text: He screamed and he screamed, and he wouldn’t stop. The angry beast in the closet - Vakum, destroyer of dust, rearranger of furniture and perforator of eardrums - had roused himself from his long slumber, and he was mightily displeased. His tone rose to a high whine, then shifted to a muffled squeal. Oh no, he’d devoured one of the plastic bags, his nemesis. He did hate getting tangled with those. At the first sign of his displeasure, I took myself to my usual hiding place, the far corner of the bedroom, and concealed myself there. This always worked - if I got out of the way, the appeasement ritual, of Kli Ning, would go more smoothly. I couldn’t perform the ritual myself. That was a human thing, a sacred dance done on two feet, approximately every seventh day in the afternoon. Objects would be dragged around the room to appease the creature named Vakum, who was then ushered into the empty floor spaces to eat from them. These floors were festooned with debris that he so liked to devour into his ravenous, flat mouth. He’d be wheeled to his dinner like the Lord of the house he was, and he’d eat and eat until his belly was full. Or so I assumed. I’d never witnessed more than ten seconds of this performance they called Kli Ning, because it was so horrifying. I knew, when the humans raised their voices and shouted, “Company’s coming!” at each other, or, “Your mother’s arriving at five?! or, “You didn’t tell me your friend was stopping over! For God’s sake, you need to tell me these things! It’s a disaster in here!” The ritual would be especially panicked and even more fervent than usual. But the humans were not at home, and so Vakum was not appeased. He shrieked away in his closet and no one came to release him. I cowered in the far corner of the bedroom for twenty minutes, digging my claws into the bedspread to ease my fears, yowling intermittently, hoping that if he heard my cries, Vakum would be merciful towards me. I fluffed my fur into a fearsome spiky arrangement I used to warn off enemies. I arched my back and raised my tail. But Vakum could not see me, and so this was not useful - and, after all, what could I do against this angry beast, who was so much more powerful than I was? Vacuum was relentless in his wails. Gods, he must be angry. But why? I began to understand the reason. My humans had not appeared in about seven days, which I had not minded, but apparently, Vakum had decided that he minded greatly. They’d left me food, and water, and had someone check in on me a few times, but I didn’t like her, so I hid from her. Seven days, I mused. The humans had performed Kli Ning before they left. So that was it, then: he was angered because he had not been fed according to schedule. If the humans did not perform Kli Ning, one of them usually started shouting about it before they brought out Vakum and gave him a quick turn around the apartment. Then the shouting human would say to the other human, "I'm sorry! I just get stressed out when it's dirty in here!" And the other human would say, "I know. Come here and give me a kiss." The important thing, the thing that seemed to cause stress upon both of them, was that they had not fed Vakum in a timely manner. I had previously thought Vakum was something like a more powerful cat, who didn't even need to move on his own, but who had somehow enslaved the humans to do his bidding and roll him around the house so he didn't need to exert himself whatsoever. If I hadn't enjoyed running, jumping, and playing so much, I might have attempted to do the same, to simply yowl at the humans until they did what I wanted without lifting a paw to help myself. But now I understood. Vakum was no animal, but truly a god: he was more powerful, even, than an indoor cat. He needed a sacrifice of crumbs, and dust, and to know that the furniture had been moved around the floors. He would be especially hungry after his long imprisonment, and if I wanted to stop him from killing us all in his anger, Vakum’s wrath must be appeased. I knew what I had to do. I was not human, but I could move things around - off windowsills, at least. I’d been practicing my vertical jumping for years, and now it was time to put it to use. I streaked into the living room, my fur in a riot of fear, and leapt as high as I could towards the ledge. I couldn’t usually make it up here, as the radiator was too slippery for my paws to gain purchase, but desperate times call for heroic measures. I landed on the radiator, and then, scrabbling frantically, managed to wedge all four paws against it surface. I leapt to the windowsill, knocking into one of the large green leafy things in my way. It fell to the floor with a smash. There were so many of these tall green growing things on this ledge - why did the humans prize them? They did nothing, and the humans wouldn’t even let me chew on them, which at least would have made them useful to somebody. So they might as well be sacrificed to the angry god before he killed us all in his fury. I batted down another of the green things, which shuddered, then bobbled against the windowsill and finally tipped over, scattering black earth all over the soft rug below. Good: the floor was covered in debris. Vakum would be pleased about that. For good measure, I sacrificed the third green thing to the floor as well, feeling a sense of relief as its container smashed into fragments and the greenery blended with the dirt in which it had been planted. One never could be too generous when appeasing an angry god. It was very important, I knew, to move heavy objects around the room for Vakum. I could not move chairs or other furniture. But, perhaps Vakum would be so hungry, the humans would have to feed him on the tabletop as well as the floor. And I could cover the table with food for him. There was a clear glassy thing on the table which always sat there. Sometimes the humans put sprigs of dying greenery into this thing - another sort of offering which was replaced every so often, given to other invisible god in propitiant ritual. Unfortunately, the glassy thing was empty now, meaning there were no additional objects to scatter over the tabletop. I brushed my side against its surface, knocking it over. As it rolled along the table, I whacked it with my tail for good measure. It smashed to the floor with a piercing crack. Excellent - there were many shards of glass for him to eat, now. I hoped Vakum liked glass. Best to find more things to offer, though, because he was still shrieking away in his closet like a beast cruelly chained. I couldn’t stand it another minute. Ah, yes, there should be dust - Vakum needed dust. That was something I knew he liked to eat. In utter desperation, I ran to the thing the humans called “get away from there!” and dug my claws into its thick fabric. I shredded it wildly. Its fibers flew from my paws and hovered in the air before gently falling to the ground in a satisfying pile. There - I’d made dust, and a lot of it. What more could I do? But no, Vakum was still howling, his guts belching, his voice hoarse. Oh no. Oh no. Was the roof going to fall on my head? I ran to the far corner of the bedroom, and in my desperation, I peed there. I didn’t know if he’d like that or not. I can’t even pretend it was something I decided to do consciously. I’d just about lost my mind with fear. And then, in answer to my fervent prayers, there was a scraping sound at the front door. Two voices, voices I knew well, were talking to each other, yelling above Vakum’s roar. “What is that sound?” “Is that the Vacuum? Why on earth is the vacuum running right now?” “Did the cat somehow -“ The front door creaked open. I tore, wildly, towards its freedom. “Hey, Petey!” greeted the human as I streaked past him. “What’s going on, buddy?” I don’t know what those words were supposed to indicate, except that the humans were untroubled by the promise that Vakum was going to imminently destroy everything around him. I hissed and yowled and ran into the shrubbery. “Petey! *Come back here*!” And then, from inside the apartment, came an even more highly-pitched scream than the one Vakum was making. “PETEY!!” shrieked the human. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” \\\*\\\*\\\* It was all right, in the end. Just as I’d thought, the humans released Vakum and treated him to an absolute feast, like none he’d ever eaten before. He roared around the rooms of the house for an entire hour, belching in his satisfaction. I hid in the bedroom as the humans yelled many things at each other about what I’d done to save us all. “The vacuum must’ve scared the cat, when it turned on in the closet somehow, and he went crazy.” “Well, no kidding, he did. He turned into a little tornado. He must have been totally freaked out. How many plants did he knock over?” “All three of ‘em. Darn it, now I’ll have to repot them. Most of the stems of my violet are broken and he trashed my peace lily. I hope they’ll live. And he broke my nice vase, and he - oh no. Oh, come look what he did to the couch... “Oh my God.” “*Petey*.” “Petey.” I heard my own name and licked my paws in satisfaction. They must be thanking me that I’d saved them from their god’s wrath; that I’d prepared such a great feast for him, to spare them the trouble of scattering their own crumbs on the ground and festooning the floor with dust when they arrived home. They would have been tired, and would have only prepared a meager meal for him, instead of this lavish spread I'd arranged. “He hasn’t done anything crazy in the bedroom, has he?” “Doubt it. He usually just hides there quietly.” “Should I go check him, or -“ “Nah, leave him alone until we’re done. He should be fine there.” I sniffed at the spot where I’d peed. I wondered if they’d take Vakum there to eat that, too. I couldn’t wait for all the head-pats I’d get in reward. I wondered if they’d open their special cans of nice food for me. It seemed only justified, after all my efforts.