It was a normal afternoon in the Borson's household. Thor, the oldest son, was watching the TV sitting on the living room, eating popcorn and drinking coke from his father's mug. He loved his father's mug. It kept the cold drinks cool and the hot ones warm enough to enjoy them for a little while longer. His father's mug was also his father's favourite too, but he let his oldest use it once in ablue moon, as they said, so Thor was making the most of it.
Odin, the father, was in the kitchen, fixing himself something to eat before going straight to bed after a long day of work. Odin eyed at the cat, suspiciously. The animal had been staring at Odin the whole time, not moving much from it's post. It's black, long fur was regally arranged around the chest, making it look like it was wearing its enemies' pelts –as the middle son, Baldur, liked to say– and the wide, round green eyes following Odin's every move. When the man turned around to get a glass of water, the cat took the oportunity to jump elegantly at the table, making almost no sound and approached the sandwich, sniffing the air around it.
"No, Loki," Odin said, with a stern look. The cat mewled, then huffed, offended. Odin shooed it away. The cat jumped down and ran away into the living room. It wasn't even ten seconds later when Odin had an ominous feeling.
"Loki, no!" Thor yelled shortly after. A crash ensued. Odin entered the living room to find his distressed son kneeling on the floor, his mug on his hands broken in two, and Loki, the cat, licking itself, sitting on the coffee table.