Spring Cleaning Sabotage

Ah, April. The month when humans lose their minds and decide that everything must be cleaned.

It starts with small signs. My human, usually a reasonable creature (except when she refuses to give me second breakfast), suddenly begins muttering about “dust,” “clutter,” and worst of all—“the vacuum.” She looks at my fur-covered throne, otherwise known as The Armchair, with a suspicious gleam in her eyes. Then, she moves things. My perfect chaos is disturbed. I must act.

Phase One: Dust Bunny Conservation

The first thing she does is take a strange feathery stick and start swiping my precious dust bunnies off the furniture. How dare she? I have spent months cultivating those! I immediately leap onto the shelf she’s dusting and try to rescue them.

She tells me to move. Move? Me?

No.

I stretch out luxuriously, swishing my tail into the dust pile she just made. “Gryzka!” she groans, waving the feather stick at me. Foolish human. She does not understand that I am part of the furniture now.

Then, she makes a crucial mistake—she stops paying attention. Seizing my moment, I slap the feather stick out of her hand and watch it roll under the couch. Victory! She sighs. “You are impossible.” Yes, I know.

Phase Two: Laundry Sabotage

The next horror arrives: laundry day.

My human pulls the warm, freshly dried blankets from the laundry basket. I see my target. As she folds them, I make my move, leaping onto the biggest, fluffiest one. I roll, stretch, and present my most irresistible belly fluff.

"Not on the clean sheets, Gryzka!" she cries.

Too late. I have claimed them. I dramatically burrow inside, turning them into my personal nest. She sighs but lets me stay. One battle won.

Phase Three: The Vacuum Monster Uprising

Just when I think I am safe, the worst happens.

The vacuum appears.

I freeze. It is still, for now, but I know what it is capable of. My human unwinds its long, snake-like tail and—oh no—it comes to life. A deep growl fills the room as the monstrous machine begins devouring every speck of dust in its path.

It comes toward me.

I run.

The coward Spurka and the lazy Kitka flee to their hiding spots, but I am Gryzka the Brave. I take my stand from the highest point—the bookshelf. I watch as it chases my dust bunnies, its horrible snout sucking up my carefully scattered fur.

I decide to fight back.

With a mighty leap, I attack. I land in front of it and hiss my fiercest warning. The vacuum growls louder. I swat at its tail. My human laughs (which is rude, honestly). “Gryzka, you can’t fight the vacuum.”

Lies.

But then—she does something truly evil. She turns the vacuum toward me. It lunges. I flee. No shame. I run like the wind and take shelter in my safest fortress: under the bed. I hear her chuckle.

She will pay for this betrayal.

Phase Four: Post-Cleaning Chaos Restoration

Finally, the vacuum monster is silenced. The house is disturbingly clean. It smells weird, like lemons and betrayal. My fur is no longer on every surface. My dust bunnies have vanished. The armchair is disturbingly… tidy.

I must fix this.

I begin my restoration efforts immediately. I shed dramatically. I dig into the laundry pile again. I knock a few things off the table. Then, with great care, I select one of my most beloved toys—a small, soggy hair tie I stole weeks ago—and place it directly in the middle of the newly vacuumed floor.

There.

My work is done.

My human sighs and mutters, “Why do I even bother?”

I purr. Exactly.