No more beating around the bush, mate!

It was in the early evening hours of a glorious spring day in May. The sun was still hanging out, busy washing the streets with it's mostly symbolic yet beautiful glow, while the shadows from poles and trees were cutting ever deeper crevices in the sea of light. For some time now, Norsky had been preparing for his evening stroll, turning a few times around his tail,  erecting its splash of long hair high in the air like a a magician flashing a deck of cards, and rubbing his body against a sofa or a table leg, amassing as it were the necessary courage to leave the house through the cat flap opening. It was always a momentous step for him, leaving his secure womb-like condition inside and crossing the boundaries into the unknown. No more beating around the bush, mate - he growled to himself before leaping in a rather wanting Jeté into the cool air of evening adventure.