Cat-sized human sitting in water

We're getting used to having the small human around. He seems quite benign, and doesn't move on his own so it's easy to stay out of reach. He has his own toys, and we usually leave him to play with them although from time to time we manage to get hold of one of them. They don't roll as well as ours, though.

But yesterday something very strange happened.

Usually we're not allowed in the bathroom. I don't know why. There are lovely toys there; my sister is particularly keen on the rolls of tissue paper just waiting to be shredded. However the humans don't seem to be very happy when this happens. Every so often they go in there and close the door. I scratch outside but they hardly ever let me in.

But yesterday evening they opened the door, and then turned on the water tap in the enormous bowl that they refer to as a 'bath'. I was rather pleased; I have often had a drink from the smaller bowl in the kitchen (the one they call a 'sink') or the similar sized one in the bathroom.  Perhaps, I thought, I was now big enough to have an even bigger bowl to drink from.

But no - they kept removing me.  Then they stopped the water, so it wasn't very deep. It would have been quite tricky to balance on the edge and drink without falling in.  We didn't know what to make of this... yet it was evidently for us, as they put some brightly coloured toys in the water, and even a yellow thing that looked almost like a bird. Surely they were cat toys! Yet how could we reach them...?

Then something even more unusual happened.

The small human was put into the water! At first he stood up, then he saw the toys and sat down. He even started playing with them.  We did not know what to make of this situation. Should we try to rescue him? Or should we join him? In the end we just watched:

The normal-sized humans splashed water over him, and he didn't like that at all. He can make quite a bit of noise when he wants to, so we went away after that.  

I think this finally confirms that humans are totally crazy. 

How do they know?

My sister and I stopped sleeping in the nice round bed when we learned that it was supposed to be a cat bed. Somewhere, deep in our consciousness, is the knowledge that we are never supposed to sleep where the humans want us to. I feel there is a logic error here, as I very much liked that bed, but when the humans moved the furniture around they tried to persuade us to sleep in it again. Bad move. Perhaps when they've forgotten about it, we'll get back there again.

Then again, it was beginning to be a bit small.

Happily, we discovered a larger and almost as comfortable place to cuddle up when we take a nap:

This is not a cat bed; the female human sits in it sometimes, and refers to it as a 'bean bag'. We know about beans, the humans eat them sometimes and are careful not to let us have any. I suppose this is a bag for beans to sit in, but we've never seen any here. The beans usually stay in the kitchen.

Talking of the kitchen, I still like drinking water out of the taps, and hunting for interesting things on the work surfaces, but the humans don't like it and keep dumping me back on the floor, saying, 'NO Alex.' Something else deep within our consciousness is that 'No' for a cat means 'Not while we're looking'. So, not wanting to cause conflict or stress, I now usually limit my counter-top explorations to times when the humans are out, or occupied elsewhere.

But I begin to think they must be more intelligent than they appear. Sometimes they know exactly where I've been..

I wonder if there's a hidden camera.....

Cat-sized human

Life is never dull in this household. Just as we were getting used to the strange green thing in the corner, draped with balls and other toys, there was more disruption. The humans kept going in and out - shutting us in the house, as usual, so we couldn't follow them - and talking in excited voices.

Then one evening they started talking about 'airport' and 'flight'. Back when I was a little kitten, they told me several times that I was not able to fly. It was disappointing, though I gradually realised they were correct. Humans can't fly either - or so I thought. That evening, they seemed to be discussing humans who were flying. Very mysterious.

Anyway, they went out in the car - leaving us behind, again - and when they returned, there were two ordinary looking humans with them, and a small one. I think it's a human, anyway, although the noises it makes don't bear much resemblance to human language. Sometimes he (they refer to this small person as 'he' so I assume they are correct) tries to stand up, holding onto the humans. But he is very wobbly and doesn't seem able to balance. Anyone would think he was a newborn kitten, except that his eyes are wide open.

I went to investigate, of course, and to see if he could talk our language, as he didn't seem too competent in human. He reached out to me:

Fortunately the regular humans were there too, and stopped the small human from grabbing me. They have been trying to teach him to stroke gently. He seems to be mostly benign:

My sister isn't so sure, however. She's not as calm as I am, and she was a bit jealous for a while. Silly girl, I've told her that the humans don't like it when she tries to climb up their legs. But she won't listen.

However, a couple of days ago the small human was asleep on our female human, so Joan decided to join them:

She's still not keen on getting too close when he's awake, though. 

New hanging toys

Our humans must have read my post about the disappearing furniture. Things are much better this week.

First they put the house back to how it was, or mostly so:

There were still gaps where the sofas used to be, but at least the carpet and curtains were back, and the chair with our favourite bed. Except that they referred to it as a 'cat bed'. It seems they like us sleeping there. Hmm.  Time to boycott it and find somewhere else to sleep:

They say this is cute too, but I think we can deal with that.

Then they went out and came back with this interesting black thing. It's cat-sized, but I was suspicious because it looks rather like the purple noisy thing that they sometimes use on the rug:

I was right. They fitted bits of it together and then pushed a switch and it made even more noise than the other one used to.

Still, it came with a very nice box:

The next day, we were just settling down for a nice nap when we heard some of our old family arriving. Should we go to talk to them, we wondered? We decided against it. They are fun to play with, but it was quite noisy and we needed a nap.

Next thing we knew, our male human had arrived home, and we were feeling quite wide awake again. So we hurried downstairs to greet him, and shortly afterwards some more humans arrived. They shut us in another room for a while and when we came out again, what should we see but two nice new sofas!

Sofas are so wonderful for scratching. We were very grateful to the humans, although they didn't seem all that happy about us rushing to sharpen our claws... they can be so unpredictable.

No sooner had we finished admiring the new furniture when we noticed something even more exciting:

Toys! So many toys, temptingly hanging on a green thing that seemed to say, 'Climb me!' I don't know why we felt that urge, but it wouldn't go away.

First of all, though, we had a most satisfying time pulling as many toys off as we could, and rolling them around the floor. We tried eating the green parts - the humans called it a tree, but it was nothing like the trees we vaguely remember from our first home. It didn't taste good at all.

They kept picking the toys up and putting them back again so we could bat them some more... but, once again, human behaviour proved fickle: they seemed to be annoyed. It makes no sense. If they didn't want us to play with these balls and other toys, why did they keep hanging them up?

Later on, when the humans were busy with something else, we had another go at this 'tree' thing. We removed as many toys as we could and pulled it down:

If something is worth doing, it's worth doing thoroughly.

Disappearing furniture

Sometimes, the humans do very strange things. Just as we are beginning to think that perhaps they are more intelligent than we had assumed, they demonstrate by their actions that they are not. Rather the reverse.

Take this week, for instance. Quite out of the blue, they got it into their heads to start moving furniture around the house. They took the nice sofa - the one that opens into a big bed - and moved it out of the study. Then they said it was too heavy, so they left it in the living room until another strong human arrived to help - and carried it up the stairs to a room which they (confusingly) refer to as 'Tim's room'. Tim doesn't even live here and the door is usually closed, so we can't sit on that sofa any more.

Then they moved one of the living room sofas into the study. Well, that was fine, although it seemed rather a strange thing to do:

But then they started moving other furniture into the dining room, and pushing what was left to the far end of the living room. They even rolled up the rug. It left a big open space:

Perhaps it was done to make a nice area for us to run around in, as it's often a bit chilly on the outside balcony. It was a kind thought, but we quite like furniture, and jumping over things, and hiding. A big open space really isn't terribly exciting, and our voices sound rather different in there now, which is a bit disturbing.

Still, we tried to be grateful, and as we found a little ball under one of the sofas, we did chase that around for a while.

The next day, they closed the door to the living room and we were trapped in the kitchen/dining room area! We didn't mind - we usually sleep in the mornings - but it was rather mysterious. There were odd noises going on, and another human talking.

When they opened the door again, we raced into the living room, wondering what nice surprise was there for us.

And I have to say, it was a bit of a disappointment, although we tried to hide it. The humans do their best, after all. There was a sort of sheet in the middle of the floor:

It smelled quite interesting, but it wasn't warm enough to sleep on, and we couldn't move it because there was a strange heavy object holding it down.

Being the intelligent cat that I am, I quickly realised that this was a new piece of furniture, one expressly designed for cats - it would be too small for a human to sit on it:

Joan looked up at me, and she noticed something strange on the ceiling, so I had a look too. I think this must be some kind of secret sign but we have not worked out what it means:

She decided to join me on the new furniture; it was a bit of a squash but we fitted so long as we kept still:

However, when we started rolling around and playing, we realised that we were in danger of falling off:

So we got down. The humans must have realised that this wasn't a very useful piece of furniture, because later on it disappeared.  

Then, the next day, another human arrived. We were shut in the dining room area again, and when we managed to get out, we discovered that the sofa in the study had gone too: 

I don't suppose we will ever understand humans. 

So now, there's only one remaining comfortable place to sleep in our usual quarters: 

I hope they will realise that it was much nicer the way it used to be.

A Dirty Cat

My sister and I like to play outside on the balcony, next to where the humans have their bed. Sometimes we go there in the morning and lie in the sunshine. Sometimes we chase each other around. Sometimes we roll in the dust. When we're feeling brave we jump to the neighbour's roof and run around there, and roll in their dust and dirt too.

At least, I roll a lot. I like feeling the dust on my skin. Joan doesn't do so much rolling. She watches me, slightly puzzled. Then when I get up she jumps at me, and we run around some more.

Usually the dust blows away, or I wash it off. But a few days ago, I rolled somewhere different, and when I went inside the humans started making comments about me being very dirty. I was quite insulted at first. I licked myself a few times and I didn't taste dirty. But then I did notice a few spots on my side that weren't there earlier:

One of the humans said the back of my head was the worst place. She tried wiping me with a damp cloth. I quite liked it, but she said it didn't make any difference at all. They said that they hoped I would wash. What a thing to say! I wash regularly. I'm mostly white, and I have to keep my fur immaculate.

However, they did have a point. No matter how much I washed, I couldn't get rid of those grey spots. One of the humans said that perhaps we would have to wait for my fur to grow out. What a horrible thought! I don't want my fur to go away. Does this mean I'll turn into a furless animal like a human?? I hope not.

Today our original family were visiting, and one of them said that it was fine to use a bit of 'fairy liquid' on my fur. So the humans put a drop of something that smelled like flowers on a damp cloth, and rubbed it around... then they rubbed it with just water. It felt quite nice at first but I soon got bored. They said I looked wet:

Humans do make silly comments. Of course I was wet. They were the ones who made me wet. They even talked about it first!

However they did also say I looked cleaner. I think they're right.  

A heavy kitten

The humans like to discuss me at times. They talk about my sister, too, of course. But I'm the one they seem to mention more often. I suppose it's because I'm bigger and therefore better.

The comments sometimes verge on the personal, however. I don't mind when they say I'm handsome. I don't even mind when they say how good I am at washing. These are, after all, compliments.

I don't even mind, too much, when they tell me that my fur is lovely and soft, just like a cat's fur. After all, I am proud to be of the feline persuasion. The humans can't help it that they were made differently, and they're very useful as servants. However they have made comments that my fur used to be rough, like that of a dog.

When I was little, I thought it was rather nice that they compared me to a dog. Then I learned that we cats do not like dogs.

It was not a compliment.

But I am a generous cat. I forgave them.

One evening recently, they and the tall thin human Tim had been doing what they call 'playing a game'. This consists of putting lots of pieces of cardboard on the table, and carefully placing some tempting cat toys on it. Joan and I have tried to join in, but they get annoyed and dump us on the floor. So we are keeping our distance, at least for now. One day we will take our revenge...

After the game, one of the humans commented that I was as big as an adult cat. Joan, they claim, looks like a big kitten. However, they said, I have grown much faster. That was a revelation to me! Up to that point, I had assumed that everything around me was getting smaller, including my sister.

Eventually they said they would fetch the kitchen scales. Then they picked me up and placed me in a bowl. It was very strange. Usually they stop me going on the table, and don't like me being in any of the bowls.

So I sat up straight, and let them know that I was very happy to sit there:

They said I weighed four kilograms. They said that was nearly nine pounds. The weight of a good-sized baby. And apparently it's not far off the weight of an adult cat.

They also said that I was not supposed to be fully grown for another four or five months. So then they had a discussion about whether I was just experiencing an early teenage growth spurt, or whether I might be an enormous cat one day.

The conversation then became highly personal, as they said I eat a lot and might get too big for the cat flap. I don't know what I'm supposed to do about this. If the cat flap becomes too small (and I am still not convinced that it's me who is growing) then they will just have to make it bigger. Isn't that the kind of thing humans were put here to do?

Outside again

We were beginning to think our outside expeditions were finished - at least, until we work out how to jump down from the washing machine balcony. I keep looking and trying to judge the distance, but I don't want to get stuck somewhere. Not now I'm bigger and cleverer than I used to be.

But a couple of days ago, the humans said that perhaps it was time we did a bit more exploring. So they let us out.

Freedom!

We raced down the stairs and over the street, where there were lots of interesting toys and smells. The female human said she felt too nervous to watch so she went back up and into the house, but the male one sat on a chair outside their downstairs apartment, and sipped that hot brown stuff he calls 'coffee'.

I was a bit worried that he might come and fetch me, but hiding under a car was a bit dull, so I went inside the gate of the opposite house:

I could smell that this was a place for cats, but they were not familiar ones. I wasn't sure. Was this maybe not part of our domain? The very old cat Cleo was watching, trying to explain how far our boundaries stretch. We do listen to her, but she's getting on in years and she doesn't always understand what our generation wants. So I decided to ignore her for a while.

I came out and looked around at some of the other houses but they didn't seem as if they would be very friendly to cats.

Then I noticed that my sister Joan was being approached by a big cat. There were some older people in the territory where I had been exploring and they addressed this large cat as 'Caesar'. Caesar sniffed at Joan and then he hissed, making it very clear that this was his domain. I did think about going to protect her, but he was so big and I felt quite overwhelmed... and then she did the sensible thing. She backed away, letting him know that she was not challenging him.

She ran back over the street and up the stairs, into our own house. I decided to follow.

Then one of the humans said something very odd which made no sense to me, but which they seemed to find highly amusing:  'Joan of Arc challenged Caesar, watched by Alexander the Great and Cleopatra'.

Human bed

I already described the warm bed in the living room where Joan and I often snuggle up together, now it's getting cooler. Sometimes the sun shines on it and it feels so warm and cosy... but sometimes the sun goes away. I don't really like this system. With the lights in the house, the humans just press a switch to make them go off or on. But I'm pretty sure they don't have a switch for the sun. I wonder who does?

Anyway, a couple of weeks ago one of the humans stuffed a giant pillow, which she called a duvet, into a giant case, which was called a duvet cover. They are not very original with their names, but I suppose humans aren't very creative.  They don't even like it when we try to help with the sheets-and-duvet routine...

Still, the duvet greatly improved the bed... it became nice and squashy, a good place to go to sleep during the daytime.

Then there was quite an exciting development.

Since our first days here, the bedroom door has been closed at nighttime. The old cats could sleep in there, but not Joan and me. Sometimes they let us in for a few minutes, but as soon as we pounced on those moving things under the sheets, they yelped and insisted we leave the room. It seemed unfair, but we had the rest of the house to play in.

It finally dawned on me that maybe those lumps under the sheet were not small animals but hidden human feet. Which meant that perhaps it was not our duty to attack and destroy them.. but you never know. It was impossible to resist.

But after the duvet appeared. the humans had a conversation during which they said things like 'Alex is calmer' and 'Sophia would be happier'. And that night... the bedroom door stayed a little bit open! They were right that Sophia was happier. She hated being shut in, OR shut out, so she would complain loudly several times in the night until the humans got up and let her in. Or out Or in again. Joan and I used to wait outside, hoping we could dash under the bed, but we never succeeded.

Now we can sleep anywhere we want to at night. It's strange, though. The downstairs bed, even without the sunshine switched on, seems like the best place. So we still sleep there, as there's easy access to the kitchen for a quick snack.

Then, as it slowly begins to get lighter in the morning, we run up the stairs and jump on the human bed, and nuzzle into the humans until one of them gets up to give us some more food. 

Warm bed

The humans are not very good at regulating the temperature of their house. When we first got here, it was hot all the time. They seemed to be able to make some rooms cooler, some of the time, but not the whole house. We had to lie on the floor to stay cool, and drink lots of water.

But now it's much pleasanter. Perhaps they've worked out how to get it right, although they keep muttering that it will get colder. If they know that, why don't they do something about it?

Anyway, there's a very nice bed in the living room. I don't know if we're supposed to sleep in it, but I've noticed the old cat Cleo getting in there sometimes, and the humans don't stop her.

I thought I'd try it a few days ago, when the floor was feeling a bit on the chilly side. Just as I was about to curl up and go to sleep, my sister decided to join me:

It was really very comfortable although there wasn't much room to stretch out:

Still, I can see that we might make more use of this if it really does get colder. Particularly when the older cats want it...

Trolley

There is always so much to explore in our house, and so many mysteries to solve. One of them involves a kind of bag on wheels which the humans call a 'trolley'. Most of the time it sits near the front door; then at random times the female human takes it out for half an hour or so, and when she returns it's full of all kinds of exciting things, usually in smaller plastic bags. She won't let us play with them; she gets quite annoyed when we tear up the bags and try to eat them.

However I don't know where all the interesting things come from, or how she knows when to go out and collect them.

Still, the trolley itself is quite an interesting toy in its own right. Sometimes there are tantalising dangly cords in front of it, but I reckon they're a bit dangerous. I pulled them once, and it fell over on top of me. Thankfully it wasn't too heavy and I ran away before they found the camera.

Since then, the humans have put the dangling cords inside the trolley. I expect they did this to try and fool me, but I quickly figured out that it's a lot more fun to play with them this way - and I can now jump inside the trolley without knocking it over.

My sister doesn't join me inside - she's a bit of a scaredy-human at times - but she watches, so I often put my paw out to tempt her to battle.

I was thrilled to discover that a film was made about this, even if it's only 22 seconds long:

The trouble with this game is that I'm rather restricted by the bag part of the trolley. And then it's not so easy to get out without knocking the whole thing over...

... but I usually succeed.

A thing about paper

I want to make it clear that, while I am the bigger and stronger kitten, my sister causes just as much trouble as I do.

Well, sometimes.

For instance, she has a thing about paper. Not that I have anything against paper - it's good to play with, particularly when it's big, crunched up pieces, or when it's blowing around and has to be stilled.

But my sister Joan likes to EAT paper.

A few days ago, the humans produced some more boxes with things inside, and an envelope that had - bizarrely - a thick folding piece of paper inside, which they stood up. Joan had to investigate, to see what it tasted like:

They stopped her doing that, so she turned her attention to a big envelope that had fallen on the floor. Floor items are for cats, by definition, right?

The humans watched her for a while, but when she started tearing pieces out of the envelope, one of the humans commented that it wouldn't be good for her - and took it away. 

She's pretty accepting of this kind of thing; after all, there are plenty of other toys around the house. 

In the evening, she noticed one of her favourite toys: a box with thin paper poking out, the kind of paper that tears easily. 

The humans don't like this kind of paper much - sometimes they pull one out and wipe it on their noses, then they just crunch it up and throw it away. 

They don't even play with it first. 

What a waste.  

Joan discovered a while ago that this kind of paper has a sort of magic inside. When one of the thin sheets is pulled out, another one pops up! She gets quite excited with so much paper and started pulling and pulling until one of the humans decided to stop her. Yet again. 

As you can see, I was simply a quiet spectator on these occasions. 

Nice human food!

A few days ago, Joan and I were about to fall asleep in the female human's study, when we heard the big sliding door closing.

This usually only happens if there are visiting small humans watching the television when the adult humans are playing a game in the dining room. But we thought nothing of it - humans are, after all, both unpredictable and illogical - until the old cat called Sophia started calling loudly, saying that there was 'nice human food'!

It actually sounded as if she were saying 'chicken', but that didn't make sense. The humans had just had lunch, with cheese and eggs and bread, all of which are delicious, but chicken is for evenings.

Still, we had to go and investigate:

We couldn't see - or smell - anything interesting. Sophia often talks a lot, loudly, so we thought perhaps she was just saying that she would like some chicken. It seemed like a silly thing to shout about when the door was shut; we could hear the male human doing something in the kitchen but he doesn't usually prepare nice food.

Then the very old cat, Cleo, arrived too: 

She evidently thought there was something going on as well. We have a lot of respect for Cleo, though I'm not entirely sure why. But if Cleo believed there was some nice chicken, maybe she was right. Then again, she could have been fooled by Sophia's cries.

Joan wondered if she could get behind the door:

But that was no good. She's smaller than me, but not that small.  

We started to catch Sophia's impatience, although we had no idea what to expect.

And then...

Wow!

The doors opened, and we all raced inside to find plates with the most wonderful human food:

The humans said this was 'scraps' and that the male human had been 'stripping a chicken to freeze', but we didn't even try to work out what that meant. 

Happily, the old cats are now willing to share dishes with us. We plan to let this state continue for a while, until we've worked out how to get ahead of them when there's a queue for food. 

Sleeping position

Sometimes my humans are not very complimentary.

In warm weather, I like to spread myself out. There is plenty of room on the bed, after all.

Inelegant?

Moi??

"Oh Alex!"

When I first heard the humans say, 'Oh Alex', I assumed it was a term of respect. My instincts tell me that my ancestors, in another place, were worshipped in a way that really doesn't seem to happen these days. Perhaps, I thought, 'O Alex' was a way of letting me know that I was revered, that they were thankful I had made my home amongst them.

Unfortunately, I soon realised that it's a term of frustration rather than of adoration. The humans seem to think that the house is theirs, and that they can decide where we may and may not go. This is not very intelligent of them; clearly we can (and do) go wherever we wish when they are not looking. Unless a door is shut, of course. We have yet to unravel the mysteries of door handles.

But when one of them is in the kitchen, they don't like us going on the work surfaces - even when they've put something new and exciting there, something that evidently requires some exploration:

'Oh Alex!' is then said, with a sigh. Sometimes they pick up the silvery flashing box thing, but not always. Mostly they just grab hold of me and put me back on the floor.  I am attempting to show them how undignified this is by turning my back and having a good wash, but they don't seem to notice.

They don't like me going in the kitchen sink, either. This is mystifying because the water for our dishes comes out of a metal spout in the sink. You would think it would save them time and effort if they just left the water running constantly, so we could help ourselves: 

However, humans are quite stuck in their ways. We have to humour them.  

Not that it always helps. A couple of days ago, they put one of those wonderful things called 'pitta bread' in a plastic bag, on the work surface. I love pitta bread. The humans seem to find this surprising, and expect us only to like meat and cheese and yogurt. But I think most human food is worth trying, and pitta bread is one of my favourites.

They left the kitchen, and Joan and I jumped up on the work surface to get at the pitta bread. It's easy to scratch our way into the bag, and we were just about to get started when I remembered that the humans really don't like it when we eat anywhere other than the floor. 

So, not wanting to cause any distress, I pulled the bag onto the floor. It was easier for us then anyway; no worries about falling backwards off the work surface, and we had fun pulling the bag apart, and starting to eat the pitta inside. 

Unfortunately we got a bit carried away, and it made quite a bit of noise, so the female human came to see what was going on.

That was a major 'Oh Alex!' moment. 

I still don't know why she was so annoyed. 

Paper toy

Sometimes our humans go out of the door, making sure we don't go too. My sister sometimes manages to escape but they catch her quickly. She's quicker than me, and lighter... so if she can't succeed, I reckon there's not much point trying.

At least, not for now.

The humans get home again before too long. If we go to sleep, they get home very quickly indeed. And quite often, they bring things with them. I suppose they go foraging around outside - there are so many interesting things to find out there! - and as humans have the advantage of being big and strong, AND they can walk on just two legs, there's quite a lot of scope for them to carry stuff in those odd-shaped feet that they call 'hands'.

Yesterday the male human had a lot of rustly bags that were full of good smells, but the other human took things out and put them quickly into different cupboards in the kitchen. I suppose she thinks she's hiding them, although we always watch carefully.

They also brought back some boxes. I think boxes are wonderful. The older cats like to sit in them and go to sleep, but we kittens know that boxes contain TOYS!

Three of the biggest boxes were piled on the table, and then one of the humans used that strange black object with the little buttons on the front. We still haven't worked out what these are, but they seem to be some kind of communication magic. Sometimes they even talk into them, but this time she just pressed lots of the buttons in a random order. Or maybe not so random. Perhaps it's a secret code. 

Sure enough, the tall human called Tim arrived a while later, and was quite excited to see the boxes too. He said they were 'late birthday presents', whatever that means. He opened them up, and took out some of those thick pads of paper that they call 'books', and looked very pleased about them. 

Humans have such strange priorities. 

There was a much more interesting big piece of paper in the box. This one hadn't been cut up and squashed into a book. Evidently this was intended for us, although Tim didn't mention it - I expect he was a bit jealous, as he simply threw it on the floor, while he took more things out of the box.

What a wonderful game we had. This paper was long, and made a most satisfying crunchy sound when we pulled it. My sister likes to bite paper, and it was quite easy to tear: 

I pretended to be caught up in it, for a moment, but the humans were ignoring me. Well, other than the one who had picked up the small metal thing that she puts in front of her face sometimes.

I don't like the bright light that comes out of that silvery box, but there's a lovely dangly cord thing which I am determined to catch hold of one day. 

We had a wonderful time playing with this new toy.  

But we shouldn't have taken out eyes off it. It was still there when we went back to play again, later, but then one of the humans picked it up. She didn't put it with our toys, though. She started folding it up, and then put it in a sliding box in that tall white thing where they keep lots of rustly bags and pieces of paper and empty cans and other wonderful toys:

We haven't discovered how to get inside these white boxes yet, but we're working on it...