The tiger(s) and the panther

Right at this moment a tiger girl is sleeping under Dad's desk. It's amazing, suddenly Meffi is hanging out up here all the time. Of course that means Esme lost one of her favorite sleeping spots, but she prefers the bed much more these days anyway.
It also means I get growled at a lot more often, but that's a side effect I gladly accept if it means my goddess is near me. I keep staring at her because I still can't believe it.

Last night she refreshed her acquaintance with her big friend, Mr. Big Tiger.

I'll tell you something. Panthers shouldn't interfere when tigers have a chat. Can you tell by Meffi's look?

"Maybe the laser eyes do the trick. Don't mess with me, Esme, or you'll regret it."

My sister doesn't give up that easily. It's a family trait. We call it perseverance, Mom calls it annoying.
No one tries to mess with Meffi for long, though. Usually she is the one with a tail fluffed up to look bigger than her whole tiny body, roaring like a fiend from the underworld, chasing us.
Esme gave in. Naturally.

(Mom says that Meffi wasn't growling, but biting Mr. Big Tiger's whiskers She also told me that she is tired of us molesting the poor guy and that she can't understand why we are all so obsessed with those whiskers. Well, she's only human, poor creature. How could she understand?)