Today, my trust in the humans has been shattered yet again. They came home from whatever strange place they disappear to every day, holding a small round object in a jar that they seemed overly excited about. They kept saying it was “apple-scented,” like that was supposed to mean something to me. I thought apples were just red or green balls of crunch that they eat and sometimes try to trick me into sniffing. They aren’t particularly interesting or dangerous, so naturally, I was curious. Besides, my one and only job is to monitor every single item that comes through our door.
So, when they put the jar on the coffee table and wandered off, it was time for me to conduct a formal investigation. I hopped up on the table, circled it a few times to establish my dominance, and finally sniffed it cautiously. Nothing. Just a strange, spicy apple smell—pleasant but suspiciously strong. I was about to leave it alone and chalk it up to human nonsense, when suddenly, they came back and did something unthinkable.
They set it on fire.
Yes, they actually set this jar on fire and just left it there, as if fire in the middle of the room was completely normal. I was horrified! But my duty was clear: I had to assess this new development. So, I returned to the jar, squinting at the tiny flame flickering on top. The apple smell was even stronger now, warm and inviting, which only added to my confusion. Was this a trap? Were they trying to distract me from some even bigger human scheme?
I took another sniff, tentatively leaning in closer to decipher this mystery once and for all. Just as I was about to get a proper whiff—ZAP! My poor, innocent whiskers were singed in a tiny puff of betrayal!
The smell of burnt fur filled my nostrils, and I recoiled in horror. I had trusted them to bring home only safe, sniffable items, not... apple-scented fire hazards! Worse still, I realized that they had probably done this on purpose, just for their own amusement. My whiskers were stinging, my pride was wounded, and I felt betrayed on every level.
At this point, the human noticed my distress. She scooped me up, cooing, “Oh, Gryzka, did the candle scare you?” Scare me?! I was not scared, I was furious. This was clearly a violation of the feline rights code. I glared at her as she stroked my fur and laughed about “my little pyromaniac,” as if any of this was my fault.
After I escaped her clutches, I stomped away, tail flicking with righteous indignation. I spent the next fifteen minutes grooming my poor singed whiskers in peace, cursing the candle, the apples, and the entire concept of fire in general. But as I groomed, I realized: I couldn’t let this candle nonsense slide. If I didn’t act decisively, who knew what other dangerous scented traps they might bring home next?
With my mind made up, I crept back toward the living room, where the candle still burned. I leapt onto the coffee table and positioned myself directly in front of it, staring it down, my gaze a burning testament to justice. I would not be singed again.
The human, who clearly had no sense of my dignified mission, saw me and laughed, saying, “Are you guarding the candle, Gryzka?” Absolutely, I was! I was making sure it knew it wasn’t welcome here.
After a solid ten minutes of this showdown, I realized it was time for the ultimate strike. I stretched out a paw and, with a decisive swipe, sent the candle jar tumbling onto the floor. There was a satisfying clunk as it hit the rug, and the flame went out instantly. The humans yelled in alarm, scrambling to pick up the glass jar. I, however, felt victorious.
They could protest all they wanted, but the fact was clear: the candle had crossed a line, and I had taken the necessary action to protect my territory. I gave the humans my best “you brought this upon yourselves” look before sauntering off, leaving them to deal with the apple-scented wreckage.
So, let this be a warning to all scented candles: stay out of my home, or face the wrath of Gryzka. I have officially banned all candles from my territory. And the humans? They can keep their dangerous apple-smelling nonsense to themselves.
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