A Tale from Pete the Cat

The intrusion began with the crinkle of a plastic bag, a sound that promises much but often delivers little. From my perch atop the velvet armchair, I watched my human unveil her prize. It was not a fish, nor was it a crinkle ball filled with the glorious scent of catnip. It was a silent, grim-faced homunculus, encased in a clear prison. She freed him and, with a foolish coo, set him on the oriental rug, his dark form a stark blot against the cream and crimson patterns. He stood there, motionless, a sentinel of plastic solemnity. I gave a dismissive flick of my ear. Another piece of clutter destined to be ignored. My human, bless her simple heart, tried to broker an introduction. "Look, Pete! It's The Dark Knight. You two can be friends." She nudged him closer. I remained aloof, feigning deep interest in a loose thread on the chair's armrest. But my curiosity, that most accursed of feline traits, began to stir. Once she was distracted by her glowing rectangle, I descended from my throne with liquid grace. I circled the figure at a safe distance, my tail a low, metronomic warning. He smelled of nothing. Disappointing. His limbs were stiff, his expression unchanging. But then I saw it—the cape. It wasn't molded plastic but actual fabric, hanging with a certain gravity. This changed the calculus of the encounter. I crept closer, extending a single, perfectly manicured claw. A test poke to the leg yielded a dull *tink*. Useless. I then shifted my attention to the cape, hooking its edge with that same claw. It caught. The fabric gave a satisfying little tug. A flicker of hunter's instinct ignited within my soul. The human had posed him with one arm outstretched, a silent, inanimate challenge. I accepted. In a flash of gray and white fur, I launched myself, batting at the offending arm. It swung back on its joint, a surprisingly responsive counter-move. The skirmish was brief but intense. I batted his limbs, sending him staggering. I pounced, weaving around him as if he were a formidable, if sluggish, foe. The true prize, however, was the cape. I seized it in my teeth, bracing my paws against the rug and dragging my vanquished opponent across the floor. He offered no resistance, his silence a testament to his defeat. Finally, I released him, leaving him face-down and humbled near the hearth. I retreated to the center of the room to groom my ruffled fur, projecting an air of utter boredom. The verdict was in. The plastic man was no substitute for a live mouse, but his poseable limbs and, crucially, his wonderfully snag-able cape, made him a worthy adversary for a lonely Tuesday afternoon. He could stay.