Flung from the Plank, Pete Issues a Cream-Curdling Stare

The thing arrived in a cacophony of tearing cardboard and triumphant human noises. He called it a "board," a pathetically inadequate name for the monstrosity he un-sheathed. It lay on my floor, a slice of forest floor desecrated with a screaming skull graphic and four little black wheels. It smelled of wood, yes, but also of a strange, metallic tang and the grim determination of a factory. My human kept muttering the name "Tony Hawk," and I could only picture a giant, fearsome avian creature, perhaps the one whose skull was now plastered on this wheeled altar. He had clearly acquired a tribute to a powerful sky-god. He placed it on the hardwood, giving it a gentle tap with his foot. It didn't clatter or stumble. It glided. With a low, humming whisper, it slid across the polished floor, silent and purposeful as a shark. My fur bristled. This was no clumsy human invention; it possessed a grace that was alien and deeply unsettling. It came to a stop near my water bowl, an intruder brazenly staking a claim near a vital resource. I approached with the cautious, low-slung gait I reserve for the vacuum cleaner and other such abominations. The top surface was, as I suspected, a cruel trap of grit and glue. An insult to my pristine toe-beans. My human, seeing my interest, committed the ultimate folly. "Wanna ride, Pete?" he asked, his voice dripping with the kind of condescension I despise. He gently placed me on the board. For a moment, I was too shocked to react. The world was a strange, gritty platform beneath my paws. Then, he gave the board another push. The floor began to move away from me. Panic, pure and undiluted, seized my very soul. I did not yowl. I did not flail. I am Pete, after all. With the coiled power of a jungle cat, I launched myself from the accursed plank, landing silently four feet away. I turned, my gray tuxedo immaculate, and fixed my human with a stare that could curdle cream. He had the audacity to laugh. The board, my momentary prison, continued its silent journey until it bumped softly against the leg of the sofa. I watched it, my tail twitching with contempt. It was a failure as a vehicle. An affront as a perch. But as an object of scorn? As a testament to my human's bafflingly poor judgment? In that, it was a masterpiece. I decided then and there to shed upon its gritty surface at every opportunity. It was not a toy to be played with, but a territory to be marked and, eventually, conquered. It could stay, for now, as a reminder of my superior agility and intellect.