My cats are not the playing kind. They do play, but are not frequently enthusiastic about it. Parker attacks a fuzzy mouse and chases a ball more than all the perma-cats combined. But now and then, one of them gets in the mood.
Josie was exuberant for several days in a row recently. She wrestled with the tackle-fish initially, and then seemed to want the string-toy. Her idea of fighting the string-toy is to lie on the floor and to grab the toy as it swings past. My Chubs may actually think this is how life is in the wild; a cat lies down and attacks the various prey and predators that move next to her. Josie’s notion of life outside the apartment is limited.
But she will periodically slip into the nylon tunnel during play-time and then we can have real fun. Sometimes, the string-toy invades her space; sometimes, I do. As with Tucker, I will push at the fabric from the outside, and the cat inside will ferociously assault the resultant bulge with teeth and claws. It’s rather more dangerous than it sounds, depending on when I last cut their claws.
The action never lasts long. Josie tires of it and, as much as I try to interest her in some other toy or frolic, she decides that that is enough exercise for today. Perhaps it’s time for a snack, or a chin-rub. My cats are not the playing kind. But then, it may a little too undignified for cats of a certain age.