So, the Human has presented me with another plastic effigy, this one a 'Batman' absurdly dressed as if he's lost his way to a saloon. It's a seven-inch figure, apparently with an impressive twenty-two points of articulation, which suggests it can be contorted into numerous satisfyingly defeated poses. The primary appeal, from my perspective, is the long, duster-style coat—if it has the right texture, it could be excellent for snagging a claw in. The tiny 'Batarang' accessory is a mere appetizer, destined for a new life under the refrigerator. While the 'collectible art card' is a complete waste of good cardboard, the figure itself shows potential for a decent shelf-clearing session, provided its joints aren't too stiff. It might just be worth waking up for.
The Human placed the box on the floor with that annoyingly hopeful expression they get. Through the clear plastic window, a grim-faced man-doll stared back, trapped and dressed in the most ridiculous dark duster and cowboy hat I'd ever seen. I flicked an ear, unimpressed. Another piece of shelf clutter. I stretched, showcasing my sleek gray fur and immaculate white tuxedo bib, and gave a pointedly dismissive yawn. Then the Human, with clumsy thumbs, freed the creature from its prison and set it on the rug.
Curiosity, the basest of instincts, got the better of me. I padded over, my tail giving a slight, questioning twitch. He smelled of fresh plastic and disappointment. The coat wasn't the soft, pliable material I'd hoped for, but a semi-rigid cape that offered a decent edge for batting. I gave a tentative tap to one of his spurred boots. Nothing. Then, I swatted his arm. To my surprise, it swung wildly at the elbow and shoulder, the entire limb bending in a way that was deeply satisfying. The "Ultra Articulation," I presumed. This was no mere statue.
My skepticism began to melt away, replaced by a hunter's focus. A proper, full-pawed strike sent the dark cowboy tumbling. He landed in a heap, one leg bent backward at an unnatural angle, a pose of utter defeat. As he fell, a tiny, black star-shaped object—the Batarang—clattered free. A bonus! I immediately pounced on the lesser prey, batting it with glee until it skittered perfectly under the heaviest part of the sofa, lost to the Human forever. The Human sighed and placed the figure back on its little black stand on the end table, a temporary reprieve.
I watched from my spot on the rug, already calculating the trajectory needed for a flying leap from the arm of the chair. This plastic cowboy was, against all odds, a worthy adversary. His posable limbs promised a new challenge with every fall, and his long coat made a satisfying *thwack* against the wood floor. He would serve his purpose well as a recurring test of gravitational law. For now, however, a victor needed his rest. I curled up, closed my eyes, and dreamed of the satisfying *thud* he would make tomorrow.
