Male metaphors tend towards the active: hunting, chasing, holding, making her mine. Let's be kind and say that there's a certain carnivore and prey smell to our way of thinking. The implication is that women in the wild are innocent unwilling participants.
Which is dumb. Male metaphors can be crap.
As I noted previously, the humble house cat gives us fundamental clues about female human behaviour. Think of her as woman stripped of overthinking and emotion - she's the essence of feminine...in a soft, seasonal fur coat. Not that I am suggesting women are large upright cats without tails. It's that I see more than coincidence in the commonality of feline and feminine. Plus I love both cats and women.
But back to the chase metaphor. Yes, on one level men hunt for women, but it's like describing the Champs-Élysées as a Parisian street. A street takes you somewhere. A French avenue is for strolling. One takes one's time, checking out the boutiques, being surprised by what one finds along the way. Waiting for just the right moment to steal a kiss. Waiting for her to tell you by her actions when she wants a kiss.
Which is the way my cat works. Most of the time she's engrossed in her own world. There's stuff to look at, food to eat, naps to take. Washing. Grooming. Exploring. But once a day, she makes it perfectly clear that we need to be affectionate. She'll jump on my desk and sit on the keyboard. Or she'll climb onto my lap. That's the point at which I have to - I must - stop everything and focus completely on her. A petting session or a few minutes of brushing is enough...physical contact to reconnect with each other before we get on with everything else.
Observing and reacting. Not hunting.
Bottoms Up, Tail-less Ones.
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