A Failed Victory

He stalked toward her, the fuzzy little monster, inching ever closer. He crouched down behind the wing back chair, invisible to her. Foolish girl, he thought. She was looking the other way, focused on another computer game. His target, the pale, exposed flesh of her arm, was within clear sight.

“Hang it all!” She cursed, and pounded her fist upon the wooden surface of the desk, rattling a glass of water that sat there. He was unfazed by the unexpected sound, however; his concentration was still aimed at her. But he would have to move quickly if he was to obtain his prize; she was quickly losing interest in her game.

As she began to lift the glass, he crept toward her. His feet were silent, like fur on carpet. Outside, the neighbor dog barked, perhaps attempting to warn the girl of danger. This was it; the moment of triumph. She would never suspect him coming. She took a drink. He charged, chuckling softly in anticipation. Here it was! Victory would be his at last! Now he would have…

The chair spun around. “Ha!” she cried. Startled, he instinctively altered his trajectory, making for the room off to the side. The kitchen! Yes, it was a perfect escape! But no! In his haste to get away, he had forgotten to retract his claws. Too late to change directions, he landed upon the slick tiles and skidded, trying to grip the floor in vain. With an audible thud, he slid into the cabinet.

From the other room, he heard a snort, and then the girl was standing over him. She bent down to pick him up and cuddled him in her arms. He began to purr as she stroked his head. “Better luck next time, little Q-Tip,” she said.