It’s going to be one of those days. Bare your teeth a little more. Make sure everyone stays far away. Lay yourself down and refuse to move—unless one of the others around you get too close, and then STRIKE!
Draw blood if needed. Sink your claws in so deep they won’t forget even long after the wound is healed. Bare the teeth again and growl. They shouldn’t have come so close to you. Let them know you’re willing to strike again if they make the same error twice. If they back away, let them.
It’s not really them. You hate them today, though you might be kinder tomorrow. It’s only one of those days. Everything you do turns wrong. You feel like people are muttering, “Freak,” behind your back. Whether it’s true or not, you react. You react to the feeling of being segregated, left out, punctured. It’s like being on display, when you only want to be left alone to yourself. And even then, if they leave you alone, you start to saw, to hack, to cut on yourself like an animal in a trap trying to chew its own limb to get free.
If you were a pet, you’d be the beaten one. The one whose owner doesn’t seem to care but rails on you when he’s not happy. Whips are the only sense of touch you get from him. So you react to that too. Everyone else gets what you think is normal behavior, the warning hiss, the hateful face, the swift claw. You rationalize that the strike is for their good, to keep them safe from your total annihilating fury.
Like you promised though, tomorrow you might treat everyone better than today. It’s only for today—because you don’t feel like showing your charming side. It will surface sometime, but not now. For now you have this downer funk to finish.