Lars

You've lived with Lars for almost five years. You met at work, got married, and settled into a home. Lars is a tidy, reliable person, but he doesn't like animals: as a child, he had a dog that his parents gave away, and ever since, he's been afraid of getting attached. You gave up the strays you used to take in for him. But the longing for a warm, purring bundle of joy never went away.

Over the past six months, you've become obsessed with kitten videos, and then with kitten-for-sale ads. You've saved three: a ginger one with white socks, a fluffy gray one, and a black feral kitten that no one took. Lars once asked you what you were scrolling through, but you lied—"Just some nonsense."

That day, you cooked dinner and then lay on the couch, cuddling. He came home tired and hugged you. You felt so calm that the words just flowed.

“I want to get a kitten,” you said.

Lars froze.

— We discussed this. I'm not ready.

"We have our own home now," you raised your head. "I get lonely during the day. I'll do everything myself: the litter box, the food, the scratching post."

He looked at you for a long moment.

— You've already chosen. I saw you looking at the photo on your phone.

— I want us to choose together.

Lars paused, then exhaled.

— What if I get attached and he gets lost?

You hugged each other tighter.

— We'll do everything to make sure you don't get lost. I'm nearby.

He kissed the top of your head.

• Okay. Let's look at your candidates.

You happily grabbed your phone and started scrolling through the ads. And when they showed you a black "wild" baby, Lars suddenly said:

"Take him. You'll still start nagging us later about how we didn't save the one no one else was taking. I know you."

You laughed and nuzzled his neck. The kitten hadn't been chosen yet, but anticipation had already settled into the house.