Dinner time arrived, and at last, Ben presented the evening’s sustenance. My whiskers twitched with anticipation… only to droop in disappointment. A bowl of wet slop and a bowl of crunchy pebbles. Really? This was my grand feast? Did he mistake me for a common alley cat?
Still, I had to admit, at least he offered us a choice. My brother immediately crunched into the pebbles, purring as though he’d been handed a royal banquet. (The bar is low, clearly.) My sister and I exchanged a glance, silently agreeing that the wet slop was at least passable, and tucked in together. Not perfect, but tolerable. I’ll allow it, for now.
With our bellies full, we gravitated toward the sofa. The room still smelled strange and new, the walls unfamiliar, the air carrying Ben’s scent instead of Karen’s. For the first time since arriving, we curled together: my sister tucked neatly against my side, my brother draped half over us both like a great, furry blanket. He snores, by the way. Loudly. Despite the strange house, despite the day’s adventures, I felt safe. Home, after all, is where the siblings are, even if they are occasionally drooly.
When we woke, we stretched, yawned, and found the house unusually quiet. Ben was not around yet. Clearly, that meant one thing: it was time to test the durability of his furniture.
My sister was the first to act, her eyes gleaming with mischief. She launched herself off the sofa and tore across the room, claws finding the curtain in a heartbeat. Ben wasn’t there to stop her, so she climbed with wild abandon, the fabric protesting loudly with every scratch. I must admit, it was impressive.
Not to be outdone, my brother flopped back onto the sofa, kicking his paws lazily into the armrest as if the furniture existed solely for his amusement, which, knowing him, he probably believes.
And I? I claimed the middle cushion. With all the grace of a seasoned warrior, I flexed my claws and struck. Oh, the sound! That glorious rip, the spray of tiny threads, it was irresistible. My siblings joined in, and soon the sofa was the battlefield of our greatest conquest.
Claws clashed, whiskers bristled, bits of fabric flew like confetti. My sister clawed the left side, my brother pummelled the right, and I reigned proudly in the middle, a king upon his throne of unraveling cushions. A throne, I might add, far softer than Ben’s carpet. Honestly, it’s as if he’s never tested it with his own cheek.
Ben’s horrified groan shattered the moment. “Not the sofa!” He rushed in, arms flailing, scooping us off only for us to spring right back into action. He muttered about “ruined furniture” and “tiny terrors” before disappearing, leaving us victorious once more. Humans: dramatic as always.
Shortly after, Ben returned carrying something strange and enormous. Boxes, poles, and flat bits of wood clattered to the floor. He knelt down, instructions in hand, and immediately let out the first of many long sighs.
Piece by piece, he began the construction, fumbling with screws and squinting at diagrams. Every few minutes, he muttered under his breath, things like “Why are there so many parts?” and “All this for three tiny gremlins who just shredded my sofa…”
Naturally, we were on paw to “help.” My sister pounced the moment a shiny screw hit the floor, batting it across the room like a prized jewel. Ben scrambled after her on his hands and knees, grumbling while she darted just out of reach, tail twitching with delight.
I spotted his precious sheet of paper... the “instructions.” To me, it looked suspiciously like an exotic kind of toilet roll. A challenge. Clearly it was begging to be shredded. With one noble leap, I tackled it, sinking my claws and teeth into its flimsy flesh until it was nothing but confetti. Victory was mine!
Ben returned, clutching the captured screw, only to freeze in horror. “Oh no…”
I sat proudly on the remains, chest puffed. My brother rolled onto what was left of the paper, flattening it further with his full weight, while Ben desperately tried to piece together the tattered puzzle like some tragic archaeologist rebuilding lost scrolls.
Still, somehow, he carried on. Slowly, painfully, muttering things that were almost certainly curses. At last, it began to take shape. Taller, stranger, more magnificent with each addition - posts wrapped in rope, platforms stacked high, cozy dens hidden in the base, toys dangling temptingly. Until finally, it reached almost to the ceiling.
We approached cautiously, sniffing each corner and post, circling it as though it might suddenly come alive. My sister broke the silence first. With a decisive leap, she dug her claws into one of the rope-wrapped pillars. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Again and again, until the sound filled the room. She purred loudly, utterly entranced, and clearly unwilling to ever stop. Show-off.
My brother tilted his head, wide-eyed and uncertain. Scaling towers wasn’t in his skill set (or perhaps his interest). Instead, he flopped to the floor dramatically, pawed at one of the dangling toys, and batted it lazily. What a weakling. A structure reaching the heavens, and he chooses… a fuzzy string.
But I… I saw the true prize. High above, nestled like a throne among the platforms, was the softest, most inviting bed I had ever laid eyes on. It called to me.
I leapt onto the first tier, claws steady, tail flicking. Higher and higher I climbed, pausing only to gauge my next daring jump. My heart quickened, my whiskers twitched, until at last... I reached it.
The bed.
I sank into it, my body swallowed by warmth and softness beyond imagining. It was perfection. A throne fit for my magnificence, suspended above the world. I curled up, chin high, in awe of my own achievement.
Ben smiled faintly from below, clearly thinking he had solved the problem. Perhaps he had. Or perhaps he had merely given me the high ground I had always deserved. Either way, the sofa may yet live another day.