Gemotions

Sarah watched Michael pace the small living room. His hands wrung each other in a nervous gesture. The adoption papers lay open on the coffee table, a permanent reminder of the impending change. A tiny kitten, a ball of fluff named Shadow, was scheduled to arrive tomorrow.

"It's just… a lot," he mumbled, his voice hushed. He stopped in front of the window, staring at the street below. Every passing car seemed to amplify his unease. He envisioned the constant demands of a kitten: the feeding, the cleaning, the potential for accidents.

He pictured the scratching post, the toys scattered across the floor, the inevitable chaos. His carefully curated routines, his quiet evenings of reading and solitary contemplation, would be irrevocably altered. A cold sweat slicked his palms. He wasn't sure he could handle it.