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Crookshanks was frustrated, to say the least.
He and his human—Hermione Granger—lived a nice, simple life, yet she had somehow seen fit to disrupt their quiet calm.
Every evening at eight o’clock, he would usually leap gracefully onto the sofa and settle himself on her lap. She, in turn, would smile and sigh gratefully, before shifting to stroke behind his ears—in the exact spot she knew he was so fond of.
Yes, he and Hermione had a routine—one that worked very well, thank you very much—and he wasn’t about to let it all go just because some tall, blonde human had weaseled his way into their lives.
He glared at the couple currently entwined together on the sofa and hissed when he saw Hermione’s hand move to scratch behind the human’s ear.
It should be that man with his ass on the floor—not Crookshanks!
And so, shunned to the corner of the room, he began plotting his revenge.
After an indeterminable amount of time, and with a heavy heart, Crookshanks had come to the realisation that Hermione, unfortunately, required a punishment.
Of course he didn’t want to do it, didn’t like it, but she needed to know that her behaviour wouldn’t be tolerated. He wasn’t angry with her, per se, more… disappointed.
Hermione was, therefore, going to be subjected to The Silent Treatment.
That meant no cuddles and no cute purrs (only begging ones), and he was even considering bringing in a dead mouse or two.
Four months later
The Silent Treatment hadn’t worked.
The tall, blonde human remained a permanent fixture in their lives.
However, Crookshanks had learnt that every time Hermione and the male raised their voices, and the sound of the front door slamming echoed through the flat, he was in for a treat. The number of times he had now been allowed to snuggle in her superbly comfortable bed was remarkable.
And if sometimes the cause of Hermione and her human’s arguments might have been provoked by the casual whip of his tail or flex of his claws, Crookshanks would never tell.