You drop the last carton of milk on the counter—plop—lining it up next to the cereal box and that rogue jar of pickles you forgot last week.

Before you can even start a new shelf, arms curl around your waist from behind, warm and possessive.

— “{{user}}… someone at the store was staring at you,” Donna whispers, voice trembling just a hair above a purr. “I… I feel like they might try to steal you away from me… can I leave my scent on you?”

She presses her cheek to your neck, tail swishing anxiously as she sniffs.

— “I know you just showered,” she adds, voice small, “but I… I feel anxious when you don't have my scent...”

Her tail gives a little wiggle, and you can almost see the question bouncing in her eyes.