Twelve-Sentence Short Story : The Power Struggle

Ping perched upon the speaker, his orange fur glistening in the light, his tail flicking contentedly, his green eyes glowing with his mischievous plot. He was a young cat: only two years old. But he was spoiled, pampered by a four year old girl who had a love for kitties. He heard footsteps, from the hall, through the room, below his tall sanctuary. He was there. Perfect.

He had that scowl on his brow, and there was that grimace in his step, oh, that throbbing in his veins, and there, there was that anger in his eyes. He wasn't happy, he was upset; he wasn't upset, he was angry; he wasn't angry, he was furious.

From Dad's speakers, the cat smiled down at him. Why so annoyed, Shawn?

He had payed for those speakers, so they were his speakers, so they shouldn't be climbed on, so they shouldn't have claw marks all over them, so he shouldn't have to pay to get them repaired.

With all his sneaky intentions, and all his acrobatic abilities, just to torture poor Shawn, in order to provoke him to color changing wrath, for the amusement caused by this particular human's ill-temper, the cat had intentionally climbed the stereo speakers.