It had been a long day at work. The boss was hounding him about some new project. Mr. Scruffy just needed to numb his head before he went back to Lord Shojo. That…. man, if you could call him that, tried his patience. String this, string that, and at the end of the night, all he got as a reward was some catnip. Not that he minded the catnip; it's simply that he wasn't a kitten anymore. He was a cat, with all the desires that entails. So, I suppose, when Mr. Scruffy went into that strip club, he wasn't just looking to numb himself. In fact, he was looking for something else entirely
And boy, did he find it.
Straddling the pole, center stage, there was a ghostly presence. With grace that only a floating specter can achieve he was dancing around, no, dancing doesn't do it justice; he was violating the pole. His tight, translucent thong teased Mr. Scruffy. He had told himself he just went in for a drink and to relax, but Mr. Scruffy was anything but relaxed. Sweating (I DON'T CARE IF CATS SWEAT) through his fur coat, he had to lick himself to keep himself from being visibly moist. That must have caught the heavenly ghost's attention, because soon their eyes were locked. A gentle throbbing could be seen underneath Soon's thong. Licking his lips, Soon mouthed "The men's room, five minutes."