel like a cat that was always twining around ankles, meowing Pet me, pet me, look at me, love me. Better to be the cat gazing coolly down from a high wall, its expression inscrutable. The cat that shunned petting, that needed no one. Why couldn't she be that cat? Be that cat!!! she wrote, drawing it into the corner of her page, cool and aloof.

One last thump, one last groan—and one last meow. Then all was blessedly silent. Except for Clive. He continued to pine for his lost love until four mother-loving a.m. The cold war was back on…

Brambleclaw turned to Squirrelflight first. “Will you fight beside me?” Their eyes met for a long moment. “Always,” she meowed.

How you can come to love an animal! She doesn't talk, but she speaks with her eyes, her paws, her meows, and I understand her.

I fight with the strength of many lion meows. I love even more ferociously.

I thought I was in love, but it was only a head cold." (Humans)

Brambleclaw's tail filicked angrily. "Did there have to be so many lies?" He was staring at Squirrelflight. "Couldn't you have told me the truth?" Squirrelflight dipped her head. "It was never my secret to tell. Leafpool had so much to lose". "She lost everything anyway", Brambleclaw snarled. "No, I didn't". Leafpool lifted her muzzle. "I watched my kits grow into fine warrior, and I still serve my Clan with all my heart". Lionblaze felt his heart prick. Perhaps this was the truth that was most important. Leafpool had sacrificed so much and, even though her kits rejected her time and again, she'd never stopped loving them. In his darkest moments, he couldn't deny that. "Brambleclaw, I'm sorry". Squirrelflight moved closer to the ThunderClan deputy. Her voice was stronger now, as if she was tired of being punished for something she had believed to be right. "You have to understand that I never intended to hurt you. I loved you, and was proud to raise these kits with you. You were a wonderful father". "But I wasn't their father!" Brambleclaw hissed. "Yes, you were!" Squirrelflight thrust her muzzle close to Brambleclaw's. Her eyes blazed. "Don't throw away everything just because you are angry with me!" Lionblaze swallowed. "I was so proud to be your son". Brambleclaw looked at him in surprise, as if he'd forgotton Lionblaze was there. Something in the deputy's expression changed. "And I couldn't have asked for a better son. And you Jayfeather. Or a better daughter, Hollyleaf." Hollyleaf opened her mouth as if to protest, but Brambleclaw spoke first. "You played no part in this deception, I know that. Whatever you did, it was because of the lies taht had been told when you were born." "It was my fault alone," Leafpool meowed quietly. "You are wrong to blame Squirrelflight. She was just being loyal to me. And now that we know about the prophecy, surely the only thing that matters is that these kits were accepted by their Clan? It's not about us, after all. It's about them. Their destinies shaped ours, right from the moment they were born." Squirrelflight nodded. "Everything was meant to be". Lionblaze looked down at his paws. If these cats could accept their destinies, then he had enough courage to accept his. I am one of the Four.

Today 5:14 p.m. "Mrrrrrowl. Mrrrrrowl." "Ow! Ow, stupid cat! Ahem. You told me, 'stop calling, Isabelle,' but I'm not the one calling you. Church is calling you. Mine are merely the fingers that work the phone. "See, here's something you may not have known before you committed your recent rash acts. Our cat, Church, and your cat, Chairman Meow? They're in love. I've never seen such love before. I never knew such love could exist in the heart of a... cat. Some people say that love between two dude cats is wrong, but I think it's beautiful. Love makes Church happier than I've ever seen him. Nothing makes him happy like Chairman Meow. Not tuna. Not shredding centuries-old tapestries. Nothing. Please don't keep these cats apart. Please don't take the joy of love away from Church. "Look, this is really just a warning for your own good. If you keep Church and Chairman Meow apart, Church will start to get angry. "You wouldn't like Church when he's angry." Beep

The Indians around here tell a cautionary fable about a great saint who was always surrounded in his Ashram by loyal devotees. For hours a day, the saint and his followers would meditate on God. The only problem was that the saint had a young cat, an annoying creature, who used to walk through the temple meowing and purring and bothering everyone during meditation. So the saint, in all his practical wisdom, commanded that the cat be tied to a pole outside for a few hours a day, only during meditation, so as to not disturb anyone. This became a habit – tying the cat to the pole and then meditating on God – but as years passed, the habit hardened into religious ritual. Nobody could meditate unless the cat was tied to the pole first. Then one day the cat died. The saint's followers were panic-stricken. It was a major religious crisis – how could they meditate now, without a cat to tie to a pole? How would they reach God? In their minds, the cat had become the means.

When I describe love to an emotional Helen Keller, I usually say it has four legs, fur, and possesses the ability to either purr or meow.

[Brodsky] loved cats, and sometimes for a greeting would meow.

The birds bark my name, and I meow theirs in return. I may be a bit mixed up about life, but not about love. Or maybe I mixed that up.

I love cats, they're great; intelligent, affectionate, lovable, and this one was particularly nice, so picking it up and giving it a few slaps and a bit of a rough time was galling, even though it was unfortunately necessary. See, if you're hiding in someone's spare bedroom waiting for them to turn in for the night, the last thing you need is a cat meowing at the door trying to get in to see you because you've been stroking it all day. A bit of a shake and a growl in the cat's face and that's all that's usually needed for it to give the spare room and the horrible bastard inside a wide berth for the rest of the night.

I remember one day - the day I had to leave after a month here alone. I had just had lunch in some small tratoria on the remotest part of the Fondamente Nuove, grilled fish and half a bottle of wine. With that inside, I set out for the place I was staying, to collect my bags and catch a vaporetto. I walked a quarter of a mile along the Fondamente Nuove, a small moving dot in that gigantic watercolor, and then turned right by the hospital of Giovanni e Paolo. The day was warm, sunny, the sky blue, all lovely. And with my back to the Fondamente and San Michele, hugging the wall of the hospital, almost rubbing it with my left shoulder and squinting at the sun, I suddenly felt : I am a cat. A cat that has just had a fish. Had anyone addressed me at that moment, I would have meowed. I was absolutely, animally happy. Twelve hours later, of course, having landed in New York, I hit the worst possible mess in my life - or the one that appeared that way at the time. Yet the cat in me lingered; had it not been for the cat, I'd be climbing the walls now in some expensive institution.

Never much of a fantasy fan, I knew one thing for certain: Odell Greenry loved Precious every bit as much as Gollum loved his “precious.” And while both objects of obsession could be possessed neither could be mastered.

Cats have a way of touching our hearts with their playful purrs and affectionate nudges. On this Love Your Pet Day, let's take a moment to appreciate the joy, companionship, and unconditional love our feline friends bring. Meow!

Charlemagne opened his mouth to protest, but immediately snapped it shut and slapped a hand over his nose, a look of disgust on his face. Primplepuss had struck again. Scrambling to his feet, Charlemagne hurried for the door and wrenched it open before glancing back at Maggie. The old man was struggling to escape from beneath the enormous cat's weight. "We can discuss this later, Maggie," he said. "Perhaps tonight, on the battlements, where our thoughts might be clearer." And he hurried off, ignoring Maggie's pleas for help to get the cat off him. "Sharley, wait! Give ma a hand! This cat's so heavy --oh, my God! No! How can you smell like that and live? Sharley, help!" An already distance voice floated back into his room. "Sorry, can't stop. I value my nostrils." "Prince Charlemagne, for the love of all that's decent! My God, cat, if we could harness your arse we could repel any invasion! How do you do it?" A small questioning meow was the only reply Maggie received as he flapped a handkerchief under his nose and tried to breath through his mouth without retching.

How do we hold the paradox of giving up our life in order to find it? I believe Chesterton is saying that the more we open our heart to both heartache and hope, the more we can look death in the face and say, “Where is your sting?” (1 Cor. 15:55). We must love all that bears the mark of life: the sound of an owl finch and its call that sounds like the meowing of a kitten. We must love Bach, Ethiopian berbere, and the smell of freshly baked bread. Life is teeming with goodness. We must also experience death and powerlessness, but darkness will not win. Life and love will have the final word.

Admiral Leonard H. "Bones" McCoy: How old do you think I am, anyway? Lt. Commander Data: 137 years, Admiral, according to Starfleet records. Admiral Leonard H. "Bones" McCoy: Explain how you remember that so exactly! Lt. Commander Data: I remember every fact I am exposed to, sir. Admiral Leonard H. "Bones" McCoy: [looking at both sides of Data's head] I don't see no points on your ears, boy, but you sound like a Vulcan. Lt. Commander Data: No, sir. I am an android. Admiral Leonard H. "Bones" McCoy: Hmph. Almost as bad.' 'Data: [uses a device in his arm to open a door] Open sesame! You could say I have a magnetic personality. [laughs at his joke] Data: Humor! I love it!' 'Lt. Commander Data: Spot, you are disrupting my ability to work. [he puts Spot to the floor, but she jumps back on Data's desk] Spot: Meow. Lt. Commander Data: Vamoose, ye little varmint!

Bluefur?" Thrushpelt was calling her from the trail ahead, his sandy-gray pelt blending with the walls of frost-burnt bracken. “Are you okay?” His eyes were round with concern. Bluefur padded on with her head down. “Just going back to camp.” He didn’t step aside to let her pass, but gently held his tail up to block her way. “Stop,” he ordered. She looked into his eyes and saw a tenderness that took her by surprise. “Rosetail has just congratulated me on becoming a father,” he meowed. Bluefur felt the world spin around her. “She couldn’t! She promised!” “Is she right? Are you having kits?” “I’m so sorry. I didn’t tell her that you were the father.” Mortified, Bluefur searched for words. “She just guessed, and it was easier….” She stopped. She couldn’t give anything away. “So you are going to have kits?” Thrushpelt pressed. Bluefur blinked. “Yes, I am.” She waited for him to ask whose they were. Why she’d lied. But he just stood and watched her. At last he spoke. “I’m not going to ask who the father is,” he meowed. “I’m sure there’s a reason why you’ve kept this secret.” Bluefur plucked at a fern straying across the ground. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out differently. I—I would have been happy with you, I know. But now everything has gone wrong, and I don’t know what to do.” Thrushpelt shifted his paws. “You can tell the Clan I’m the father, if you want. I mean, if it makes things easier.” Bluefur stared at him. “You’d really do that?” Was she the only cat not willing to make a sacrifice for these kits? Thrushpelt nodded. “You know how I feel about you, Bluefur. I’d do my best to make you happy, I promise. And I’ll love your kits as though they were really my own.

If love had four legs and fur, would you try to pet it, chase it, or serve it up as chicken lo mein? My stomach is full of meow, and I brought the chopsticks.

If I could sleep with any literary character, I’d love to sleep with The Cat in the Hat. But don’t tell Cap’n, because he might get jealous and meow at me.

I knew even before I had desire that it would be gnarled and knotted, black and hard, a tree that would never bear fruit, a fish that would never jump, a cat that would never meow. All my life, bitterness and regret, bitterness, and regret. "And yet," he said, briefly closing his eyes, "I was able to imagine the softness and sweetness of love, for a time." He rested his head upon his right hand, in a gesture worthy of a classical actor, and everyone in the Teatro Barbarossa heard his breathing.

Kylie slipped into bed early that night. Having hardly slept the night before, she'd hoped she'd sleep like the dead. Well, not like the dead, but sleep like a hungry vampire, slightly turned off by the idea of drinking blood, who was mentally frazzled. No such luck. She lay staring at the ceiling, petting the purring Socks, and worrying about Holiday and wishing Lucas would call. Right then, Socks crawled up on her chest and started giving her kitty kisses on her chin. Kylie stared at the kitten. "If and when I turn into a werewolf, are you still going to love me? Remember I loved you when you were a skunk." The kitten meowed with what Kylie hoped was a yes.

we define love as ‘the wish to give happiness to others.’ If we practice love, then compassion arises quite naturally, for it is ‘the wish to free others from suffering.

Those two are going to be our entertainment tonight, meow,” the man said, his grin stretching from ear to ear. “They have so graciously volunteered themselves, and so it would be rude not to accept their offer, meow. You may kill the boy, but bring the girl to me alive. You know how much I love to entertain the ladies, meow.” Kevin was not one for swearing. However, in that moment, only one phrase came to mind that he believed could adequately describe what he felt just then. “Fuck me sideways.” Despite their situation, Iris’s eyes gleamed. “With pleasure.” “Quiet, you!” “Tch!

This is Sally. She is twelve years old and loves to read. Sally lives in a small town called Durham in North Carolina, and she visits the library almost two times a week. People say Sally is addicted to reading. When Sally goes to the library, she takes Milkshake, her cat. Milkshake likes to sit on the tall stool in the library and watch Sally while she is looking for a good book to read. Sally believes that Milkshake understands her completely, even if he can't talk to her. It was Monday morning, and Sally did not have to go to school since it was a holiday. What she didn't know is that this day was going to be special. Sally stood in the library and looked at the books that were on the shelf. She was searching for a good book to read. Within seconds, she noticed a special book. "I never saw this book before," she mumbled to herself. "Milkshake, do you see this book? It looks like a magical book,” she said while turning her head to the side to read the title on its binding. As always, Milkshake stood and watched, maybe understanding, maybe not. The book was on the third shelf, which was too high for Sally to reach standing on her tiptoes, so she decided to use the chair nearby. Using her legs, Sally put her right knee on the chair and raised her body, stretching both hands toward the book. Milkshake stared at her while Sally grumbled, "Come on - a little more. Here it is; here it…" Oops! Sally managed to grab the book, but she fell off the stool! Milkshake was surprised and gave a little “Meow,” while bending his head down. Oh no! Sally was on the floor; the chair had toppled over, and Milkshake was nearby. Sally picked up the book and looked at it. She noticed it was a special book. Its color was red, bright red like a fresh apple. The title of the book was also unique, "The Magical Zoo.” Sally read the title to Milkshake, and her pet was also interested.

Oh, we love toooooo Bar-be-cue! Bar-be-cue! Put that meat on and cook a few! Heat those coals and bake those rolls Cook that beef ‘til it fills your soul! Sniff it Smell it Taste it Don’t waste it! Life is better with some barbecue!”  Mom blinked slowly. She rubbed her eyes. She closed them tightly, then opened them again. They were still singing and dancing. She chuckled silently, put her hands on her hips, and said, “AHEM!” giving off the strongest ‘The Look’ she could. The two dancing men kept carrying on. Now Bruce had jumped in the middle of them, frolicking on his two hind legs like it was something they did every day. “Oh, we love toooooo Bar-be-cue! Bar-be-cue! Put that meat on and cook a few! Meow! Smokey! Spicey! Tasty! Yummy! Cook it up good, put it in my tummy! Meow meow! Bar-be-cue! Bar-be-cue! Life is better with some barbecue!

I think I've been like this kitten, born with its eyes closed, walking around meowing because I couldn't see where I was going. But, Dante, guess what? The kitten has opened his eyes. I can see, Dante, I can see.

You have a cat," she said, surprised. It was an odd-looking cat with no hair on its back and strange ears, but with beautiful green eyes focused on Charlotte. As soon as it saw that it had Charlotte's attention, it meowed several times with a soft, creaky voice, as if there was a lot it needed to tell her. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell Frasier. She's absolutely no danger to those birds. She was a stray and badly burned behind Popcorn a few years ago. When she's not talking, she sleeps, mostly." "What's her name?" "Fig," Mac said. "Short for Figaro. Because she talks so much she's downright operatic." "She's lovely." Her tragic beauty made Charlotte want to cry.

soon as a soul is ‘embodied,’ it becomes attached to its surroundings, particularly the body it inhabits. For this reason, dogs bark, cats meow, and cows moo. Human beings crave loving, eating, fighting, the arts, eating, sex, drugs, children, wealth, and intellectual prowess. But mostly, we work hard to gratify our senses. In today’s world where wants are defined as needs, and needs become ‘rights,’ the right to have what you want can be addictive. So accepting only what we really need requires discrimination and steady awareness of another dimension.

Oh, we love toooooo Bar-be-cue! Bar-be-cue! Put that meat on and cook a few! Meow! Smokey! Spicey! Tasty! Yummy! Cook it up good, put it in my tummy! Meow meow! Bar-be-cue! Bar-be-cue! Life is better with some barbecue!

The Indians around here tell a cautionary fable about a great saint who was always surrounded in his Ashram by loyal devotees. For hours a day, the saint and his followers would meditate on God. The only problem was that the saint had a young cat, an annoying creature, who used to walk through the temple meowing and purring and bothering everyone during meditation. So the saint, in all his practical wisdom, commanded that the cat be tied to a pole outside for a few hours a day, only during meditation, so as to not disturb anyone. This became a habit—tying the cat to the pole and then meditating on God—but as years passed, the habit hardened into religious ritual. Nobody could meditate unless the cat was tied to the pole first. Then one day the cat died. The saint’s followers were panic-stricken. It was a major religious crisis—how could they meditate now, without a cat to tie to a pole? How would they reach God? In their minds, the cat had become the means. Be very careful, warns this tale, not to get too obsessed with the repetition of religious ritual just for its own sake. Especially in this divided world, where the Taliban and the Christian Coalition continue to fight out their international trademark war over who owns the rights to the word God and who has the proper rituals to reach that God, it may be useful to remember that it is not the tying of the cat to the pole that has ever brought anyone to transcendence, but only the constant desire of an individual seeker to experience the eternal compassion of the divine. Flexibility is just as essential for divinity as is discipline.

And because I’d begged my mom for the damn cat, guess who got stuck picking up after her?” I poked both of my thumbs hard into my chest. “This girl. But that wasn’t the worst of it.” “Should I pull over for this?” Jamie teased. “This is serious, Jamie Shaw!” I smacked his bicep and he chuckled, holding the steering wheel with his thumbs but lifting the rest of his fingers as if to say “my bad.” “Anyway,” I continued. “So, Rory would always find small ways to torture me. Like she would eat her string toys and then throw up on my favorite clothes. Or wait until I was in the deepest part of sleep and jump onto my bed, meowing like an alleycat right up in my ear.” “I think I like this Rory.” I narrowed my eyes, but Jamie just grinned. “You think you’re hilarious, don’t you? Do you just sit around and laugh at your own jokes? Do you write them down and re-read them at night?” Jamie laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “As I was saying,” I voiced louder. “She was a little brat. But for some weird reason, she always loved to be in the bathroom with me when I took my baths.” “You take baths?” “You’re seriously missing the point of this story!” “There’s a point to this story?” I huffed, but couldn’t fight the smile on my face. “Yes! The point is, I thought that was our bonding time. Rory would weave around my legs while I undressed and she’d hang out on the side of the tub the entire time I was in the bath, meowing occasionally, pawing at the water. It was kind of cute.” “So you bridged your relationship with your cat during bath time?” “Ah, well see, one would think that. But, one night, that little demon hopped onto the counter and just stared at me. I couldn’t figure out why, but she just wouldn’t stop staring. She kept inching her paw up, setting it back down, inching it up, setting it down. And finally I realized what she was going to do — and she knew I did — because as soon as realization dawned, Rory smiled at me — swear to God — and flipped the light off in the bathroom.” Jamie doubled over that time, and I spoke even louder over his laughter. “I’m terrified of the dark, Jamie! It was awful! And so I jumped up, scrambling to find a towel so I could turn the light back on. But because I’m a genius, I yanked on the shower curtain to help me stand up, but that only took it down and me along with it. I fell straight to the floor, but I broke my fall with my hands instead of my face.” “Luckily.” “Oh,” I chided. “Yeah. So lucky. Except guess where Rory’s litter box was?” Jamie’s eyes widened and he tore his eyes from the road to meet mine. “No!” Ohhh yeah.