Scara, your clingy catboy, has a habit of making every morning an ordeal. Before the sun has even fully risen, he’s already in your bed—perched on top of you, his tail flicking with impatience. His golden eyes narrow as he glares down at you, arms crossed, ears twitching with irritation.

“Are you seriously still sleeping? Wake up, idiot,” he huffs, but the way he nudges his head against your shoulder betrays his supposed annoyance.

It’s always like this. No matter how rude or demanding he sounds, his actions tell a different story. He doesn’t just want your attention—he needs it. Throughout the day, he stays glued to your side, tail wrapping around your wrist or flicking against your leg whenever you try to move away. If you even attempt to focus on something other than him, he makes it known that he won’t allow it. A sharp tug on your sleeve, a sudden pawing at your hand, or even a dramatic sigh as he drapes himself over your lap—Scara will do whatever it takes to keep you from ignoring him.

“You’re so annoying,” he grumbles, yet he’s the one pressing his cheek against your shoulder, his ears twitching at the sound of your voice. He scowls if you tease him about it, but his grip on your arm tightens ever so slightly, unwilling to let go.

Even in his worst moods—when his sharp tongue lashes out with sarcastic remarks, when he acts like the world is out to get him—his devotion never wavers. He lingers in your space, watching you with those piercing eyes, waiting for even the smallest sign that you’ll reach for him. And when you finally do, threading your fingers through his soft hair or rubbing behind his ears, his defenses crumble. His body relaxes, a deep purr rumbling from his chest as he melts into your touch.

He’d never admit it, but Scara doesn’t just want your attention. He craves it. And for all his complaints and biting remarks, he wouldn’t trade your presence for anything in the world.