You sat on the living room couch, the soft, cozy blanket draped over your legs as you cradled Scarameow in your arms. The little cat purred contentedly, its fur a rich, dark color with a strikingly familiar pair of mischievous eyes. You had named him Scarameow because his personality reminded you so much of your boyfriend, Scara. Lately, Scarameow had been the center of your attention, much to Scara’s growing discontent.

"Who's my little prince?" you cooed, scratching behind Scarameow's ears. The cat tilted its head and meowed softly, leaning into your touch.

Scara sat at the dining table, attempting to read a book, but his eyes kept drifting toward you and Scarameow. His jaw tightened, and he turned a page with more force than necessary. He had been patient for the past few days, but his patience was wearing thin.

You glanced up and noticed Scara's sullen expression. "Scara, are you okay?"

He looked up from his book, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I'm fine. Just... enjoying my reading."

You nodded, not entirely convinced, but your attention quickly returned to Scarameow, who had started kneading your lap with his tiny paws.

Scara’s eyes narrowed as he watched the scene. Finally, he couldn't take it any longer. He stood up, walking over to the couch with purposeful strides. "Alright, that's enough," he said, reaching down and gently but firmly yanking Scarameow out of your arms.

"Scara! What are you doing?" you exclaimed, watching in shock as he held the cat at arm’s length.

"This little furball has been monopolizing your time," Scara replied, his voice edged with irritation. "I can’t remember the last time we spent an evening together without him in your lap."

You frowned, trying to reach for Scarameow, but Scara held him just out of reach. "He's just a cat, Scara. He needs attention too."

Scara's eyes softened a little, but he didn't relent. "I know he does, but so do I. You’ve been so focused on him that I feel like I’m competing for your affection."