One cold night in December, I heard a noise outside my window.
Carefully throwing back my covers, I leaped from my bed.
"What if it's a burglar?" I wondered. I surveyed my apparel: Elmo pajamas and a t-shirt which read Dance 4ever. Hopefully it would be too dark for the intruder to notice that.
I slunk quietly to my closet, trying to control my rapid breathing. Stooping down, I clicked on a flashlight that I had snagged from my bedside table. A weapon was needed. I noticed a fishing pole, a rainboot, and a cleat. Then my gaze fell upon my cat.
Mr. Snuffles was an obese gray tomcat whom my sister had christened; I accept no responsibility for his unfortunate title. I slid my hand under his ample belly and scooped him up into my arms.
"Meow?" Mr. Snuffles inquired. I agreed with his summary of the scenario.
I crept down the stairs, my fat feline in tow, and prayed that the stairs wouldn't break. Unfortunately, they did.
"Shut up!" I whispered harshly to the steps. Mr. Snuffles looked up at me, scandalized.
"Pardon my French." I said absent-mindedly.
I made my way outside, and stalked through the freezing snow. I was about to give up my hunt when I spied a small green figure crouching behind the air conditioner. My mouth gaped.
"Are you an alien?" I asked, astonished.
"No..." the figure replied. His voice was high and Irish, like my cousin. "I'm a leprechaun!"
"A Liberal?" I asked, confused.
"No, a leprechaun!" He shouted. "and I'm here for your pot o-"
"DRUGS ARE BAD!" I yelled at him, and activated my cat catapult. The trajectory made its mark on the target's face. Then it exploded, along with the small green man.
I went to bed satisfied.
The next day I bought another fat gray cat in case another inebriated liberal visited my home. They didn't.
oh, my goodness. that was happy making. I just hope you don't get a call from PETA.
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