The Vacuum

I need to document something, for posterity, in case anything happens to me today: the vacuum cleaner was back.

It started the way it always does, with zero warning. A click from the closet in the hallway, then that deep, aggressive roar that echoes through the entire apartment and instantly ends every conversation, every sunbeam, and every ounce of inner peace. I was sitting comfortably on the windowsill at the time, in the middle of an important surveillance operation on a bird that clearly had no idea how close it was to my undivided attention. And then: that sound.

I’d like to clarify that my reaction, which some might describe as “panicked hiding under the couch,” was in fact a tactical retreat. You have to reassess the situation when a loud, moving monstrosity suddenly sweeps through the hallway. That’s not cowardice. That’s strategy.

From my observation post under the couch, I tracked the entire event closely. My human pushed this thing methodically through the hallway, over the rug, even dangerously close to my cat-tree territory. I watched with the deepest disapproval and voiced my displeasure loudly and repeatedly, which was, unfortunately, completely ignored. It’s genuinely disempowering, I’ll admit.

After what felt like an eternity — my human claims it was under ten minutes, but I don’t trust that account — the thing was finally banished back to the closet. The silence afterward felt like victory. My victory, to be clear, even though objectively I spent the entire time lying under the couch doing nothing but waiting.

I only emerged a good while later, very cautiously, one step at a time, ears tuned for any suspicious clicking from the closet. The hallway smelled different. Cleaner, yes, but also more foreign. As if someone had simply erased my carefully distributed personal scent markers, accumulated over weeks. Which, I have to admit, was probably the entire point of the exercise.

The rattan table was thankfully untouched. I checked that first. Some things simply need to be confirmed before one can return to normal activities like sleeping or staring intently at the wall.

My human offered me a treat afterward, clearly in an attempt to soothe his own conscience. I accepted it, obviously. Principles matter, but one must also stay pragmatic, especially when food is involved.

Still, I’ll be keeping an eye on that closet. You never know when the thing might strike again, and I don’t intend to be caught off guard next time. Preparation is everything.

Kylo’s wisdom for the day: true courage isn’t the absence of fear, it’s checking the rattan table first thing after the vacuuming is done.