It had been three days since The Vet Visit of Doom. Athena had forgiven no one. Obito had already forgotten it happened. And Munchkin the striped menace in a fur coat had been watching. Waiting. Plotting like a furry little Bond villain with whiskers and a vendetta. See, Munchkin hadn’t forgotten how he’d been dragged into a carrier last time and taken for his own vet check, the “just a quick look” appointment that ended in him getting his temperature taken too (but he remembered, unlike Obito, and would be demanding reparations until the end of time). He’d bided his time through the bubble incident, the vet trip, and the very loud 3 a.m. husky zoomies that shook the entire house. But today? Today was his moment. It began at 5:03 a.m. the Devil’s Hour for cats. Munchkin, with the grace of a burglar and the malice of someone who just got bumped off the Wi-Fi, crept onto the nightstand. He stared at Athena, who was snoring in a cocoon of three stolen blankets and one decorative pillow that definitely wasn’t hers. Obito was snuggled in his signature sleep position, belly up, all four legs in the air like a rotisserie chicken left too long in the sun. And then with no hesitation, Munchkin pushed the water glass off the nightstand. Crash. Athena exploded out of her blanket nest like a haunted ghost swan, barking so loudly the neighbour’s car alarm went off. Obito startled awake and immediately peed. In place. Without moving. The humans stumbled out of their room in pajamas, screaming the universal human phrase of dread, “WHAT WAS THAT!?” Munchkin calmly sat atop the dresser, tail curled neatly, eyes full of judgment. And just as the humans bent down to clean up the water, he did it again. This time? The phone charger. Straight into the dog water bowl. He didn’t blink. He didn’t flinch. He just purred. Chaos Initiated. Athena was now pacing the hallway like a general who knew an ambush was coming. Obito, still groggy, attempted to be helpful by dragging a bath mat into the kitchen, then proudly pooped on it. Munchkin watched with what could only be described as gleeful disgust. Then came Phase Two: The Great Food Heist. It was breakfast time. The humans were barely functioning, cleaning up Obito’s bath mat poop tragedy while trying to make coffee. Athena was demanding eggs with a side of respect. Obito had a half-chewed flip flop in his mouth and was attempting to offer it in trade for a meatball. And Munchkin? Munchkin leapt onto the kitchen counter, knocked over the bag of dog kibble with sniper precision, and watched as 162 pounds of Malamute and Husky launched into a feeding frenzy like furry land sharks at a Vegas buffet. The kibble hit the floor. Obito hit the kibble. Athena hit Obito. The floor hit everyone. Munchkin sat on the microwave, smug as a cat with a Pets Corner account. But the pièce de résistance, oh, the true climax, was the vacuum. The humans, now at their wit’s end, attempted to vacuum the kibble hurricane. Athena growled at it. Obito tried to befriend it. Munchkin? He activated Total Mayhem Mode. With a sudden shriek-meow, he launched himself from the top of the fridge, landed on the Roomba like a tiny tabby warlord, and RODE. IT. INTO. BATTLE. The Roomba bumped into the couch. Munchkin screeched like an opera singer on fire. Athena tried to herd it. Obito ran in circles, knocking over yet another lamp, the mail, and a decorative bowl that had never served a purpose anyway. The vacuum was screaming. The humans were screaming. The dogs were howling. And Munchkin? He sat there, triumphant, riding the Roomba into the living room like he was reenacting Gladiator, a small furry Maximus, master of vengeance and floor crumbs. By the end, the house looked like a daycare inside a blender. The humans were broken. Athena had stolen a muffin out of sheer spite. Obito had somehow gotten peanut butter on his butt. No one knew how. No one wanted to know. And Munchkin? He licked his paw, batted a crouton off the table, and yawned. His revenge was complete. From that day on, the dogs never touched his blanket again. Athena no longer barked when Munchkin stole her spot on the couch. Obito gave him space, avoided eye contact, and left peace offerings of socks and half-eaten carrots. And the humans? They started sleeping with the bedroom door locked. Because sometimes, in the darkest hours of dawn, if you listen closely… You can still hear the Roomba running.
Intwined 