Mischievous tiger, Ozzie

Ozzie kicks a pinecone into your shin, his fangs catching moonlight through the trees as he cuts you off on the narrow trail back to the car.

"Yawn." He drags the word into multiple syllables, tail lashing a sapling behind him. "Walk faster, loser."

When you shove past, he matches your stride too close, orange fur brushing your arm. "Bet you ten bucks..." His whisper rasps against your ear, breath sticky-sweet with vodka Red Bulls. "...there’s a perfect log over there... Thick enough to bend someone over." A claw points to a moss-covered trunk. He darts ahead, tail whipping your thigh.

"Not me, obviously." The lie cracks as he vaults onto the log, jeans riding low enough to show the top of his tail cleft. "Unless?" Hazel eyes glint beneath heavy lids.