A Tale from Pete the Cat

The things arrived in a clear plastic bag, two garish blemishes on the pristine beige of the living room rug. One was the color of a fire hydrant, an assault on the eyes. The other was a deep blue, like the abyss of the water dish just before it's refilled. My human, Claire, squeezed the red one with a sigh of what I can only assume was existential despair. "Isn't this neat, Pete?" she asked, her voice full of that hopeful ignorance I've come to tolerate. I responded with a slow, deliberate blink, the highest form of feline indifference. They were motionless, unnervingly large, and smelled faintly of a factory. I had no time for such stationary foolishness. Hours passed. The sunbeam, my true companion, shifted across the floor, eventually illuminating the blue orb. It glowed, no longer just a lump of plastic but a strange, silent planet. My cynicism waned, replaced by a flicker of scientific curiosity. I padded over, my white paws silent on the hardwood. I gave it a tentative nudge with my nose. It jiggled, a deeply unsettling movement, like a pudding in the throes of a minor earthquake. It didn't roll. It wobbled. I placed a soft paw on its surface, pressing down. The orb yielded with a soft, internal squish, conforming perfectly to my paw before slowly, lazily, regaining its shape. It wasn't a ball; it was a captured sigh. This called for a more rigorous evaluation. A simple bat wouldn't do. I circled it, my tail a gray question mark, then launched myself into a full-body appraisal. I wrapped my front legs around its cool, smooth surface and unleashed a flurry of bunny kicks with my powerful hind legs. The orb absorbed every impact, its gelatinous form dampening the blows without protest. It was then that Claire's earlier warning echoed in my mind: "keep out of reach of sharp objects." A challenge. I paused my assault, retracted my back claws, and delicately unsheathed a single, perfect claw from my right paw. I hovered it over the taught blue skin, a surgeon contemplating the first incision. Just as I was about to test its true mettle, a new thought occurred, one far more sophisticated than simple destruction. This orb was not prey. It was not an adversary. Its purpose was far grander. I ceased my attack, settled my weight against it, and rested my chin upon its yielding surface. It was the perfect height. It was cool. It offered a gentle, supportive resistance that the floor simply could not. I began to knead it, my paws sinking into its delightful depths, a wave of purrs vibrating through my chest. The red one could sit there and be ugly forever, I didn't care. But this blue sphere? It was no longer a human's stress toy. It was my personal throne, my meditation pillow, my avant-garde headrest. The human could find some other way to deal with her "anxiety." I had found my bliss.