Don’t Bring a Tiny Gun to a Monster Fight

Grendel, having been grievously insulted by the cat, drew himself up to his full height, puffing out his chest. “This is not a good idea, cat,” he growled.

Hansel agreed. “Yeah, thanks, but I kind of need him to take me to Linda’s, and my sister wasn’t great.”

The cat wasn’t listening. His little pistol was pointed at Grendel’s midsection, and he was hissing. His hat began to slide off sideways over his flattened ears. His striped tail lashed back and forth with prejudice.

“Your hat’s falling off,” Hansel said helpfully. The cat was ungrateful for his help, to his detriment. As the hat slipped, his crazy kitty eyes rolled toward the wobbling feather, throwing off his aim.

PEW! The report of the tiny revolver was so comically small, Hansel was surprised a little flag didn’t pop out of the barrel.