Mysterious

I pulled out the vacuum cleaner this morning (oops--4:06 pm is hardly morning) afternoon, and Spackle, as usual, beat a hasty retreat from the kitchen where I was working to curl into an anxious ball on his bed in the living room. I glanced at him as I passed through the hallway on my way to the bedroom, and he was sitting at attention, as he does for his evening peanut butter Kong, but without the vigorously perked ears of joyful anticipation. Instead, Spackle's ears were back and flat against his head, as if someone had given him an ear ponytail. He did not look joyful.

What is it about this home appliance that is so terrifying? Is it the sucking sensation? As far as I know, Spackle has never experienced that first hand. It makes noise, but this sleek new birthday Miele is very quiet, particularly when compared to the ponderous 15-year-old Kenmore that has since been relegated to the basement. Is it somehow the size? Somewhat person-like, but speaking strangely?

It might simply be that nature abhors a vacuum, and Spackle is no exception.