A Tale from Pete the Cat

The cacophony began shortly after the large, flat box was ceremoniously opened. My human, The Provider, and their equally loud companion began affixing a strange, wood-framed circle to the wall. The scent of cedar was a pleasant prelude, but it was soon overwhelmed by whoops and groans as they began flinging what looked like metallic insects at the board. My interest was piqued not by their bizarre game, but by the "insects" themselves. They had sleek metal bodies and, most importantly, vibrant, feathery tails. I watched from the arm of the sofa, my own tail twitching in sync with my burgeoning plan. They called them "darts," but I knew what they were: captured prey, caged in a little plastic holder, begging to be liberated. Later, under the silver glow of a partial moon filtering through the window, I executed my mission. The house was silent, the humans deep in their slumber, no doubt dreaming of their pointless victory or defeat. I leaped onto the games table, my paws making no sound on the new rubbery mat they'd laid out. I first inspected the board. I stretched, extending my claws, and gave the cork a tentative drag. It was magnificent. The resistance was perfect, the sound a deeply satisfying *shfffft*. A lesser cat would have been distracted, but I had a higher purpose. I turned my attention to the dart holder, where the twelve shiny captives rested. My target was a green-tailed specimen. It looked plump, arrogant. I crept closer, my body low. I raised a paw, carefully hooking a claw around the plastic flight. It was trickier than batting at a spider; the weight was all wrong, concentrated in the pointy, uninteresting end. With a delicate flick of my wrist, I dislodged it. It fell with a soft *thud* onto the mat. I pounced immediately, trapping it beneath my paws. The plastic tail rustled beautifully. I batted it, sending it skittering across the mat until it disappeared under the sofa. One free. I managed to liberate two more—a blue and a red—before my refined sensibilities were overcome by boredom. It was, I concluded, a flawed design. The prey was too heavy, too inert, and the sharp end was a genuine hazard to a sophisticated palate. I left the scattered evidence of my hunt for The Provider to find in the morning. Let them understand that any "toy" brought into my kingdom is subject to my review. My verdict: a foolish human game, but the cork board is a sublime scratching post, and the "darts" provide a brief, if ultimately unsatisfying, thrill of the hunt. It is, for now, deemed worthy of existing in my space. Marginally.