A Tale from Pete the Cat

The box was opened with the usual fanfare reserved for things that are, in my experience, ultimately disappointing. My human and a smaller, guest-human began clicking the garish squares together. The sharp, snapping sound of the magnets was an affront to the quiet dignity of my afternoon. I watched from the arm of the sofa, feigning sleep but judging their every move. They were building some sort of awkward, asymmetrical tower, a monument to their lack of architectural grace. I sighed, twitching an ear in disgust, and closed my eyes for a real nap, dismissing the entire affair as a waste of opposable thumbs. A strange warmth on my face roused me. I cracked open a green eye. The sun had shifted in the sky, and its rays were now pouring directly through their clumsy creation. And on the polished hardwood floor before me, a miracle had occurred. A tapestry of light, a mosaic of impossible color, was painted across the wood. A perfect square of deep sapphire pulsed next to a rhombus of fiery ruby. A river of emerald green flowed around the leg of the coffee table. It was breathtaking. The clumsy tower was not the art; it was the vessel. The floor was its canvas. I descended from my perch with a gravity I typically reserve for the summoning of dinner. I did not pounce or bat at the light, for that would be a vulgar display. Instead, I moved with the deliberate grace of a curator examining a masterpiece. I placed a pristine white paw directly in the center of a shimmering yellow hexagon, observing how the light enveloped it, turning my paw into a thing of pure gold. I stalked the edge of a blue patch, my gray fur absorbing the hue until I was a creature of twilight and sea. I was no longer merely a cat in a sunbeam; I was an integral part of a living, breathing stained-glass window. My human cooed, thinking my fascination was with their "castle." Fools. They could not comprehend the sublime beauty they had accidentally unleashed. I lay down, bathing in the shifting colors, and finally rendered my verdict. The tiles themselves are meaningless plastic. But as tools to bend and shape the very light of the sun for my aesthetic pleasure? In that, they have found a purpose. They are worthy. Now, if they would just construct a larger one tomorrow, preferably with more of the ruby red. It complements my tuxedo markings.