The Betrayal of the Brush

 

Today, my humans betrayed me. Again. It started off like any other day—breakfast was mediocre, the sunbeam in the living room was acceptable, and the birds outside were delightfully infuriating. I was all set for my usual napathon when suddenly, it happened. The Brush.

But not just any brush. Oh no, this was the Steam Brush. That monstrosity of modern technology.

It began with them sneaking up on me. I was peacefully lounging on the sofa, dreaming of chasing that fat pigeon who’s been mocking me from the window ledge for weeks. And then bam! They picked me up, cooing in that irritatingly sweet voice as if that would somehow make this okay. I knew something was wrong. They were too nice, too suspicious. I could smell the deceit in the air.

Then I saw it. The evil, hissing, wet, steamy device from the deepest pits of human cruelty. They call it a "grooming tool," but I know better. It’s a torture device. It sprayed that vile mist on my luxurious fur, ruining it completely. And the noise! It hissed and puffed like an angry snake. I tried to escape, of course—I’m no fool. But they had me in their clutches, and no amount of wiggling, hissing, or pitiful meowing could free me.

The worst part? They actually looked pleased with themselves afterward, like they were doing me a favor. "Look how shiny you are now, Gryzka!" they said. Shiny?! I looked like a drenched squirrel!

As soon as they released me, I ran. I hid under the bed for hours, plotting my revenge. I’ll start by shredding that ridiculous plant they care so much about. Maybe I’ll puke on their favorite rug—twice, for good measure.

But, let’s be real. They’ll try again, and I must be ready. Next time, I won’t be caught off guard. Next time, I’ll destroy the steam brush once and for all. Maybe I’ll knock it off the counter…into the toilet.

For now, I’ll settle for giving them the cold shoulder. No purring, no head bumps, nothing. They must know I’m displeased.

In the meantime, I’m off to regain my dignity and lick my fur back into perfection.

With disdain and damp fur,
Gryzka, the (usually) Magnificent