My human, in their infinite and often misguided wisdom, has brought home what appears to be a plastic effigy of some "Glinda" character, imprisoned in a cardboard and plastic box. From what I can gather through the transparent prison, it is a small, two-legged creature draped in an explosion of shiny, likely unsatisfyingly smooth, fabric. Its primary features seem to be an unnervingly fixed smile, garish yellow hair, and several small, losable trinkets that my human calls "accessories." I see a crown and a scepter, both of which are of a size that is perfect for batting under the heaviest piece of furniture in the house. The creature is allegedly "posable," which means its limbs might offer a brief moment of resistance before I knock it off its pedestal. While the wand-like scepter has some potential, I suspect this is mostly a decorative object that will require significant effort on my part to turn into a worthy adversary, a task that may ultimately interfere with my rigorous napping schedule.
I was enjoying a perfectly good sunbeam, my luxurious gray and white fur warmed to an optimal temperature, when the tell-tale crinkle of a new purchase disturbed the peace. My human placed a large box on the floor, cooing about how "gorgeous" it was. I opened one eye. Through the plastic, a small, blonde figure in a poofy pink dress stared back with vacant cheerfulness. Another useless dust-collector, I presumed, and closed my eye again. But the human, bless their simple heart, freed the creature from its prison and set it on the rug.
For a full minute, I refused to grant it the dignity of my attention. But a glint of light caught my eye. It was coming from a small, star-tipped stick in the doll's hand. I rose, stretched languidly to show I was acting on my own schedule, and padded over. The doll stood there, motionless. I gave its enormous, shimmering gown a tentative sniff. It smelled of plastic and factory air. Unimpressed, I gave a soft pat to the doll's leg. It bent at the knee, causing the entire figure to tilt precariously. Interesting. Not a rigid statue after all. It had a weakness.
My focus shifted back to the shiny stick—the "scepter." I raised a paw, claws carefully retracted for this initial test, and tapped it. The scepter popped out of the doll's flimsy grasp and skittered across the hardwood floor with a most delightful *clack-clack-skitter-skitter*. An instinct I inherited from the mightiest of my ancestors surged through me. This was not a stick. This was prey. I pounced, batting it into the dark, mysterious realm beneath the armchair. A triumphant flick of my tail. My hunt was successful.
I turned back to the doll, now disarmed and looking slightly less smug. I noticed the other shiny bit, the crown perched on its synthetic hair. A moment's work with a determined paw sent it flying in the opposite direction, where it disappeared under the sofa. The doll, now stripped of its regalia, was left standing, a mere mannequin. The human might see a "Deluxe Glinda Fashion Doll." I see a conquered queen and, more importantly, a dispenser of two perfectly sized, high-quality floor toys. The verdict is in: the accessories are superb, worthy of my full attention for at least the next seven minutes. The doll itself may now be ignored.
