Several foster-cats ago, I bought a toy for my beasts. I think it is called a Track-ball. I’d heard many good things about it. I brought it home, and none of the animals knew what to do with it. I think they still don’t. Periodically (and I’m using the term as geologists and palaeontologists use it to describe the eons of Earth’s history), one of my cats will knock the ball about. Renn will roll it around, jump about a bit then walk off. If Tucker is lying next to the toy, he will absently paw at it. And Tungsten uses the cardboard in the centre to scratch at while she’s stretching. That’s how it remained until Kola came to visit.
He doesn’t play with it all the time, or even every day. But when he does, he has a great deal of fun with it. He'll throw the ball about in its groove with frenetic energy, jumping over the toy, then running away, only to rush back at it with renewed violence. Then he will swat the ball some more and repeat the process. Sometimes, the Track-ball will be pushed all over the kitchen/dining area.
Kola is eleven years old, but he has a great deal of energy and vitality. He likes to fight with a string toy, and he will flip about like a stranded carp attempting to grab it. He also chases the fuzzy mice in the back parlour, which is his room. Recently, I found eight of them under the ottoman. I felt as though I had been feeding a slot-machine in Las Vegas, giving him more and more little fuzzy mice to play with.
My newest foster-cat has much of the kitten left in him, as much playfulness, as my Tucker, but with much more energy. It’s entertaining just to watch him entertain himself.