A Tale from Pete the Cat

The human called it “The Great Unfurling.” I called it a declaration of war. She tipped the rustling bag onto the living room rug, and a silent, motionless army of plastic monstrosities spilled out. From my observation post on the arm of the velvet armchair, I surveyed the battlefield. A luridly-colored butterfly served as a gaudy distraction, while a sinister mantis stood frozen in a mockery of prayer. The scorpion’s tail was poised in a permanent, pathetic threat. This was not a gift of toys; it was a tactical problem, a test of my sovereignty over this domain. I descended with the gravitas of a general inspecting his troops, my paws making no sound on the floor. My initial probe was not against the largest foe, but the most insulting: a fly, magnified to the size of my paw. An affront to nature. I approached, my tail giving a single, irritated twitch. A lesser cat would have pounced wildly. I, however, executed a precise surgical strike—a single, elegant hook of the paw that sent the plastic fly skittering across the wood, its soft material making a most satisfying *zzzt-zzzt-zzzt* sound before it came to rest by the leg of the coffee table. The enemy was silent, but I had learned its properties. It was light. It was mobile. The game was afoot. What followed was not play, but a meticulous campaign of subjugation. I initiated Operation Centipede, capturing the long, segmented beast and dragging it back to my food bowl to be presented as a prisoner of war. The spiders were herded, one by one, into the dark canyon between the couch cushions. I established a "Forbidden Zone" around the dung beetle, batting away any other bug that was flicked too close to it. The human laughed, thinking this was all a grand bit of fun. She didn't understand the strategy, the art of creating order from the chaos she had unleashed. By the time the sunbeam I had reserved for my afternoon nap began to creep across the rug, the battle was won. The field was clear, the plastic army vanquished and scattered to various dark corners of my choosing. I leaped back to my command post on the armchair, tucked my paws beneath my pristine white chest, and began a victory groom. These plastic effigies from the house of kockuu were no substitute for the thrill of a real hunt, of course. But as tactical training dummies to keep my skills sharp between naps? Surprisingly adequate. The invasion had been repelled. For now.