You lead Russell to the couch and engage him in a game of Call of Duty. For someone without thumbs, he's surprisingly good (although, to be fair, he does a lot of camping). When you lose, he challenges you to another round. You play again, this time losing by an even wider margin. You agree to play a third time, but then try to put the controller down.
"You think you can just stop now?" Russell asks, jumping to his feet. I'm on a roll! You can't beat me! You have to play until you beat me and you can't beat me!"
"I think I'm done for now," you tell him.
"You will never be done!" he hisses back. You try to walk away, but the cat jumps on you, knocking you to the ground with his small but unexpected weight. "I'll kill you!" he screams. "This is what you get for trying to quit! I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" Ordinarialy, a house cat might not be so intimidating with death threats, but this one has his paws around your neck and...he's choking you? You're not sure how it's happening, but you can't breathe. You pull him away from your neck, but his claws sink in and rip through arteries. Now you're running short on both air and blood and the world is getting dark.