Caterwauling Humans Serve as Unintentional Card Launchers

The evening began with the ominous crinkle of cellophane. My human placed a new box on the low table in the den, its glossy finish reflecting the lamplight. The scent was of fresh ink and processed wood pulp, a familiar harbinger of either a new sleeping surface or a new source of irritation. They pried it open, revealing stacks of stiff cards and a sad little bag of cardboard discs. This, apparently, was "Disney in Character." I remained coiled on my velvet cushion, observing the proceedings with the detached air of a monarch watching his court jesters prepare for a particularly foolish performance. The first round began. My human drew a card and her face contorted in a pained grimace of concentration. The card, I could see from my perch, depicted a mermaid. A moment later, a sound escaped her lips that was less "song of the sea" and more "kettle reaching a boil." It was appalling. Her mate then attempted a roar, allegedly in the character of a lion king. It was a wheezing, breathy cough that wouldn't scare a dust bunny. I felt a deep, ancestral shame on his behalf. They were flailing, giggling, and completely absorbed in their pathetic pantomime, oblivious to the true royalty in the room. My patience wore thin, but then, a gift from the gods of gravity. In a moment of theatrical gesticulation, my human's mate knocked a card from the table. It depicted the big-eared mouse. The card slid, catching the light, a perfect, flat prey. I uncoiled, a silent grey shadow, and batted it with a single, precise paw-strike. It skittered across the polished floor. Excellent. Moments later, one of the little round tokens followed, spinning near the leg of the sofa. I pounced, pinning the disc beneath my paw, its smooth surface cool against my pads. A perfect capture. The humans paused their caterwauling to laugh at my superior form of entertainment. Let them have their noisy charades. The game itself is a monument to human absurdity. But its components? The box is a fine future bed, the cards are exceptional for batting, and the tokens are a five-star substitute for a captured beetle. The game is unworthy of my direct participation, but its ancillary parts meet my exacting standards. It may stay. For now.