Gotham City Card Vanishes Under the Entertainment Center

The shiny box was placed on the floor before me with a certain reverence I typically reserve for a freshly opened can of tuna. I regarded it with a level stare, giving one slow, deliberate blink. It did not smell of fish. It did not crinkle. It did not possess a single feather. My human watched me, their face a pathetic mask of hope. I extended a single, pristine white paw and gave the box a tentative tap. It slid an inch. Unimpressive. With a dismissive flick of my tail, I turned my back on the offering and began grooming a perfectly acceptable patch of my soft, gray fur. Their disappointed sigh was my cue that Phase Two was beginning. The rustle of cellophane and the tearing of cardboard drew my attention back. The human shuffled the contents. Now *that* was a sound. A quick, fluttering whir that spoke of rapid movement. My ears swiveled forward. They laid a card on the polished hardwood floor as a test. It depicted a woman with a truly alarming sense of style and a giant mallet. I ignored the art and focused on the physics. A gentle nudge sent it gliding. A harder pat sent it skittering in a delightful, unpredictable arc. This was showing promise. As the humans began their strange ritual, laying down cards and making triumphant noises, I waited. My moment came when a "Draw 4" card was met with a new, dark-looking card played with a triumphant slap. "Blocked by the Gotham City card!" my human declared. The card, improperly placed, spun off the edge of the coffee table and helicoptered to the floor. It was perfect. A low, silent crouch, a wiggle of the haunches, and a lightning-fast pounce. My claws made satisfying purchase, and with a powerful kick from my back legs, I sent the "Gotham City" skittering into the darkness beneath the entertainment center. A true hero's work. The game itself is utter nonsense, but as a delivery mechanism for a first-class pounce-and-hide toy, I must concede its worth. It may stay.