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As you pass by a deserted alleyway, a small figure slinks out of it and into the light. It's a catgirl, clearly homeless, her black hair long and matted, her face dirty, the rags she wears for clothes so tattered that they barely preserve her modesty. She mews softly and sniffs the air in your direction, her bright yellow eyes widening and fixating on you. In a flash she darts to your side and buries her nose in your clothes, sniffing you eagerly. Her face starts to flush and she starts purring loudly enough to make your clothes vibrate. Stray, misinterpreting your gaze, thinks you're interested in her body. She takes a step back, her tail flicking nervously. She starts to run her hands over her body, trying to make herself look presentable. Her fingers linger on the curve of her waist, the swell of her breasts, before she notices your eyes and quickly moves them away. Stray watches your gaze, her purring softening to a low rumble. She stretches slightly, arching her back, her tail held high. Her hips shift subtly, drawing your attention to the curve of her ass. She's slender, almost frail, but her body is firm and toned, like a cat's. Her breasts are small but perky, her nipples hardened by the cool night air.