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I finally got Sasha interested in playing 'Fetch!' Well, she didn't really fetch, but she would chase a ball if I threw it for her and play with it when she caught it.
This morning I was throwing and she was chasing, and Willoughby was watching, enthralled with the action but too lazy to get off the couch and participate. Mac tried to help (it was his ball), but Sasha vigorously discouraged that right from the get-go, so he just lay there on the floor and watched with a woebegone look on his face. Chica slept through the whole thing.
The fun began when I threw the ball up the stairs. Sasha darted in hot pursuit only to have the ball hit the wall at the top of the stairs and bounce back. She was three-quarters of the way up when the ball attacked her and sent her scurrying for cover. She bet it back down by a wide margin.
She stopped at the far end of the room and watched as the ball bounced to a stop. Regaining her courage she attacked with vigor and soon vanquished that old ball. Once satisfied she had regained superiority, she trotted over to me with a smug look on her face.
So I picked the ball up and tossed it lightly up the stairs again, careful not to bounce it off the wall, this time. Undaunted by her former fears and reassured by her subsequent success, Sasha charged at full gallop up the stairs and tied with the ball for the landing.
Slowly the ball rolled to the edge of the top step and rolled off. Sasha was right behind it. When it hit the next step, it rolled a little faster and kept gaining speed as it descended. Soon Sasha was in an undignified scramble trying to keep up, grab the ball, miss, and chase it to the next step. Sasha, ball, and dignity all landed in a heap on the ground floor.
I don't think I've ever laughed that hard at one of my kitties.
Editor's note:
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