Anon10/15/25, 20:31No.78572762
>The Thrift Shop Tigeress>Be me, Anon.
>31, unemployed, spending a Thursday afternoon at the dingiest thrift shop in the state.
>Smells like mothballs, old coffee grounds, and a faint, unsettling scent of wet denim.
>I am here on a mission. The mission? Secure a vintage, early 2000s Nickelodeon Gak Splat toy that I saw listed on their eBay page. Too cheap to ship, too stubborn to let it go.
>Wading through the 'Electronics & Curios' section, which is just five shelves dedicated to broken keyboards and novelty singing fish.
>I'm wearing my standard thrift uniform: cargo shorts, a faded band tee, and the grim determination of a man who knows what he wants and accepts the lingering shame.
>Then I see her.
>Holy Hel.
>She's anthropomorphic. A tigress. A glorious, striking vision of tawny and black fur, built like a brick outhouse but with the dangerous grace of a jungle cat.
>She's wearing a pair of tight, high-waisted pleather trousers that seem to defy the laws of physics and a black mesh top that barely contains the magnificent topography of her chest.
>The sheer audacity of existing like that in a suburban Goodwill is breathtaking.
>Her tail is thick, tipped with black, and flicks with impatience as she rummages through a box labeled "Miscellaneous Wires and Dreams."
>I stop dead, nearly impaling myself on a mannequin missing both arms.
>Her movements are sharp. She smells vaguely of cheap cologne and expensive cigarettes.
>She turns her head sharply. Her eyes are large, golden, and narrowed, framed by dark eyeliner that looks like it could have survived a tactical strike.
>She catches me staring. I freeze like a deer under Thor's hammer.
>She doesn't look annoyed, just amused. A slow, predatory smile stretches across her muzzle, revealing prominent canines.
>"Da, little mouse? You like what you see?" she purrs, the accent thick as Serbian honey.
>My brain short-circuits. Serbian. Of course.
>I try to play it cool.