My Human, in another baffling attempt to 'enrich' my environment, has presented this plastic contraption. It appears to be a transparent dome trapping a collection of tiny, lettered cubes, presumably for me to stare at. Its primary function, from what I can gather, is to make a most intriguing rattling sound when the Human violently shakes it, a sound that briefly stirs me from my slumber. The little cubes, however, remain infuriatingly out of reach, making any attempt at a proper 'pounce and kill' exercise utterly futile. There is also a small glass vessel with falling sand that might be worth batting off the table, but overall, this seems like another human distraction designed to waste my valuable napping time, though the initial rattle has my momentary, and I must stress *momentary*, attention.
The new object was placed on the rug with an air of ceremony only a human can muster for a piece of molded plastic. From my vantage point on the velvet armchair, I watched through half-lidded eyes, my tail giving a single, dismissive thump. It was a box, a clear-domed prison for sixteen tiny white blocks, each tattooed with a black sigil. The Human looked at me, a hopeful, simple expression on her face. I offered a slow blink in return, the highest form of acknowledgment she was likely to get without the presentation of tuna.
Then, she picked it up and shook it. The effect was instantaneous. A sudden, glorious cacophony of clicking and clattering filled the air—a sound that spoke of chaos, of small things tumbling uncontrollably. It was the sound a thousand tiny mice might make if trapped in a biscuit tin. My ears swiveled forward, my pupils dilated. I uncurled myself and slunk to the floor, my pristine white paws silent on the wood as I approached the source of the magnificent racket. The Human set it down, and the tiny blocks settled into a grid, once again silent and still. The promise of mayhem had vanished.
My investigation began. I nudged the dome with my nose. Cold, smooth, impenetrable. I patted it with a soft paw, claws politely retracted. A dull, unsatisfying *thunk* was my only reward. The little blocks stared back, mocking me from their plastic cells. What was the point of a toy that made such a wonderful noise if the noise-making parts were forever beyond my grasp? It was a cruel joke. My interest waned, my cynicism validated. I was about to turn away in disgust when the Human produced a secondary object: a tiny glass vial filled with sand. She turned it over, and the grains began to fall in a silent, mesmerizing stream.
Now *this* had potential. It was small, delicate, and full of hypnotic movement. It was a proper thing to be stalked. As the Human scribbled on a piece of paper—another excellent, crinkly item I would deal with later—I focused my entire being on the sand timer. I lowered my body, my haunches wiggling in preparation for the pounce. This was it. This was the true toy. I lunged, aiming a perfect swat to send the little glass thing skittering across the floor. But the Human, with her infuriatingly quick reflexes, snatched it away. The game, it seemed, was not for me at all. It was merely a collection of frustrations. With a sigh of profound disappointment, I abandoned the plastic failure and went to sit squarely in the cardboard box it came in. The box, at least, understood the fundamental principles of feline comfort and was, therefore, the superior product.
