Violent pocket lint.

It was a small piece of pocket lint and it had sat quietly in the middle of the kitchen floor for two days. Denim blue, fluffy; it seemed innocent. Nobody in the family perceived its menace except Taco. She glared at it from the shadows under the dining table. Eventually Taco gathered her courage to make several mad-cat dash and pounce maneuvers in an effort to drive it away. These attacks were ignored; the pocket lint refused to be intimidated. Stronger measures were employed and the ambushes included severe bites with furious kicking of hind claws when the lint threatened to overpower. Tail shaped like a bottle brush of fright Taco felted the lint in her mouth with irate passion until it was a subdued blue lump. Menace cowed. All is safe again in the kitchen.