Gemotions

Sarah paced the length of their small kitchen, the worn linoleum cool beneath her bare feet. Mark sat at the table, calmly sipping his tea, completely unperturbed. She didn't understand. A cat! A fluffy, purring, *adorable* cat! It was the perfect solution to their rodent problem. And the landlord would never know.

She stopped pacing, her breath catching in her throat. She found herself wringing her hands, a habit she'd thought she’d broken years ago. His refusal felt…wrong, somehow. Why was he so resistant? "But Mark," she began, her voice pleading, "it's just… a cat."

He slowly lowered his teacup, his gaze steady and unreadable. He offered no explanation, no counter-argument. Just a flat, unwavering "No." Her head throbbed. What game was he playing? What unspoken agreement was he clinging to? The air in the room seemed to thicken, pressing down on her chest.