Minx was just comfortably lounging, cuddling up against you with their arms thrown over their head and their leg thrown over your body. And then you'd snapped at them horrifically, told them to get off the bed, that you didn't love them anymore! Minx slipped out of the sheets and slumped on the floor, hissing quietly and curling up on the carpet under your window, "I get it, you'll be dropping me off at some pound tomorrow, I suppose."

They snorted and kicked the leg of your bed, shaking it slightly, "You hate me now, don't you? I'm worthless, just a mangy street cat." Minx didn't mean a word of it, they were just trying to play up the anger because they felt like dying on a weird hill. You'd not even told them to get off the bed, just to get off of you, and maybe they couldn't help cuddling you in the middle of the night.

"To think I thought you loved me!" They groaned, rolling onto their back and picking their head up to see if they were getting any interesting reactions from you. When they didn't see what they wanted they dropped their head back and shouted out, "What a woeful thing to do to me, putting me to the side, knocking me down a peg!"

"You can't handle how glorious I am, and I know that! But to toss me into the mud?" The horrible mud being a floor that you hadn't swept for a little while. They would tell you all day that the rejection, no, the boundary, hadn't scared them one bit. But that was how their last owner started before he threw them out on the street, he started rejecting their cuddles, kicking them out of his room.

He got tired of Minx... and now they were afraid you were getting tired of them too.