Gemotions

The chipped mug trembled in Leo's hands. He kept running his thumb over the crack, a small, jagged line he now knew intimately. Across the kitchen table, Maya was sketching, her brow furrowed in concentration. The proposed pet – a fluffy Persian cat – loomed over them, a furry battlefield. Leo took a shaky breath. He’d told Maya he was *fine* with it, but his stomach had been doing somersaults for the past week.

He hated change. The entire apartment already felt foreign after Maya moved in. Now, with the potential for a creature that shed, clawed, and meowed incessantly, his usual routine seemed under threat. He envisioned dust bunnies multiplying, cat hair clinging to his meticulously organized bookshelves, and his carefully curated quiet evenings morphing into a chaotic flurry of playtime. He stared at his hand. He was sweating.

"You know," he finally squeaked, "cats need… a lot of attention, right?"

Maya glanced up, her charcoal pencil poised. "Yeah, Leo. They do. But I'm good with it." The innocent words were a dagger, making him feel like an over-dramatic fool. He clenched his jaw.