A Patch of Perfection

Barry Putterman was a man defined by his lawn. Not just any lawn, mind you, but *the* lawn. It was a velvety expanse of vibrant green, trimmed to within an atom’s whisker of perfection, dew-kissed every morning by a miniature sprinkler system he’d engineered himself. Neighbors would often pause, coffee cups half-raised, to gawk at its flawless emerald tapestry. Barry, in his custom-fitted gardening gloves and microscopic sun hat, would nod curtly, accepting their silent reverence.

His wife, Brenda, however, had long since given up. “Barry,” she’d sigh, gesturing at the sprawling carpet in their living room, “it’s just a patch of industrial-grade synthetic turf! And you spent more on that tiny ride-on mower than we did on our first car!”

Barry would merely cluck his tongue. “Brenda, my dear, you simply lack vision. This isn’t just ‘turf.’ This is a biome. A sanctuary. A testament to man’s dominion over… well, over *this*.” He’d meticulously vacuum errant dust bunnies, polish each individual blade with a cotton swab, and occasionally even whisper words of encouragement to it. He’d installed a sophisticated lighting rig to simulate seasonal changes, much to the confusion of their actual cat, Chairman Meow, who often mistook the mini-sun for a particularly aggressive laser pointer.

One Tuesday, Barry noticed a peculiar, almost imperceptible tremor in his perfect lawn. He bent closer, eye-level with the meticulously coiffed fibers. Was it… growth? An anomaly? He reached for his micro-magnifying glass. As he peered intently, the tremor intensified, and a gargantuan shadow loomed over his entire world.

A booming voice, like thunder filtered through a giant wool sock, reverberated through his tiny ears. "Barry, for the last time, GET OFF THE RUG! You're going to scratch the varnish on the floor!"

Barry Putterman, who was, in fact, a particularly fastidious dust mite, looked up from his life's work – a single, perfectly groomed fiber of Brenda's new shag pile rug – just as a colossal vacuum cleaner nozzle descended with the terrifying inevitability of a black hole.