Here's a fun little story I wrote while watching my at-the-time kitten, Jasper.
I crouch down as far as I can, flattening my little self to the floor. My tail twitches just a tiny bit as I stare at my prey. A growl rumbles in my throat. Time to die, Mousie! I pounce on the green, fluffy toy, batting it around with my little paws, flipping it up in the air, catching it with my teeth…
Once, I miss the catch, and it hits me on the nose. I hiss. Mean Mousie! I swat at it; it goes sliding away across the slippery floor and manages to hide under the big oven. No! The Mousie cannot hide from me! I stick my paw under the oven, claws extended, trying to hook the long fur, but I can’t reach it. I yowl at it, thinking that maybe the toy will listen to my warnings and show itself. When nothing happens, I reach out again. Maybe my other arm will be longer? But no, I still can’t reach it.
Well, time for plan B, then. If I can’t reach it by myself, I’ll get that big dog to do it for me. I call for him, but Raven is too busy being petted by Mom to answer. I try again, using all my cute kitten skills to get Raven away from the cuddles. It works! He’s eager to come in and investigate my problem. When I show him the crack the Mousie slid through, Raven paws at it a few times before giving up. Wimp! I meow after him as he returns to the couch, and his nap.
I flop down onto the kitchen floor. This is frustrating. I want that Mousie! Wait, maybe Mom can get it for me… I run into the family room and jump up onto her lap, stepping over the big, hot laptop that’s in my way. Any other time, I would amuse myself by seeing how many of those little buttons I could press before Mom shoos me away, but I am on a mission this time. The Mousie will be mine. I rub my nose against Mom’s chin and meow in her ear, trying to get her attention. It works, but too well, I think. “Jasper, get off,” she says before pushing me aside. I bat at her hand with my paw, but with no claws. Mom doesn’t like my claws, for some reason. I try to tell her what’s wrong, but she doesn’t listen. She’s too busy. Fine. I’ll just leave, then, I say, and jump back down to the floor, my little tail held as high as I can make it to show her how annoyed I am. Trotting back into the kitchen, I sit down in front of the oven and stare at the crack. The Mousie is down there, I know, staring back at me with its black plastic eyes. Some day, I will be big enough to reach it… and then I will leave its big, fluffy tail on Mom’s pillow, to show her what a good kitten I am. I hunker down, still staring. If that Mousie comes out, I’ll be ready.
In case you're curious, Jasper is still like this. He is now about four years old and has taught the latest edition of the family, Hime (who is one year old), the same tricks. Cats are so wonderful... :)