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Maccabee is still enthused about his new playpretty. He lugs that rubber dumbbell all over the place, and woe betide the cat who even looks at it. He is even willing to snarl at Sasha if she gets too close, although I can't say I notice any great tremors of terror from our resident grump. 
Just now he was racing wildly from one end of the room to the other, trying to get me to chase him or play fetch or something. Finally I did grab the toy out of his mouth and throw it through the open sliding glass door out onto the patio. He made such a commotion both cats sat and stared at that fool mutt.
Mac ran outside, grabbed his new playpretty, and ran back into the house at full speed, all puffed up with pride and full of puppytude. Or at least he tried to run back inside; the door wasn't open wide enough to accommodate that toy carried sideways.
He almost made it back in. He hit the doorway so hard he bent the rubber dumbbell almost double. Then with a "boi-oi-oing" it shot him backwards into the yard.
Willoughby succumbed first; With a hearty "Meow!" of sheer delight, he fell backwards onto the chair he was perched on the back of and lay there screeching with laughter. Sasha tried to hold it in and be dignified, but it was too many for her. She laughed and whooped and hollered until the tears ran down her cheeks, holding her ribs and begging for mercy. Just as she calmed down a bit, Willoughby screeched, "Bo-oi-oing," and got both of them started again.
I don't know what Mac thinks of all this. He won't come out from under the patio furniture.
Editor's note:
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