"Oh, you feel safe enough now!" she crowed, seeming very pleased. Her cheeks became a light pink, and the blue eyes looking at me grew bright and starry. "Let's see, you need a name." Her hand brushed gently down the back of my neck, her fingers curling into my thick fur. "My, but you're dark-coated."

She pursed her pink lips thoughtfully. "Midnight? No, too common. Tar? Too ugly! Obsidian? Sounds too hard and mean."

I munched, keeping an eye on her. She seemed much too excited for her own good. We Yrahtians were reserved, deeming happy emotions best kept to your inner circle. Your pack, if you will. This woman? She spewed joy all over the place like it was a special seasoning she relished the taste of. She was vulnerable. Sharing your happiness and pleasure opens you up to attack.

"OHHHHH!" she let out a sound so loud I jerked back, my hackles instinctively rising. "Coffee!!! Your name should be Coffee!!!"

What are you squealing about? I thought, slowly relaxing my defensive grimace as she seemed to not actually be having a seizure. 

She hugged me rapturously, still overly estatic about nothing in particular, and buried her nose in my ruff. I allowed it. Maybe it would help her calm down.

"Oh, that's right," she gasped, drawing back out to my great relief. "YOU, Coffee, need a bath!"

She kept repeating that word. Cough-ee, it sounded like. Had...had this creature dared to name me? Surely not. And wasn't Cough-ee a beverage that humans used to fuel their withered, furless bodies? Surely not. I gulped down the last dry piece of food, and licked my jaws contemplatively. How was I to move forward? I had yet to declare dominance over my human servant, but, by the way my legs trembled as I lay down, that could wait. For now, I would observe human culture and determine its weaknesses. 

The woman walked away into another portion of the house, and the weight of the food in my stomach slowly began to lull me into a doze. I kept an eye slitted for a few minutes, then shut it. My attack would come soon. Yrahtians struck when the armor was off, when the young calf strayed from its mother's side. We were merciless.