Plastic Tray Spurned, Cardboard Box Claimed

The crinkle of cellophane being removed from a box is a sound that can stir a cat from even the deepest of sunbeam-induced comas. I lifted my head, one ear swiveling in the direction of the noise. My human was on the floor, beaming with an infuriating sort of pride, holding a new cardboard vessel. Hope, a dangerous and often foolish emotion, flickered within my chest. A new bed? A scratcher? Perhaps even a delivery of the finest salmon pâté? My hopes were dashed as the contents were revealed: a garish blue plastic tray. I approached with the cautious dignity befitting a cat of my stature, my white paws silent on the hardwood floor. The human placed the contraption before me. "Look, Pete! A game!" they chirped. A game? This thing was an insult. It had no scent of prey. It had no flutter. I gave it a cursory sniff. Cold, sterile plastic. My human, undeterred, tapped one of the little white squares. It flipped over with a dull *clack*. I watched, my tail giving a slow, contemptuous twitch. Was I supposed to be impressed by this? A single, lazy swat from my paw confirmed my suspicions: the tile was attached. It couldn't be properly hunted, captured, or hidden under the refrigerator. Utterly flawed design. Then, the human produced a thin wooden stick and a pad of paper. Ah, now *this* was more interesting. A pencil is a classic toy—perfect for batting off a table, for chewing into a state of splendid splintery ruin. As I prepared to pounce and claim this single worthy tribute, my human began scratching at the paper with it, creating a series of nonsensical lines. They were guarding it. The one decent part of this whole pathetic offering, and it was being monopolized. I watched them play their silent, motionless game for another minute, the sheer boredom of it all washing over me. With a dramatic sigh that clearly communicated my profound disappointment, I turned my back on the plastic monstrosity. My final verdict was clear. I gracefully hopped into the empty cardboard box it had arrived in, curled into a perfect circle, and began a nap. The box was superb—a sturdy, high-walled fortress of solitude. It was a far superior product. Let the humans have their little plastic tray; I had already claimed the real prize.