Great Sausage Robbery

Sir Fluffington McChonkface was a cat who believed with all his heart that he was a majestic, silent ninja. He had gray fur, dark gray spots, and the stealth capabilities of a bowling ball falling down a flight of wooden stairs.

Today, his target was Squeaks the Mouse.

Squeaks had committed the ultimate kitchen crime: he had stolen a gigantic sausage. The sausage was twice as long as Squeaks, smelled like glorious barbecue, and took every ounce of the tiny mouse's muscle power to drag across the floor.

Heave! Ho! Heave! Ho! wheezed Squeaks, his eyes bulging out of his head like two giant googly eyes. "Just... ten... more... feet... to my... snack cave!"

High above him, Sir Fluffington McChonkface prepared to strike. He wiggled his bottom. He wiggled it once. He wiggled it twice. He executed the sacred Ninja Butt-Wiggle of Doom.

"I am the wind," Sir Fluffington whispered to himself, hovering in mid-air like an overweight furry superhero. "I am the night. I am—"

FOOOOOOMP!

Sir Fluffington launched himself through the sky. But instead of a sleek, deadly pounce, he flapped through the air looking like a spotted gray pancake. His tail was spinning like a broken helicopter blade, and his ears were flattened back like airplane wings.

Squeaks stopped dragging his prize and looked up. His eyes went wider than two dinner plates.

"HOLY CHEESE CRACKERS!" Squeaks squeaked, clutching the giant sausage like a surfboard.

Sir Fluffington McChonkface came soaring down. 3... 2... 1...

SPLAT!

Sir Fluffington hit the floorboards like a sack of wet flour, missing Squeaks by two inches. But he was so heavy that his crash-landing vibrated the entire kitchen floor, turning the wooden plank under Squeaks into a giant catapult!

BOING!

Squeaks and his beloved sausage were launched into the air, flying right over Sir Fluffington’s head, out through the cat door, and landing safely inside the mouse hole.

Sir Fluffington McChonkface slowly lifted his head. A single piece of dust was stuck to his nose. He blinked, puffed out his chest, and turned around to face the empty room.

"Ah, yes," Sir Fluffington purred loudly, pretending the walls were watching. "Just as I planned. I didn't want the sausage anyway—I'm on a strict dust diet." ws**, Lord Biscuit, or Professor Pounce-a-Lot?