Tethered Fraud Mouse Exposes Laptop as Total Failure

The human placed the offensive red and blue object on the floor, right in the middle of my favorite sunbeam. The audacity. I blinked slowly, conveying my deep and utter disapproval, but they merely smiled that hopeful, simple smile they get when they think they've procured something of value. I rose, stretched with deliberate slowness, and padded over to inspect the intruder. It smelled of plastic and disappointment. The image of the human in the spider-costume was an affront to both my aesthetic sensibilities and my professional understanding of actual arachnids, which are far more delicate and, on occasion, a crunchy snack. With a gentle *clack*, the human opened the device. A horrifying, tinny fanfare erupted from its tiny speakers, causing my ears to flatten against my skull. My tail, a perfect barometer of my mood, began to twitch with irritation. On the pathetic little screen, a crude, pixelated version of the spider-human flickered to life. I peered at it, unimpressed. The birds I watch through the window offer far superior graphics and frame rates. The human pressed a few buttons, and the machine began making noises it claimed were "words" in two different human languages. I am fluent in the universal languages of The Demanding Meow and The Disdainful Silence; this bilingualism was entirely redundant. Then, my eyes caught it. A small, gray appendage connected by a cord. A "mouse." For a fleeting moment, the ancient hunter within stirred. I crouched, my gray tuxedo-clad form a shadow of imminent doom. I extended a paw, claws carefully sheathed, and gave the thing a firm pat. *Clack*. It skittered an inch and stopped, held back by its leash. I patted it again. *Clack*. No scurry, no squeak, no desperate attempt to flee. This was not a mouse; it was a fraud, a mockery of the noble chase. My investigation was complete. This "laptop" was an abject failure. It offered no warmth for napping, no satisfying prey for hunting, and its noises were an assault on my refined senses. With a final, dismissive flick of my tail, I turned my back on the plastic monstrosity. I leaped gracefully onto the sofa, curled up on the human's *actual* laptop which was pleasantly warm, and began to groom a single white whisker, pointedly ignoring the toy and its foolish owner. Some things, it seems, are simply not up to my standards.