So, I’ve been trying to find proper toys for the cats (by which I mean, they can’t be small enough for the dogs to choke on, have to keep the cats’ interest for more than a minute, and won’t break apart if you look at them too hard).  I thought I’d found a pretty good toy (see the pink feathers below), but they didn’t really take to it¦


The other day, I found a similar toy, but it had a spring leash attached to it, and the cats went WILD. Loved it, loved it, loved it. They were batting it around, rolling in it, dragging it all over the house.

And I, because I’m a total over-achiever, think, œhuh, if they like the little pink fuzzy tail, then if I attached the feathers, they’d be even more impressed!

So, I take it off the tower, and attach it to the leash, and even though it takes a good 10 minutes, I’m all flush with a sense of purpose, the satisfaction of doing right by my furry ones, and chortling (yep, I chortled) because I know they are going to llluuuvvv me for this.

I take the leash, hold it, and wing the pink parts at them.

And at first, they seem cool with it.

But then Gus (because he’s smart enough to figure out cold fusion) sits back and waits for the moment my guard is dropped and he can go for the leash itself.

Remus doesn’t seem so enthused any more.

And I’m stunned.

Of the two of them, he was the one who was craziest for the toy. Like psycho kitty, mouth open, eyes wide, claws out kind of crazy.

But he wants none of it.

And now I’m stunned and confused.

So I try a little verbal coaxing as I throw the feathers at him, œRem, RREEEMMMM, come on, ccccooommmeee oooonnnn, baby.

He jerks away from it and finds another spot.  My sense of satisfaction, dwindling.

I try again. œRRREEEMMMIIII, you like it.

He jumps off the bed.

And I’m looking at the toy, trying to figure out how doubling up on the pink feathers ruined it.  Not so much chortling now.

He comes back.

I try again.

But this time, as soon as I reach for the toy, he VAULTS off the bed and races out of the room.

I follow, because he likes to be chased and I’m not sure if this is some new game whose rules I haven’t figured out, yet. And I’m all heartbroken, like, œhey, what happened to our cool game? I thought we were bonding.

So, now, I’m chasing my cat like some deranged, unhinged psycho, waving the pink fuzzies at him, tossing them in his direction (and he’s dodging it like they’re land mines), and the whole time, I’m caterwauling, œREEEEMMM, RRRREEEEMMMMIIII, play! Play! 

Because that’s what you do when your cat is telling you he’s not down with the toy.  You chase him, preferably in front of the windows, so the neighbors can take videos and use it as evidence you need to be put away.

After a few minutes I give up and go back to the t.v.

But I’m still confused.

Why didn’t my cat like the dual toy?

What changed everything? 

Couldn’t be the color. Both furries are hot pink. 

Couldn’t be the type of material. Both are soft and cuddly.

What oh WHAT could it be?

So, I start taking the feathers apart¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦clip_image004

and find a small, plastic barrel, about the size of a half tube of lip gloss. It’s kind of weighted, and I assume the makers put it in there to hold the feathers in place¦.

And Now I Realize the issue: The entire time I’ve been thinking I’m playing and having a rollicking good time with my furry children, I have, in fact, been beaning him in the head with a blunt object.

That’s right.

Beaning. My. Cat. Smoking him in the furry noggin with a plastic tube.

If that doesn’t put me in line for the Mom of the Year Award, nothing will¦

The toy is put away (the plastic turned out to be on both sides, so I joined them together and Gus plays with it), Remus is in therapy, but has forgiven me¦