“Territorial Rights”

He’d done it again. After I’d asked him not to. After I’d gone to all the trouble of hiding them. He’d done it again.
And he’d even taken the last one. The last Dr. Pepper.
Yes, I know I’m being silly and petty over such a small thing. I know each one only costs about twenty-five cents. It’s not about the money. It’s not even really about the Dr. Peppers. It’s about him.
It would be better if he weren’t always at the apartment. He’s become the rash that won’t go away, the baneful Urkel of my Winslow-like existence. I used to like him. I considered him to be like a kindly, older brother. Now he is an insufferable know-it-all whose opinion is the only one that matters and who is never wrong. And all the while I want to club him with the nearest sturdy frying pan.
I know I should be mature and adult in handling this. I should just tell my roommate that they need to find another place to hang out and be all couply He just needs to not be here every waking hour, taking my Dr. Peppers as if he had a right to them. As if he were also a rent-paying occupant. No, I can’t be mature about this. It’s really all about territory. I’m like a wild jungle cat whose territory is being encroached upon by some less significant species. I feel that predator rise up inside me as his hand extends for that last Dr. Pepper. With a fearful half-hiss, half-growl, I spring into action, leaping upon his broad back, my front claws digging deep into his shoulders, my back claws shredding his skin, growling, almost roaring before sinking my teeth into the back of his neck, going for the kill. Every time I open the fridge and find my last, lonely, friendly Dr. Pepper gone, abducted and molested by that unmotivated waste-of-space with his smelly feet propped up on my best pillow, watching some useless anime on my TV, running up the electric bill I pay half—
“Hey, Amy!”
“What?” What do you want now? Are you going to ask me to make dinner for you? Want a pint of my plasma so you can buy another useless video game? What?
“What happened to all the Dr. Peppers? There’s none in the fridge. Did you give them up or something?”
Okay, here’s the perfect moment for me to finally be mature and simply tell him, “No, I didn’t give them up. But I would like you to. I know this seems stupid and childish to ask, but I’m very territorial when it comes to my Dr. Peppers and I feel you’ve been treading on my territory too much of late.” See, it’s easy. Just give it to him straight and we can handle this like rational adults.
“Amy!”
“What? Oh, um…yeah, I did give them up. I figured I was drinking way too many so I decided to cut back. I’m not keeping them in the house anymore. Sorry.”
Yeah, real mature, Amy. Lie about Dr. Peppers. Way to just tell him the truth and get it over with. No wild cat you. No, you’re definitely a tame, spayed, house cat. Good one.