So, my Human has presented me with this... "Aerialbot Skydive" contraption. From what I can gather through my superior intellect and a cursory glance at the packaging before I rubbed my face on it, this is a piece of hard, colorful plastic that a bipedal "robot" that can be twisted and folded into a sort of flying machine. The humans seem fascinated by this "converting" feature, which involves a series of clicks and snaps that are mildly intriguing. While it lacks the fundamental appeal of, say, a feather wand or a freshly killed moth, the potential for it to be knocked off a high shelf or skitter across the hardwood floor when batted provides a sliver of interest. However, it's clearly not designed for chewing and smells sterile, so it's likely just another shiny distraction destined to gather dust until it annoys me enough to push it under the sofa.
The box arrived with the usual crinkling and tearing sounds that signal the arrival of a new disappointment. My Human, with the sort of misplaced enthusiasm I've come to expect, placed the plastic figure on the Persian rug, right in the middle of my prime napping sunbeam. I opened one eye, registering a gaudy shape of gray, red, and blue. It stood there, motionless, an affront to good taste and dynamic play. I offered a slow, deliberate blink of utter contempt and began grooming a perfectly clean patch of fur on my shoulder, feigning complete indifference. This was clearly beneath me.
Then, the Human picked it up. There was a series of sharp *clicks* and *snaps*. My ears, independent agents of curiosity, swiveled forward. A leg folded. An arm tucked away. The garish robot was contorting itself, changing shape under my very eyes. My tail, which had been lying limp, gave an involuntary twitch. The transformation continued until the bipedal clunker had become a sleek, pointy-nosed jet. The Human set it down and gave it a gentle push. It slid beautifully across the polished hardwood, its smooth plastic bottom making a most satisfying *shhhh-thwump* as it hit the baseboard.
Now this was something else entirely. The static idol had become prey. I crouched low, my gray tuxedo-clad body a shadow against the dark wood. As the Human converted it back and forth, I stalked it. A transforming limb was a thing to be pounced upon. A sudden unfolding wing was a target for a swift, soft-pawed jab. The jet form was my favorite; a quick bat would send it careening into the furniture legs, a hunt with a predictable, yet enjoyable, outcome. I would "kill" it, pin it with a single paw, then look up at my staff-person, demanding they make it "fly" again.
Ultimately, of course, the novelty will fade. It is, after all, just plastic. It holds no scent, offers no satisfyingly shreddable texture. But for today, as a tool wielded by my easily amused Human, it has proven itself a worthy disruption. Once the Human tired of the game, I stalked over to the discarded instruction booklet, claimed its crinkly surface as my new bed, and settled in for a well-earned nap, the victor of a battle the toy never knew it was fighting. A passable diversion, I'll concede. For now.
