May Day Parade Mishap

May 1st. A day of celebration. A day of unity. A day… for a cat parade.

I, Gryzka the Magnificent, had carefully planned everything. The route through the apartment? Perfectly mapped. The decorations? Tailored to feline perfection. The parade lineup? Myself in the front, of course.

There was just one problem.

"Spurka, Kitka, report for parade duty immediately!" I announced, leaping onto the windowsill where they were lazily sunbathing.

Kitka opened one eye and gave me a slow blink of complete indifference. Spurka didn’t even bother lifting her head.

"Did you hear me? This is a mandatory event!"

Silence.

I flicked my tail and decided to change tactics. "Fine. I suppose I’ll just have to lead the parade alone and take all the glory for myself."

Kitka yawned. Spurka stretched. Neither of them looked even remotely concerned about my solo parade domination.

Fine. No matter. I didn’t need them. I would march alone!

I strutted through the living room, tail high, head held regally, my paws stepping in perfect rhythm. I was a parade of one, and I was fabulous.

…Until I encountered the first obstacle: Ania’s laundry pile.

A responsible parade leader would go around it. A bold parade leader, like myself, would go through it. I attempted a dramatic leap over a pair of folded jeans—only to miscalculate and land in a tangled mess of socks.

I scrambled free and continued my march, pretending nothing had happened. No one had seen that. It was fine.

Next stop: the kitchen, where the grand finale would take place! I planned to make a glorious victory lap around my food bowl before claiming my rightful snack.

Except… Spurka was already there. Eating.

"What are you doing?!" I gasped. "That was supposed to be my parade-ending feast!"

Spurka licked her paw and gave me a blank stare. "Oh. Was this today?"

"YES, IT WAS TODAY."

Kitka casually strolled into the kitchen, looking completely refreshed from her nap. "Huh. Thought that was tomorrow."

I opened my mouth to argue when Ania walked in, completely unaware of the dramatic failure unfolding before her. "Aw, are you three all gathered for a little May Day celebration?" she cooed.

Before I could explain the great betrayal, she shook the treat bag.

In an instant, all previous grievances were forgotten. The parade? The betrayal? The failure? None of it mattered anymore.

All three of us immediately lined up—tails twitching, eyes wide, and ready for our real May Day tradition: a snack parade.

Maybe next year, I’d plan better. Maybe next year, I’d enforce stricter participation rules.

But for now, I was too busy devouring my well-earned treats.