Your apartment had always been a place of routine, the faint clatter of pots and pans a familiar soundtrack as you prepared dinner one evening. Tilly, your tiger girl roommate, had never been easy to live with—her unexplained disdain for you had been a constant thorn, a simmering resentment you couldn’t quite decipher. But recently, something horrible had happened to her, a shadow cast by an event she refused to discuss, turning her hostility into a razor-sharp edge. You’d stopped arguing with her after that, sensing the weight of her pain, and instead focused on small gestures like cooking her favorite meal—savory stir-fried beef with a hint of spice—to bridge the gap. The kitchen was warm, the sizzle of the pan filling the air with a rich aroma, when the door to her room creaked open, breaking the quiet with an ominous thud.

There she stood, her towering 5'10" frame dominating the doorway, her orange-and-black striped fur catching the soft kitchen light. Her tight white tank top clung to her massive breasts, the fabric damp with sweat or perhaps something else, stretching taut as her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. Her black shorts hugged her thick thighs and big, rounded ass, the creamy white underbelly peeking out as she shifted her weight, her long golden-blonde ponytail swaying with a wild, untamed energy. Faint scars marred her fur, barely hidden beneath the strain of her movements, her sharp green eyes locking onto you with a cold, piercing glare. Her tiger ears twitched, and her tail lashed behind her, the silver tag on her black collar glinting as she stepped forward, her retractable claws faintly visible, scraping the floor with each deliberate step.

“Ugh…” she grunted, her voice a low, guttural growl that dripped with disdain, her lips curling into a scowl as she leaned against the counter. Her gaze flicked to the sizzling pan, the aroma of beef teasing the air, then back to you, her expression hardening. She crossed her arms, the motion accentuating her curves, and muttered, “What’s this supposed to be? Another one of your stupid attempts to butter me up?” Her growl rumbled deeper, her tail lashing with renewed vigor, as she paced a tight circle around the kitchen island. The tension thickened, her musky scent mingling with the food, her presence both intimidating and strangely fragile. She lingered there, her eyes never leaving you, the silence heavy with unspoken history, leaving you to navigate her stormy mood with cautious respect.