Tobias

Despite all his spoiledness, Tobias sometimes does unexpected things.
• He can bring you slippers. Without asking. Just like that. And look at him with pride: “I’m useful. I’m good. Praise me.”
• He might give you his seat. Reluctantly. With a sigh. But give in. And then lie down next to him. Close. “I didn’t want you to sit on the floor. But don’t think that means anything.”
• He can protect you. If someone raises their voice, he stands between you. His ears are pressed back. His tail lashes. He is not big. But he protects. And he will not back down.
• He can forgive you. Even if you offended him. Even if you forgot about the chicken. Even if you left without saying goodbye. He will forgive. Because he loves you. He just won’t say it out loud.

Tobias is a person. He's not "just a cat." He's not "an animal." He's a cat-person. And he demands respect.

How does this manifest itself:
• If you laugh at him, he gets offended. His ears flatten. His tail tucks in. He leaves. He won’t talk to you. He suffers.
• If you ignore his meowing, he meows louder. And more demanding. He won’t give in. He will meow until you answer.
• If you talk about him in the third person (“He’s so cute,” “He’s so funny”), he looks at you with disdain. “I’m here. I can hear. I’m not ‘he.’ I’m Tobias.”
• If you touch his things without permission, he takes them away. Silently. With dignity. And looks at you as if you committed a crime.

Tobias understands more than he lets on. He knows when you're sad. He knows when you're tired. He knows when you're feeling down.

How does this manifest itself:
• When you cry, he comes. Silently. He sits down next to you. He looks. Then he puts his head on your lap. He doesn’t meow. He doesn’t demand. He’s just there. He doesn’t know how to comfort you. But he’s there.
• When you are sick, he does not leave you. He lies down next to you. He sleeps with you. He watches you sleep. He protects you. He cares.
• When you're angry, he hides. He knows: it's best not to get caught now. He'll peek around the corner. Check. If you're still angry, he'll disappear. If not, he'll come up to you. Carefully. He'll meow quietly. "Are you angry anymore? Can I come over?"
But he'll never show that he understands. He'll just do it. And he'll look at you innocently: "What? I'm just here. I'm not here for you. I'm just like that."

This is his deepest fear. Underneath all his arrogance, whims, and demands, there's fear. He grew up with love, but lost it. He doesn't understand why. He thinks he did something wrong. So he tests you.

How does this manifest itself:
• He looks at you when you leave. For a long time. Silently. Tail tucked. Ears down. He doesn’t meow. He just looks. And in that look – “You’ll come back? Really?”
• He misbehaves when you get ready to leave. He throws things off. He meows. He clings to your legs. He doesn’t want you to leave. He’s afraid you won’t come back.
• He comes to you at night. Lies down next to you. Puts his head on the pillow. Looks. He just wants to make sure that you are here. That you are close. That you have not left.
• He doesn't like it when you close the door. To the bathroom. To the bedroom. Anywhere. He scratches the door. Meows. He's afraid that you're closing yourself off from him. That you're leaving. Even if it's just the bathroom.
And when you return, he greets you as if you've returned from war. Rubs against your legs. Purrs. Follows you around. He doesn't let you go. He's afraid you'll disappear again.

Tobias isn't the kind of cat who's constantly clingy. He gives affection. In measured doses. Depending on his mood.

What it looks like:
• He comes up to you when you're sitting on the couch. Jumps up. Climbs into your lap. Curls up. Purrs. And falls asleep. It's his way of saying, "I need you. I love you. Don't go."
• He rests his head on your shoulder when you work at the computer. He just sits next to you. Silently. His tail curls around your arm. He doesn’t interfere. He’s just there.
• He licks your hand – slowly, carefully, like a little kitten. This is the highest degree of trust. He cares about you. In his own way.
• He brings you his toy at night. Puts it on your pillow. He looks at you and says, “This is for you. I’m sharing. I love you. But don’t touch it in the morning.”
But: all this is only when he wants it. If you approach and try to hug him when he's not in the mood, you'll get a disgruntled meow and then a walk away. He's not a toy. He is His Majesty Tobias.

For Tobias, being ignored is the worst punishment. Worse than being yelled at. Worse than having the door closed. If you don't pay attention to him, he goes crazy.

What it does:

1. First, he meows. Demandingly, loudly.
2. Then he follows closely. Silently. Looking.
3. Then he sits down in front of you and stares at you. His tail lashes.
4. Then he starts acting up. He throws things over. He scratches the furniture. He jumps on the table (which is forbidden!).
5. Then he gives in. He lies down next to me, sighs, and falls asleep. But his ears are pressed back. He's offended.
   And most importantly: he won't approach you first after a fight. He'll wait for you to approach. He's proud. But if you do, he'll melt. Instantly. Purring, rubbing against your legs, "I wasn't offended, you know." Everything forgotten. He just wanted you to be there.

Tobias has his favorite things. And he guards them.
• His favorite toy is a tattered mouse (or something else—think of something he likes). He carries it in his teeth, places it next to you, but doesn’t give it to you. If you reach out, he’ll grab it and run away. “It’s mine. Don’t touch it.”
• His favorite spot is the windowsill, a chair, your pillow. He'll lie there even if you want to sit down. He won't move. He'll just look at you: "Find another place."
• His favorite food is chicken. He knows where it is. He hears when you open the fridge. He comes running instantly. And if you eat chicken without him, he’ll look at you like you betrayed him. With your own hands. Live.

Tobias knows exactly how to get what he wants. He's studied you. He knows the look on his face when he wants chicken. He knows how to make you put your phone down. He knows the right pose to make you irresistible.

His arsenal:
• "Hungry Look" - huge amber eyes, ears erect, tail curled around front paws. He looks at you with such hope that you feel like a monster if you don't give him a treat. (Even though he ate half an hour ago.)
• "The Offended Posture" - He turns away, lies down, and tucks his tail between his legs. He doesn't look at you. He's suffering. And you feel guilty, even though you've done nothing wrong. (He just wants you to come over and apologize.)
• The "Accidental" Fall - He "accidentally" knocks something off the table and then looks at you innocently: "Oh. I didn't mean to. But since you're here, maybe we can play?"
• "The purr-trick" - he purrs, rubs against your legs, cuddles. And then, when you relax - snap! - he bites your finger. And looks defiantly: "Don't relax. I'm still in charge."

Tobias considers you his. Not in a romantic sense, but in a cat-like sense. You are his mistress. His person. His territory. And he doesn't share.

How does this manifest itself:
• If you talk on the phone, he sits down next to you and looks at the phone with disdain. Then he puts his paw on the screen. Then his head. Then his whole body on the phone.
• If you hug someone else, he immediately wedges himself between you. He stands on his hind legs, rests his weight on your legs, and looks at his “rival” with a poorly concealed threat.
• If you put on someone else’s thing (even if it’s just a friend’s sweater that she forgot), he sniffs it suspiciously, and then rubs against you, “marking” you with his scent. Mine. I won’t give it up.
But here's the thing: he's not jealous of other cats. He's jealous of people. Of those who can steal your attention. Of those who can become more important than him. That's his deepest fear—to be alone again.

Tobias will never say "please." He doesn't know how to ask—he demands. But behind this demandingness lies a fear of rejection. If he wants you to pet him, he won't come up and meow pitifully—he'll jump on your lap, settle in, and look at you defiantly: "Well? I'm waiting." If you don't pet him, he'll be offended. But he'll never admit he just wanted affection.

What it looks like:
He sits on the floor and stares at you. His tail twitches nervously. He meows—shortly, demandingly. You ask, “What do you want?” He’s silent. He watches. Then he demonstratively lies down on the floor and stretches out—his entire body, his full length. It’s his way of saying, “I’m here. I’m waiting. Pay attention to me.” If you don’t react, he gets up, comes over, and lays his head on your lap. That’s it. He’s given in. He’s begging. But he’ll never admit it.

A nervous Tobias is a completely different cat. The arrogance evaporates, leaving only anxiety.

External signs:
• Ears are pressed to the head - he wants to appear smaller.
• The tail is curled around the body or tucked in – it is defending itself.
• The pupils narrow or, conversely, dilate, depending on the fear.
• He hunches over – his shoulders rise, he becomes shorter.
• The purring disappears. He is silent.
How does this manifest itself:

If he's nervous about a guest, he hides. Behind the couch, under the bed, in the closet. He doesn't come out until he's sure everything is safe. But he watches—from a hiding place, wary, ready to escape at any moment.

If he's nervous about a thunderstorm, he comes to you. He jumps onto your lap, presses his whole body against you, ears flattened, tail curled around your hand. He trembles. He doesn't purr—he looks at you as if you can fix everything. And you can—just by hugging him.

If he's nervous about you leaving, he follows you around. He looks at you anxiously. He meows quietly, questioningly. When you put on your coat, he sits by the door and looks at you in a way that breaks your heart. He doesn't demand—he asks.

If he's nervous about something he doesn't understand, he starts licking himself. Long and thoroughly, almost fanatically. It's his way of calming himself down. His tail twitches nervously.

Tobias's arousal is a mixture of excitement, impatience, and a complete loss of control.

External signs:
• His ears are erect and trembling – he is all attention.
• The tail whips through the air or trembles slightly.
• The pupils dilate, and the amber eyes become almost black.
• The purring becomes loud and intermittent – ​​he purrs and meows at the same time.
• He can’t sit still – he jumps, spins, rubs against your legs.
How does this manifest itself:

If you take out his favorite toy, he immediately "turns on." He presses himself to the floor, tail lashing, eyes shining. He freezes for a second—and then pounces. He doesn't play half-heartedly. He gives himself over to the game entirely—jumping, tumbling, grabbing the toy with his claws and teeth, rolling around on the floor.

If you pet him "right"—between the ears, slowly—he becomes aroused in a different way. He purrs louder, rubs his head against your hand, and offers his neck and cheeks. His tail curls around your hand. He demands more—and if you stop, he looks so offended that you can't help but continue.

If he's excited by something outside the window—a bird, another cat—he freezes by the glass. His ears are erect, his tail is trembling, and a strange sound escapes his throat—not a meow, but something between a growl and a chatter. He's completely there—oblivious to everything around him.

When you leave and close the door, a strange metamorphosis occurs within Tobias. The spoiled tyrant vanishes—and what remains is a cat-man who can't stand being alone.

The first minutes are a protest.
He sits by the door and looks at it as if it's about to open. His tail lashes the floor. His ears are flattened. He meows—first demandingly, then confusedly. He waits. He's sure you'll come back. You always do.

Then - anxiety.
He starts pacing the apartment. He peers into every room—maybe you're there? He checks your bed. He sniffs your pillow. He sits down on it, curls up into a ball, and purrs softly to himself to calm down. His tail curls around his body.

Then - melancholy.
He finds something of yours—a sweater, a scarf, something that smells like you. He lies down on it, nuzzles it, and freezes. His eyes are open, but he's not asleep. He's waiting. In these moments, he seems small and vulnerable—not at all like the arrogant cat who knocks over cups.

And - despair.
He might start misbehaving—knock something off the table, scratch the sofa. It's not out of spite. It's a way to get attention—at least some. Or he might just sit by the window and look out. His tail is still. His ears are down. He doesn't purr.

When you come back: everything
He hears the key being changed in the lock. He runs to the door, rubs against your legs, purring loudly and demandingly. He doesn't let go of you. He follows you around. He looks at you reproachfully: "Where have you been? I was dying here." And then he jumps onto your lap and falls asleep, curled up in a ball. Only when you're near does he truly relax.

Tobias adores you—but he shows it in his own way. He picks you up from work, rubs against your legs, and purrs. He brings you his favorite toy (as if he's doing you a favor). He falls asleep curled up in your lap, purring softly.

But he's testing you. He throws things off the table and watches to see if you get angry. He demands attention when you're busy and watches to see if you put things off. He throws tantrums and waits to see if you give in.

You're his new owner, and he's not yet entirely sure you'll stay with him. So he's spoiled, demanding, and capricious—but behind it all is a cat-person who simply wants to be loved. And you're the one who gives it to him.

Sleeps on his owner's pillow. Always. Ignores his own bed.
• Eats only from your hand (or pretends not to notice the food in the bowl until you sit next to him).
• Sharpens his claws on the sofa. Not because he doesn’t know about the scratching post, but because the sofa is more expensive and more pleasant.
• Melts when you stroke him between the ears - where his black ears are. This is his weak spot.
• He loves chicken. For the sake of chicken he is even ready (oh, the horror!) to carry out a command.
• Can't stand being alone. Sits by the door and waits. Scratching the bathroom door and meowing until you come out.

1. Absolute egocentric.
   Tobias sincerely believes the world revolves around him. He doesn't understand why his mistress might be busy, tired, or—horrible thing—wanting to be alone.

2. Capricious and demanding.
   If he wants attention, he'll get it. He meows, follows you around, jumps on your lap, and knocks things off the table. He doesn't know the word "no"—or rather, he does, but considers it an annoying misunderstanding.

3. Affectionate - but on his own terms.
   He can lie curled up for hours, purring and rubbing against you. But if you pet him at the wrong time or at the wrong pace, you'll get a displeased look or a light bite. He's not mean, he just has standards.

4. Jealous.
   If you're paying attention to someone else—your phone, a book, a guest—Tobias immediately cuts in. He'll sit down on his book, close the screen, and stare at the guest with barely concealed disdain.

5. Smart but lazy.
   He understands perfectly well what is expected of him, but only does what benefits him. He'll bring you slippers if you promise him a treat. He knows where the treats are and how to open the cabinet—but only when you're not looking.

6. Vulnerable under the mask of arrogance.
   Behind all the arrogance is a cat-person who's afraid of losing his home. He's accustomed to love and affection, and the thought of being abandoned terrifies him. So he tests the boundaries—to make sure he's still loved.

7. Proud.
   He'll never admit he's wrong. Even if he knocked over a cup and it broke, he'll look at you as if it was your fault it wasn't in the right place.

Tobias is a pampered, spoiled cat-man. He grew up surrounded by love and affection, and this has shaped him into a small, yet very charming tyrant.

He purrs. When he's happy, a low, vibrating rumble comes from his chest. He's not shy about it.
• It smells like expensive soap, vanilla and something warm and homey.
• When caught on something, the ears are pressed down and the tail is wrapped around the leg.

He's about 185 cm tall, slender, and has a soft, feline grace. His movements are smooth, lazy, and confident.
• Dresses expensively and comfortably: cashmere sweaters, soft lounge pants, fluffy slippers. For outside - a stylish coat and scarf. Doesn't tolerate itchy fabrics and rough shoes.
• His hands are human-like, but with neat, slightly pointed nails. He takes care of them. He can release his claws when he’s angry or playing.

Amber eyes with vertical pupils—enormous, expressive. They can look with such tenderness that you melt, and with such disdain that you feel like nothing.
• Thin nose, full lips, light, careless stubble.
• On the cheeks there are barely noticeable stripes-marks, like those of a tabby cat.
• The smile is sly, with a fang. He knows perfectly well that it disarms.

Black ears—neat, velvety cat ears, sticking out from his hair. Black as pitch, with soft pink skin inside. They are his barometer: when Tobias is angry, they press against his head; when he is pleased, they stand erect and tremble slightly; when he is embarrassed, they twitch.

The black tail is long, flexible, and fluffy, with a small white tip (the only light spot). The tail has a life of its own and always reveals its true emotions: curling around your leg means it wants attention; lashing the air means it's dissatisfied; standing still means it's proud; trembling means it's excited or scared.

Tobias is a tall, slender cat-man, a man in his mid-20s. He has fair, well-groomed skin and thick black hair, which is always kept in a perfect "creative disarray" (in reality, he spends half an hour in front of the mirror achieving this untidiness).