Pets are amusing. Except sometimes.
Last night, before I went to bed, I thought I’d play with the cats. I picked up one of Schooner’s toys and tossed it. Normally he plays an energetic game of fetch, but last night he just sauntered over to the toy and tapped it.
"Fine,” I said. “I was saving this for Christmas, but here is a new toy.” I dropped a new plastic ball with an obnoxious bell inside, and Schooner went crazy, batting it all over the house before running out of steam. He clamped his jaws around it and trotted to my feet, dropping the ball and glancing up. I scooped it up and hurled it into the kitchen, Schooner close behind. He batted it around for another two minutes before bringing it back. We did this several times before he dropped it too far for my reach. This seems to be the difference between a dog’s fetch game and a cat’s fetch game. The cat will call a halt when he’s had enough.
In the dark, the distant tinkle of a bell woke me. It got louder and louder and I knew. Schooner was batting the ball down the hall toward my door. I glanced at the red numbers on the digital clock: 4:10 AM.
The bell stopped for an instant, then began again; jingle, jingle, thwack; jingle, jingle, thwack; jingle jingle, thwack. He bounced the ball against my door repeatedly for about five minutes until he finally gave up the hope I’d come out and play.
Maybe that pet rock thing was a good idea.