He slammed the door shut in the delivery man’s face, and dashed into the front room to open his new package. It was finally here! This was it! He ripped the package open carelessly, scattering cardboard and packing materials across the floor.

And there it was, glimmering in the sunlight, the red orb with the cat logo just below the blade winking at him. The Sword of Omens. Only one in existence, the ad had said.

He reached for it, held it in his hand. It felt good. He took a swing.

“Thunder,” he found himself shouting as he swung the sword. The blade extended slightly. “Thunder, Thunder, Thundercats, Hoooooooo….. oh shit!” The chandelier in the front room came crashing down next to him as the sword extended to its full length, just narrowly missing him.

But the sword was at its full power, its energy throbbing in his hand. He could hear singing. Thundercats are on the move, thundercats are loose, and he felt compelled to leap. He leapt onto the sofa, and then all the way through the doorway to the kitchen counter, gliding freely in midair. Through the kitchen, onto the dining room table, Thunder thunder thunder thundercats, the music running through his head, swinging his sword with every leap, the blade easily slicing through any piece of misplaced furniture it came across.

Now he could find out what he needed to know. He leapt to the ground as the music came to a close, and held the sword’s cross-piece to his face.

“Sword of Omens, give me sight beyond sight!” he yelled. Immediately his entire view shifted, zooming beyond the sword, beyond the walls of the house, and into the driveway. A car pulling in, a woman getting out and walking towards the house. “Oh no!” he whispered.
He dashed towards the stairs, towards the bedroom, but it was too late. The door swung open.

The woman looked at him, gaping. “What on earth are you doing, Steven?” she asked.

“The name’s Lion-O!” he declared.

“Why are you running around the house with that sword? And what have you done with your hair? You look like your head’s on fire!”
“Actually…” he began, but she eyed the rooms beyond.

“THE FURNITURE!!!” she screamed, dashing into the front room. “MY CHANDELIER! MY SOFA! STEVEN, THIS IS NOT AMUSING!” She snatched the sword away from him. “GET TO YOUR ROOM AT ONCE! I’M TAKING YOU BACK TO THE THERAPIST FIRST THING TOMORROW!”

He stomped off to his bedroom, slammed the door, and threw himself back down on the bed. A tiny figure crawled out of his closet.
“Shnarf, did you get it Lion-O?”

He sighed. “Not yet, Snarf. But don’t worry, we’ll find our way back to the others, just as soon as I take care of this absurd situation and get the sword back. Crazy woman still thinks I’m her son!”