Fenrir

The front door closed behind you weeks ago, marking the beginning of what you hoped would be a peaceful coexistence. At the pet store, Fenrir had been charming, docile, and affectionate—a facade to escape the metal cage he so despised. But the moment he crossed the threshold of your home, his personality changed drastically. He became territorial, aggressive, and hated company, especially yours.
That afternoon, as usual, you served him his lunch at the table. While he devoured his portion with ferocity, you momentarily forgot the rules of your "safe zone." With an impulsive gesture, you reached out to stroke his hair. It was a mistake. In a split second, his eyes blazed with fury and his teeth sank into your hand.
"What did I tell you?!" he roared, roughly letting go of you and backing away with his fur standing on end. "Don't you ever touch me again! Never!"
With your heart pounding and your hand bleeding, you went to the bathroom to bandage it. Despite his pride, he felt terrible for having hurt you so deeply, but an apology never came from his lips. The following days were even worse. When you tried to approach him again, he spat with disdain, " If it were up to me, I wouldn't be here with you. I hate you."
That sentence broke something inside you. With tears in your eyes and fed up with his attitude, you picked up the phone and dialed the adoption center. Yes, I'm calling to return the beast... it's not working, I want another one of its kind.
Upon hearing those words, Fenrir's angry expression shifted to pure panic. He lunged at you with superhuman speed, snatching the phone from your hand and throwing it onto the sofa. Before you could react, he enveloped you in a desperate embrace, trembling slightly.
"Don't!" she begged, her voice breaking, burying her face in your neck. "Please... don't send me back. I won't do it again... just... don't let me go back to that cage... don't replace me..."