My cat is a male but he’s still four months old. He’s not small anymore, and he’s growing up fast. Which means his appetite is growing too. And so are his energy and capability to last throughout the day. At first, my husband and I were unable to provide proper cat toys for him so we gave him a couple of cardboard boxes, three plastic bags tied into balls, several larger-sized clothes pegs, and three empty cardboard toilet roll holders. I am glad that he’s a simple-minded cat and didn’t mind if his toys were mere household items.
But we made a promise that he will have a slightly improved life. So this month, we decided to splurge on him. We went to the nearest pet store at a shopping mall and bought him a packet of cat treats, three small tins and a bigger can of premium wet cat food, and a feather toy. Yes, the latter being attached to the end of a stick and once we wave it around, he will be tickled pink and desperate to put a stop to its endless samba on our living room carpet.
That same night, I couldn’t wait to use the feather toy on him. Quickly disposing of my work clothes and putting on a well-worn housecoat, I ditched my work backpack and entered His Royal Highness’ room. Oh, the stench of feline discovery and quite full litterbox met my senses head-on but it wasn’t enough to stop me. I gave him some love (hugs and cuddles) and kissed him on the forehead. He purred like a well oiled Lamborghini. Happy to see me, he wriggled out of my arms and did what he always does to me — walking figure of eights around my legs. I filled up his water bowl, refueled his food bowl and whipped out the feather toy.
And then began his first night of frenzied leaps, twists and turns, desperately trying to reach the feather. And then began his first night of exhaustion, grateful for having expended his energy and he slept fitfully without so much of a meow. He was happy. We were happy. The end.