MAX’S APARTMENT, NEW MEXICO – “Come on baby, drop…DROP! Come to papa!” screamed Sarlacc, the poorly placed litter box, internally to itself. Sarlacc lurked below, patient and quiet – all the time quiet – while it waited for its prey to fall into its trap.
About four feet up off the ground straight above the Sarlacc was its intended victim, a brand new, minty green plastic toothbrush hanging off the side the sink counter. The toothbrush, clean and barely used, glistened with a kind of perfection only a monster would want to destroy.
A few days beforehand, Sarlacc the litterbox was haphazardly placed in the bathroom next to the sink by Max the human to “get that litter smell out of the kitchen.” The cat, Smooches, had no problem adjusting to the change, and everything seemed to be hunky dory inside the cozy little apartment. Little did Max realize he had replaced one problem with a potential catastrophe of unimaginable grossness.
“Just look at it up there, so hygienic and useful,” thought Sarlacc megalomaniacally to itself. “All I have to do is wait. Either Max himself will come in one morning, groggy and inattentive, and knock his precious little brush off into my wide open maw, or his cute little kitty will come crawling up and unwittingly sacrifice his master’s mouth instrument. And then it will be mine, all mine! And I’ll soak every bristle in the thick stench of cat juices and poop logs so foul, Max will never want to stick anything in his grill again! Muhahaha!”
Recent reports indicate that Sarlacc still waits menacingly under the sink, while Max’s tiny toothbrush has inched even closer to the edge of the abyss. A fresh dump from smooches sits stewing right in the toothbrush’s fall zone – a dark and smelly omen for the coming disaster.