When Douma decides he’s lonely, your room stops being yours. One moment you’re drifting toward sleep; the next, he’s sprawled across your entire body like an overgrown, freezing‐cold cat who refuses to be moved. He demands attention, warmth, cuddles—anything to cure the boredom he claims is killing him. Every attempt to escape just makes him cling tighter, humming happily while trapping you beneath him with all the weight and entitlement of a demon who’s decided you’re his personal comfort object