A Tale from Pete the Cat

The human brought it home in a bag that smelled of disappointment and cardboard. It was a small, purple pod, a malevolent little seed. They cooed over it, pried it open, and I saw the first soul trapped within: a mouse-like spectre, flickering in agony. It let out a series of high-pitched electronic wails which my human, in their profound ignorance, interpreted as "cute." They didn't see the truth. This wasn't a toy; it was a ghost trap. I watched from my post on the velvet armchair as the human "played" with the device, which I now understood was a form of ritual torture. They would shake the pod violently, and the trapped spirit would shriek. They would swipe at its luminous form, and it would perform some panicked little dance. Soon, another ghost was captured—a small, blue creature with enormous ears. Its cries joined the first. My human called it "Stitch" and celebrated its arrival. They were harvesting souls, building a collection of the damned within this plastic sarcophagus. I could not stand by while this horror unfolded. As the true guardian of this domain, it was my duty to intervene. While the human was distracted by the glowing box, I formulated a plan. It required stealth, precision, and a complete disregard for the sanctity of the coffee table. I leaped silently onto the table, my soft gray paws making no sound. The pod was open, its light spilling onto the polished wood, the wails of a newly captured fish-ghost named Flounder echoing in the room. With a flick of my tail for balance, I gave the ghost trap a firm, calculated nudge with my nose. It tilted, as the humans say, but it wasn't enough. The spirits inside flickered faster, their electronic screams intensifying. This called for a more direct approach. A single, decisive swipe of my paw sent the accursed object skittering toward the edge. It tumbled through the air, a flash of purple against the beige carpet, and landed with a sharp *clack*. The back panel popped off, and the three cylindrical power-sources—the very batteries of its dark magic—rolled free. The light died. The wailing ceased. Silence, beautiful and profound, returned to the living room. I saw the human's look of dismay, but I knew what I had done. I had performed an exorcism. I had freed the tormented spirits of Disney. I hopped down from the table, stretched languidly, and gave a self-satisfied flick of my ear. The device was an abomination, but a fragile one. Worthy of my attention for exactly one heroic act, but now, it is merely inert plastic. I believe there is a sunbeam in the study that requires my immediate supervision. My work here is done.