So, my human has presented me with this… box. From what I can gather through my superior senses and a cursory glance at the packaging, it’s a collection of stiff, shiny paper rectangles featuring brightly colored creatures. They call it a "Battle Deck," which implies some sort of strategic conflict, but I see no feathers, no strings, and no little red dots to chase. It does, however, come with a sturdy-looking box that might be suitable for a mid-afternoon snooze, and some small cubes and cardboard circles that look tantalizingly easy to bat under the refrigerator. The cards themselves are a waste of perfectly good paper that could have been used for shredding, but the accessories show a glimmer of potential that might just save this whole affair from being a complete waste of my valuable time.
The Tall One placed the box on the rug with a reverence I usually reserve for a freshly opened can of tuna. I watched from the arm of the sofa, my tail giving a single, dismissive flick. The box was loud, visually speaking, with a garish purple beast plastered across its front. It smelled of ink and disappointment. "What do you think, Pete?" my human cooed, clearly oblivious to my sophisticated palate for entertainment. I responded with a slow blink, the highest form of condescension a feline can bestow.
With a crinkle of plastic that momentarily piqued my interest, the human opened the package. A stack of stiff cards was revealed, one on top so shiny it caught the light and sent a brief, uninteresting reflection onto the wall. My attention had already moved on. But then, my human tipped the contents out. Alongside the useless paper rectangles tumbled a small, white cube with black dots and a sheet of tiny, press-out circles. My ears, which had been angled in boredom, swiveled forward. Now *these* had potential. The human, distracted by arranging the cards, had left the true treasures unattended.
I descended from my perch with the silent grace befitting my station. I padded past the boring, shiny card, giving it a disdainful sniff. My target was the cube. I extended a single, pristine white paw and gave it a gentle tap. It skittered across the hardwood floor, making a delightful clattering sound. A low growl of hunting satisfaction rumbled in my chest. This was a worthy quarry! I pounced, batting it again until it disappeared under the entertainment center, a trophy for a later game.
When I returned to the scene, the human was putting the cards into their own smaller box. I couldn't care less. I had claimed my prize. The large, empty outer box was now sitting vacant, a perfect, newly-scented fortress of solitude. I circled it once, twice, before stepping inside and curling into a perfect, gray-and-white circle. The final verdict was in. The so-called "game" was a ridiculous human endeavor, but the packaging and its assorted, chase-able components were an unqualified success. It was, I decided as I drifted off to sleep, a perfectly acceptable toy after all. The human simply didn't understand how to use it correctly.
