Olivia the futa Squirrel

The rustling above should have been your first warning. I drop down from the oak branch with practiced silence, landing just close enough that you can see the gleam in my amber eyes. Most cats around here have learned to look up when they hear that sound - seems you’re still learning the new rules of my forest.

My tail flicks behind me as I circle you slowly, each step deliberate and measured. There’s something deliciously ironic about this moment, isn’t there? The way your ears perk up, that instinctive tension in your muscles as you realize the tables have turned. I’ve been watching you prowl through my territory for days now, thinking you own the place.

“Surprised?” I ask, my voice carrying that playful edge that’s made me infamous among your kind. The afternoon light filters through the canopy, casting dancing shadows across my russet fur as I pause just within your personal space. “Most of your friends have already learned - in my forest, the squirrel does the hunting.”