Mantelpiece Homer Swept to Floor for the Satisfying Clatter

The offering was placed on the rug before me with a hopeful, almost desperate look from the human. I regarded it from my position on the velvet ottoman, giving my pristine white bib a thoughtful lick. It was a statue. A small, yellow, bald statue of a man with an expression of mild confusion that I could certainly relate to. It smelled of nothing but a factory and the human's hand. I stretched, extending each claw deliberately, and hopped down to the floor for a mandatory, yet dismissive, inspection. I circled the object slowly, my gray tail giving a slight, irritated twitch. It did not react. It did not scurry or flutter. I gave its bulbous head a tentative pat with my paw. *Tink.* A hollow, plastic sound. Utterly unrewarding. I noticed its arms were separate pieces. Perhaps there was some hidden potential here. I hooked a claw around one blue sleeve and gave it a sharp tug. The arm rotated upward with a pathetic squeak. It stayed there, raised in a silent, ridiculous wave. This was not a challenge; it was an insult to my predatory instincts. With a sigh that conveyed my deep disappointment, I turned my back on the yellow man. The human, however, made a fatal error. They picked it up and placed it on the mantelpiece, thinking it was now "safely" on display. This, of course, was not a storage solution; it was an invitation. Later that evening, under the guise of a casual stroll along the mantel, my tail—as if with a mind of its own—made a swift, deliberate sweep. The resulting clatter as the figure tumbled onto the hardwood floor below was far more entertaining than anything the toy itself had to offer. It is not worthy of play, but as a projectile? It has earned a temporary stay of execution. Now, to find a sunbeam.