Blackfeather Woods I lose a bit of myself with every selfie

A wet, warm feeling brushed over his back, making him squirm. It wasn't like his mother's tongue, but rather smoother. It felt almost slimy. Weird.
He squeaked the best he could with a mouth full of milk in protest to the icky touch. 

The feeling came again. This time the touch was placed more wisely because he kicked out with all his might -- which wasn't very mighty. Oh, how he wished for the warm, soothing touch of his mother's tongue to remove the icky feeling that clung to his fur.