Here’s what I’d love to see: A vending machine that dispenses cats for petting on your lunch break. Instead of money, the machine accepts hugs.

I love petting trees. Especially if they are fir trees. Single lovers should be good with their hands. I admire Bigfoot.

When a woman is romantically subdued, all she does at that moment is under the influence of her desires.

I pet horses and ride cats, because I’m a cowman. I’m too mature to be a cowboy.

I’ll see a cat and instinctively start petting the hair on my back.

I’m putting the finishing touches on a cat. I love petting.

Love, you just know it when you feel it. I feel it now, and it’s furry and purring.

Love is a fur helmet in a new sport called Petting, where physical contact is the object of the game. Even when you lose, you win.

Lost Mustache. Please do not feed. If found, contact Mouth,” and I left my phone number. Nobody’s called. Perhaps the neighborhood cat lady took it in and is petting it on her lap at this...

Your deceit smells like a fake mustache. Nobody stole my facial hair. I shaved this morning and donated half of it to the Humane Society. The other half I kept for sentimental petting reasons.

My cat stood still like a furry statue. I wanted to go pet it, but I ended up petting a painting instead. Ah, but that’s life, no?