If you can capture and bring home the red-crested female, you know for sure your sister will love you for it. It is a fine specimen, young and healthy with fertile hips guaranteed to pop out a litter or two. Her creamy white flesh already has you salivating a little. Their faces are a little flat and their heads rather bulbous, but you suppose that's the result of the inbreeding required to produce such purebreds.
Rising out of the thick foliage to your full 9-foot height, you step into the clearing.
"What is that," the meatless one chitters, as you move slowly towards the female, claws sheathed. The humans are alert and wary, but don't yet move, frozen to the spot.
"At the risk of saying that I told you so, I'd say one of the creatures that built the roads and sent the radio transmissions," the fatter male says gleefully, its lips peeling back to show its teeth. "But hey, that's only a stone age rifle it's holding. I'm sure we're perfectly safe, right, Professor?"
"It looks like a... tiger. It's massive!"
The female takes a step back. "Why is it looking at me like that? Dave, don't just stand there, shoot it. Dave? Dave?! DAVE!"
She turns her head. The fat human has bolted and is running for the far edge of the clearing. "You're on your own, Prof!"
The female turns on her heels, sprinting after him. You bound after her excitedly, ripping up clods of earth beneath your paws. The female trips and lands hard in the dirt, and you leap for her with a victorious roar.
"Nooooooo!" The scrawny male throws himself between you and the fallen female, and tackles you, wrapping his thin arms around your torso. Aww, he's hugging you! "Run, Sam! Run! I'll hold it off as long as I can!" His tiny fists rain gentle punches against your hard, muscular abdomen. The female is still cowering on the floor. You realise the male must be attempting to protect her, unsual behaviour for humans. Normally when faced with a predator, it was every man for himself, the group of humans cattering in all directions. They would only ever stand and fight when in a defense of.... a pregnant female!
A delighted purr starts in your belly at the thought of all those adorable human babies, and you squeeze the male in your arms gleefully. His hairless skin is wonderfully smooth against your fur and you grab his head and smoosh it against your chest, the purr becoming a deep satisfied growl as his silky cheeks run over your nipples. His head buried in your six breasts, his muffled cries grow weaker "... run, Sam... get... get out of here... can't breath....can't... breath...."
He goes limp, unconscious. Your sister is always chastising you for playing too rough with her pets, but frequently you forget that they're not as resilient as cubs. You lay his sleeping form carefully on the floor, and move over to the other. Her ankle is twisted, which is why she hasn't run. She clutches it and makes weak cries of fear and pain as you crouch beside her. Gingerly lifting her and cradling her into your arms like you would a newborn cub, you begin to lick her clean, hoping to sooth her panic.