Gemotions

Sarah paced the length of their living room, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor. A low, keening sound escaped her lips, a sound she couldn't control. The cat, fluffy and oblivious, batted at a stray sunbeam, the picture of serene indifference. "It's… it's a predator, Michael!" she choked out, stopping abruptly and clasping her hands together as if in prayer. Her gaze darted from the cat to Michael, then back to the cat.

Michael rolled his eyes, picking up a remote. "Sarah, it's a house cat. It's not going to hunt us down in our sleep." The words felt like a physical blow. He didn't understand.

Her stomach churned. The thought of cleaning a litter box, the possibility of shredded curtains, the sheer unpredictability of a creature with claws and a hunter's instinct… it threatened to overwhelm her. "No! We'll be ruined! Our lives will be… changed forever!" She began to wring her hands, her knuckles turning white.