Gemotions

The clinking of the ice in his glass was the only sound in the otherwise quiet apartment. Michael took a large gulp of the watered-down whiskey, his throat suddenly dry. The air seemed thin, as if he was struggling to breathe. Across the room, Ben was cradling a small, fluffy kitten, already cooing at it. A cat. Michael’s stomach clenched.

He'd spent years perfecting his apartment. The smooth surfaces, the clean lines, the absence of any unnecessary clutter had always brought him a sense of calm. The thought of a cat scratching furniture, shedding fur, and generally wreaking havoc on his well-ordered world sent a shiver down his spine. He imagined the cat's claws on his skin.

He gripped the glass so hard his knuckles turned white. He wanted to scream. He forced himself to take another sip, trying to regain his equilibrium.

"Are you sure it's house-trained?" he asked, his voice strained.