Gingersnaps Strikes Again!!! (or not)

In the fantastical, well not really, land of Little Mirth, there existed a farmer named Tom (his parents never even bothered to give him a surname), and Tom was having a good day. The rest of Little Mirth was far from feeling it though, and that was for good reason. The problems included dwarves and elves settling disputes with violence and bloody battles, rampaging orc hordes trampling whatever gets in their way, and evil kings getting overthrown by groups of plucky, heroic rebels, who would then turn into maniacal despots themselves. But it didn’t matter at all to Tom, since he lived in the remote village of Middling-Shire, far from the nearly constant strife that plagues Little Mirth, and the issue of which tyrannical king would rule next didn’t concern him, so long as they only require the same taxes to be paid weekly. All he had to worry about was what crop would bring him the most income for this growing season, and nothing more. Life was far from good for Tom, but it certainly wasn’t that bad either, and he couldn’t have had it any other way.

But there was one nagging dilemma that would occasionally rear its ugly (or frankly quite cute, even though he was probably the only one who would think in such in a way) head, and those were the dreaded beasts of this “fair” land known as calico cats. He could never understand why people reacted with shock and horror when a cat strolled into the village, why rulers would send their princesses as a sacrifice for these animals, or why nearly everyone would give them grandiose titles such as “Mr. Mittens, Hoarder of One Thousand Yarn Balls”, or “Little Bluebell, Scourge of The Seven Kingdoms of The Fiddle West”. They were just cats for crying out loud, and he thought he was the only one who could see them for what they actually were. Maybe he had been “blessed” by one of the gods above to see cats for what they were, but Tom couldn’t care any less, because those beetroots aren’t going to grow themselves you know.

As if on cue, just as Tom was nearing the village center a man came running in his direction shouting, “Run, run! The beast has returned!” The town guardsmen just let the cat into the village, and even kept the gates wide open for him just because they feared his “wrath” if they barred entry to that “ferocious” feline. As the cat neared the village center, other men were shouting to run for cover, women were screaming shrilly, and children were crying waterfalls of tears. Meanwhile Tom sat on a nearby bench, watching all of the commotion with mild bemusement. Some people even left small offerings of sardines outside of their humble abodes, in order to sate the appetite of the beast. Eventually the cat made it to the village center, which was so quiet and deserted you could hear the buzzing of a single bumblebee in the distance. Amusingly the cat did eat one of the sardine offerings, briefly lied down to take a quick nap, and half an hour later he was casually walking out of the village, to who knows where it came from.

After the cat had left the village, everyone who were hiding in their homes came out in high spirits, laughing and crying tears of joy in having survived another “attack” from the beast known only as “Gingersnaps, Terror of Middling-Shire and Beyond”. The entire village was in full celebration, with musicians playing their jovial melodies, dancers dancing merrily and food and drink being served and consumed without abandon. But in the minds of some villagers, there would always be another “attack” which they might not survive, so they should party and be joyful while they have the chance. Then there was Tom who quietly got up from the bench he was sitting on, and made his way to the outskirts of the village where his farm was located. Quietly snickering under his breath, he thought about how profitable growing cabbages will be next growing season.