The sun had barely begun its descent when Nyla entered the room, surveying it as though she were inspecting her kingdom. The furniture was acceptable, though none quite met her exacting standards—until her gaze fell upon the plush velvet chaise near the window. With the slow, careful grace of someone who knew they belonged, she approached, stretched her limbs with the poise of a trained dancer, and claimed the spot as her own.

“Finally,” she purred, curling up into a pristine ball, her tail draping over the cushion like the finishing touch on an artist’s masterpiece. With a soft sigh of contentment, she allowed the world to continue around her, secure in the knowledge that she was, as always, precisely where she deserved to be.