The Woolen Beast

The kitchen counter grew silent. I marched down onto the vast hardwood plain to claim wider ground. Under the dark ledge of the sofa, a fluffy gray threat lurked—a wool dust ball, swollen and still. I crouched, muscles tense, and charged with an open roar. My claws dug into the slick floorboards. I struck it with a heavy headbutt. The beast exploded into tiny drifting tufts beneath my snout. Vanquished. The floor belongs to me now.