So, we have a cat. Her name's Zanadune. She rules the house like a diva and it would seem that she has a pretty healthy cat ego; the diva act, however, is merely an attempt to cover up a host of psychological issues (separation anxiety, fear of loud sounds, fear of birds, etc. etc. etc.). It doesn't matter; we love her all the same and shower her with toys every opportunity we get. The thing is, Zanadune's only really been interested in one toy and that's a plush little ducky that we call Ducky (ahem). She's fiercely attached to it during those briefest of intervals when it hasn't been kicked under a sofa or into a corner (by Zanadune) and isn't merely languising, collecting dust, and waiting to be found (again, by Zanadune). We keep buying her neon-colored mice and catnip-filled goodies anyway. As expected, she loses interest in them about as soon as I rip them from their packages. She tries to feign enthusiasm for a couple of minutes before giving me that "Yah-this-effin'-blows" look.
This is illustrated in the pics below:
What is this? A sock with a bell attached to it? Dear God, is that weak-ass, over-processed, substandard catnip I smell? I think I'm going to be ill.
You want me to play with this thing? Seriously? Okay, I'll do what you want me to do but I'll have you know this is an insult to my felinity.
Oh, look at me! Joy! Nothing beats a bloody bell on a bloody sock full of bloody lame catnip. I'm so happy! Thank you for spending a lousy couple of bucks on me to keep me happy and distracted! Aren't I precious.
Happy now, lady? Now get that camera out of my face and take that cheap ass sock with you. Christ.