Face-Prison Violently Rejected; Refracted Light Barely Tolerated

The box arrived with the usual fanfare: the groan of the delivery truck, the thud on the porch, and my human’s undignified squeal of delight. I observed from my post on the armchair, feigning disinterest. The box was opened, and a garish cascade of plastic spilled onto the rug. An explosion of neon pink, electric blue, and a particularly offensive shade of lime green. They smelled faintly of a factory and desperation. My human giggled, clapped her hands, and declared them "perfect for the party." Parties. Loud, disruptive events that interrupt my nap schedule. My curiosity, a beast that cannot be tamed even by my profound cynicism, drew me closer. I singled out a lurid orange specimen that had skittered near the leg of the coffee table. I gave it a tentative pat with one paw, claws sheathed. It was disappointingly light, sliding across the hardwood with a cheap, hollow sound. It offered no satisfying resistance, no intriguing wobble. It was, in short, an unworthy adversary. I was about to dismiss the entire lot as a bad investment and retreat for a bath when my human turned her attention to me. Her eyes held the terrible gleam, the one that precedes a costume attempt or an unrequested cuddle. She picked up a pair of the bright blue sunglasses. "Oh, Petey-pie," she cooed, advancing slowly. "Let's see how dapper you look." Dapper. I am the very definition of dapper in my natural state; my tuxedo is flawless. This plastic appendage was an insult. I flattened my ears, my tail giving a single, sharp thump against the cushion. This was a violation of my personal space and my aesthetic integrity. She managed to get them on. For one horrifying second, my world was plunged into a dim, blue-tinted nightmare. My whiskers, my finely-tuned instruments of spatial awareness, were pinned against my face. I couldn't properly gauge the distance to the door or the height of the couch. It was sensory deprivation. A prison for my face. With a guttural hiss and a violent shake of my head, I sent the plastic contraption flying. It clattered against the wall and fell to the floor, defeated. I retreated to the highest point of the cat tree to watch my human, who had now put on the blue glasses herself and was making strange faces at her phone. I understood then. These were not toys for a creature of my sophistication. They were instruments of human self-delusion. I watched as a sunbeam caught one of the discarded frames on the floor, casting a faint, wobbly blue patch of light on the wall. Now *that*... that shimmering, elusive speck of light had potential. The glasses themselves were trash, but their byproduct? A tolerable, if temporary, distraction. I would allow them to stay, for now.