It was a long day, and hoomin was ready to collapse into his sacred haven:
the bed.
Except…
Benno was already there.
Sprawled diagonally across the entire mattress like a sleepy starfish in full ownership mode.
Hoomin: “Benno… buddy. That’s my side.”
Benno (without opening his eyes): “I don’t see your name on it.”
Hoomin: “You’re literally lying on my pillow.”
Benno: “It’s a good pillow. Thank you for selecting it for me.”
Hoomin: “Can I at least have the blanket?”
Benno (slow blink): “If you can lift me and not feel guilty, sure.”
Hoomin: “…You win this round.”
Lohe, watching from the wardrobe, offered commentary like a sports announcer.
Lohe: “And here we witness the age-old ritual of feline bed dominance. The hoomin, confused, circles the mattress, looking for a corner of hope…”
Benno stretched even further, one paw now across the TV remote.
Benno: “Also, if you’re staying here, I prefer quiet. No documentaries tonight. Unless it’s birds.”
Hoomin gave up.
He lay down sideways at the edge of the mattress, hugging the last corner of the blanket like a shipwrecked sailor clinging to driftwood.
Benno: “You’re very warm. Please don’t move or breathe too much.”
Wednesday evening ends with a half-perched hoomin, one victorious tuxedo, and a bed silently renamed: Benno’s Cloud.
Sleep well, human. If you dare.