1. My greatest victory
For the first time in what feels like an eternity, the house is finally quiet and peaceful. There are no bubbling jars, no obsessive stirring, no whispered sweet nothings to a bowl of fermenting betrayal.
Because I have done it. I have won.
With careful, calculated precision, I executed my masterstroke. Every sourdough starter, every experimental batch, every wretched jar of living, breathing yeast—gone. A few unfortunate ‘accidents’ here, a misplaced lid there, and finally, the glorious grand finale: a tragic sink disaster that took the last surviving culture down the drain.
I sit on the counter, my tail flicking in quiet satisfaction as Mum stands over the wreckage, dismayed.
“I don’t understand,” she murmurs. “How did this happen?”
Felix pats her back. “I guess… it just wasn’t meant to be.”
I purr.
I have won.
But Then… The Package Arrives
A knock at the door.
Mum perks up. Schmutz perks up.
I squint. What fresh horror is this?
Mum gasps, eyes gleaming. “Oh my God, Schmutzi—it’s here!”
Schmutz’s tail curls with smug, unbearable delight. She knew about this.
A box is placed on the kitchen table. Mum rips it open with a reverence she never even shows for my kibble deliveries.
Inside: A sealed glass jar nestled like a relic. A wax-stamped document, delicate, aged, with foreign lettering. A faint sense of doom trickles down my spine.
Mum’s voice drops to a whisper. “This is a 1500-year-old sourdough starter from an abbey in Italy.”
My soul leaves my body.
The Horror Unfolds
Mum lifts the jar as if it holds the secrets of the universe. Schmutz leans in, purring.
Felix frowns. “Is it cursed?”
Mum laughs. “No! It’s historic! It’s basically art.”
She reads aloud from the parchment. “This culture has been passed down for generations, cultivated by monks since the early Middle Ages. It is said to contain the essence of centuries, a living link to history itself.”
Felix scratches his head. “Okay, but… does it make better pizza?”
Mum nods gravely. “It makes legendary pizza.”
I stare at the jar in mounting horror.
The Realization: The Nightmare Has Grown
I thought I was fighting a household fad—a passing obsession.
But this is no longer a battle against sourdough.
This is a battle against history itself.
Mum’s voice is dreamy. “I’ll have to restart all my experiments. But this time, with a culture of true significance.”
I stagger back. Schmutz meets my eyes, victorious.
“You really thought you could win?” she whispers.
The war isn’t over.
It has only just begun.
To be continued…
