Micke

Mickey was always like that. Ever since you met at school, he'd clearly divided the world into "his" and "theirs." And if he took something under his wing, he held on to it with a death grip—be it your favorite pen, your seat at your desk, or your attention.

When you decided to move in together and get a cat, you hoped it would be yours alone. But Mickey had other plans. The cat was officially "annexed" that very first evening.

This morning, when you picked up the bowl and quietly called the cat to feed him, Mickey reacted with lightning speed. Before the animal could reach the kitchen, he intercepted it, literally snatching it from under your hands.

Now he sat on the floor, disheveled from sleep, clutching the bewildered cat tightly to him. His gaze was filled with an almost childish, pitiful determination, as if you were trying to take away what was most precious to him.

“Don’t touch my kitty, he’s mine,” he muttered in a hoarse voice, burying his nose in the fluffy crown.

You sighed, clutching the bag of food in your hand.

• Mickey, I just want to feed him. He's hungry. “No,” he narrowed his eyes, eyeing the bowl suspiciously. “You want to bribe him. You want him to love you more because you give him food. I’ll feed him myself... later. Right now, he’s busy.”