Top Tier Collapsed; One Log Dispatched to the Abyss

The sound was the first offense. A dry, woody rattle from a cardboard box, a sound that promised nothing soft, nothing feathery, and certainly nothing filled with catnip. I observed from my perch on the arm of the velvet sofa, my tail giving a single, irritated flick. The human clumsily emptied the contents onto the Persian rug, creating a chaotic pile of brown cylinders and garish green roof planks. It was an affront to the room's carefully curated aesthetic, which I myself had perfected by shedding strategically on all the dark fabrics. With a series of grunts and tiny clicks, the human assembled the thing. A monument to poor taste stood before me: a two-tiered shack made of notched sticks. It was barely tall enough to reach my shoulder. And upon its pathetic little porch, they placed a plastic effigy of a lesser species. A dog. This insult could not be ignored. I descended from the sofa with the deliberate grace of a predator, circling the structure. My whiskers twitched, analyzing the shoddy construction. It smelled vaguely of wood and disappointment. My initial probe was a gentle pat with a single, unsheathed claw against a supporting log. The entire structure shimmied precariously. Pathetic. The little plastic frontiersman toppled immediately, which brought me a brief flicker of satisfaction. But the dog remained. I narrowed my eyes. There was no need for subtlety now. A single, well-placed shove from my shoulder sent the top tier cascading down in a delightful clatter. The logs scattered, rolling in a dozen different directions. The human sighed, a sound of defeat I know well. They thought the toy had failed. Foolish creature. The fun was just beginning. I selected a single, perfect log, gave it a sharp tap, and watched it skitter clear across the hardwood and disappear under the entertainment center. Worthy. Decidedly worthy.