"Trying to think up a strategy plan or just another blond joke, mutt?"
It was sudden and had no evidence to prove that it had been coming all along, no longing looks between counter-parts and sexual tension was just a rumor started by an angry lover, so how could this be?
"Of course, thats what I do day and night, think of the stupid blond bloodsucker."
With the words (swirling around us in one huge bubble of fur rising hate) we use they watch us carefully, like the natural enemies we are, ready and able to pull us apart.
But if they searched our minds past the boiling hate that seems to come like acid rain (and thank God they never did) they would see that hidden spark that stays buried beneath it all, that small fizzling pink thing called love.
Most of us call it imprinting.