THE GRUMPY HITCHHIKER

I hate cats. There, I said it.

They're furry, lazy, and think they're too good for the rest of us. And you know what? They get away with it because people think they're cute. I, however, am not so easily fooled. Cats are little emperors, rulers with invisible crowns who seem to think the world revolves around them.

I can't stand them.

So why, you ask, was I following one? Why did I skitter behind this black ball of arrogance, kicking up dust and muttering under my breath? Well, better late than never, right? Let me tell you how I ended up in this ridiculous mess.

It started when this blasted black cat strutted up to me, tail flicking like it was carrying a royal scepter.

The nerve! The sheer audacity! I mean, who does it think it is?

I've been around the block more times than I can count, and trust me, I've seen it all. Cats are nothing but glorified cushions. They've got no work ethic, no loyalty, just an endless appetite for naps and head scratches. And yet, despite every fiber of my being screaming at me to ignore this fluff ball, I was here trailing after it, trying to make sense of its silent, haughty attitude.

The cat padded forward with purpose, its tail held high like a royal banner, and I reluctantly hopped along in its wake. What can I say? Curiosity got the better of me. It wasn't like I had anything better to do.

Lately, my life has become one long stretch of uneventful lounging. Sure, there were fleeting moments of excitement, a sudden change of scenery, perhaps, or a tussle that made my ride bounce around like a roller coaster, but mostly, it was a never-ending quest to find the perfect warm spot.

But this cat? There was something about it that made me forget all that. It was like it was calling me to some grand adventure, and I hated that I wanted to know where it was going.

It wove its way through alleyways, taking sharp turns like it had an actual purpose. I couldn't help but wonder if it really knew where it was headed. "Where are we going? Is there a retirement home for ancient adventurers that no one told me about?"

I mused to myself, half-joking, half-hoping. All six of my joints weren't what they used to be; believe me, I could use a break. Something about the way it moved, though, kept me intrigued. It seemed like it had a destination in mind, and for once, I didn't mind hopping along for the ride.

Suddenly, the cat came to a halt, and I nearly tumbled off, grabbing a tuft of fur to keep from falling. It flicked its ear, clearly annoyed as if it could feel my infinitesimal weight. Oh, please. With all that fluff, it probably didn't even notice me. Or maybe it did; perhaps that was the whole point. Maybe this arrogant furball wanted me to be right here, witnessing whatever nonsense was about to unfold.

The cat sat down, regal as ever, in front of a large, heavy-looking door. A door? Really? What was this? Was it an architectural tour? I didn't sign up for door-admiring. If I wanted to be admiring doors, I'd be hanging around termites; let me tell you, they're a real bore.

The cat turned its head, its green eyes glinting in the dim alley light, staring right at me or maybe through me. It was almost like it was trying to tell me something. It gave me this look as if I was supposed to do something.

"What? You want me to open it?" I scoffed. "Buddy, I'm about a hundredth of your size. If you haven't noticed, I lack the opposable thumbs... or any kind of thumbs, for that matter."

The cat let out a low, almost offended-sounding growl before it pushed the door open with its head. The door creaked as it swung inward, revealing a room dimly lit with the soft glow of flickering candles.

Impressive, I admit. But was I about to compliment it? No way. Cats don't need their egos inflated; they're already big enough. I held my tongue. Well, if I had a tongue to hold, I would have.

The cat sauntered inside, and I had no choice but to follow. What else was I supposed to do? The room looked old, covered in dust and cobwebs, and candles flickered on every available surface, casting dancing shadows along the walls. It was giving off serious "cult meeting at midnight" vibes. Lovely. I needed a potential blood sacrifice to spice up my evening.

At the far end of the room was a small platform, and, surprise, a group of other cats gathered there. Black cats, white cats, orange tabbies—a rainbow of furry menaces. Each one eyed me suspiciously, though I doubted they could see me. I was nothing more than an itch to these feline overlords. My reluctant chauffeur strutted up to the middle of the platform, and all eyes turned toward it. It let out a loud yowl that echoed through the room.

Oh, excellent, I was about to be part of some weird cat ritual. Just when I thought my life couldn't get any stranger.

"Alright, what's the big idea?" I muttered, knowing full well that no one could hear me. "I'm old and cranky, and if this is supposed to be some sort of intervention for my attitude, you can all scratch a scratching post."

One of the cats, a big gray one with a scar across its nose, stood up and began to approach. Oh, fantastic. Just my luck. I'd stumbled straight into a feline mafia meeting. What was this? Was it a vendetta?

The gray cat sniffed the air, its eyes narrowing on... well, me, I suppose. It opened its mouth, and I could've sworn it spoke. "You, flea. You've been summoned."

Summoned? Me? What kind of nonsense was this? "Listen, furball, I'm not in the business of being summoned. I'm in the company of finding a warm host and enjoying my twilight years in peace.

Preferably in a spot that doesn't get scratched every five minutes."

The cats exchanged glances; at least, I think they did. It's hard to tell with felines. Finally, the gray one spoke again, "We need your help, flea. You're the oldest and grumpiest of your kind. You've been around longer than most of us."

I couldn't help but feel a tiny sense of pride at that. "Well, I won't argue there," I said. "But why should I help you a lot? What's in it for me?"

The gray cat sighed a natural, deep, exasperated sigh as if I were the unreasonable one here. "If you help us, we'll ensure you'll have a warm host... one without any fleas of its own and with an impeccable grooming regimen."

I paused. No other fleas to compete with? Groomed but not scratched too often? It sounded like... paradise. But I wasn't about to give in so easily. I had a reputation to maintain. "Alright, what do you need? Let's make this quick. I've got naps to take and hosts to annoy."

The cats all turned their gazes on me, the candles flickering as if they sensed the momentous occasion, whatever that might be. And that's how I, a tired old flea with a lousy attitude, became the reluctant hero of a cat cult.

They needed a flea with "experience" to infiltrate the Great Dane next door; this beast had been terrorizing their alley for months. The plan? Hitch a ride, scope out the situation, and report back.

Wonderful. I needed a secret mission involving the snobby dog in town in my retirement years. I hopped onto the gray cat's back, ready for the next chapter of this ridiculous escapade.

Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't be so bad after all. At least, it would be a story to tell if I lived through it.