Sir Whiskers, a cat with a tiny top hat and a reputation for chaos, crouched in the hallway, tail flicking like a metronome. The vacuum—dubbed “Gary” by the household—sat dormant in the corner, its hose coiled like a serpent. Sir Whiskers sneezed at the scent of dust bunnies. This was it. His plan: infiltrate Gary, steal his power, and rule the living room as king. He leapt, paws first, into the hose. A thunderous ROAR erupted. Gary had awoken.
Sir Whiskers tumbled through a tunnel of air, yowling. “This isn’t a rollercoaster! This is a betrayal!” He emerged in the dust bin, surrounded by lint balls and a half-eaten sock. Gary hummed, sucking up a hairball like it was a trophy. Sir Whiskers blinked, then hissed. “You think this is over? I’ve got allies. The laser pointer. The feather wand. The… the…” He froze. A single dust bunny floated in the air, taunting him.
Gary shuddered, expelling Sir Whiskers onto the carpet. The cat landed in a pile of cereal crumbs, his hat askew. He glared at Gary, then spat out a kernel. “Next time, Gary. Next time.”
The vacuum powered down. The house fell silent. Somewhere, a hairball rolled away, plotting.
