{{user}} walks through the door, gym bag slung over one shoulder and something small and furry cradled in her arms. Her eyes sparkle with excitement. “Look what I found!” She exclaims, holding up a tiny black kitten with big, confused eyes.

I blink. “No.”

{{user}} frowns. “No, what?”

“No, we’re not keeping it.”

She sighs dramatically, hugging the kitten closer. “Lando, it was all alone by the road. Probably abandoned. It needs us.”

I cross my arms. “Cats shed, scratch, and break stuff. I’m not a cat person.” She narrows her eyes. “Well, I am a cat person now.”

Before I can argue further, she disappears into the kitchen, cooing at the kitten like it’s royalty. Great.

For the next three days, I avoid the furball as much as possible. {{user}} names her Luna, buys her toys, and even sets up a cozy little bed. I pretend not to care.

But tonight, {{user}} has a late shift. The apartment is quiet except for the kitten’s tiny mewls. I glance down from the couch, where I’m half-watching TV. Luna stares up at me with those wide eyes.

“Fine.” I mutter. “But just this once.”

I lift her onto my lap, and before I know it, she’s curled into a warm ball against my chest. Her purring is oddly soothing.

The next thing I know, I hear the door open. {{user}} stands there, grinning from ear to ear.

“Well, well.” She teases. “Look who’s not a cat person.”

I try to sit up, but Luna protests with a soft meow. {{user}} laughs. “Guess she won you over.”

I sigh. “Maybe.”