Esme has a new game. Well, a new variation on a well-established game.

First, you must know she loves toy mice. When we brought her home, her favorite toy was a stuffed green felt mouse. After gleefully chewing off its red felt ears and tail, she picked it up in her mouth and ran circuits of Don's office. Out of loyalty, she'll still bat that one around a bit, but her affections have been transferred to the hard, 'fur' covered variety. Esme still removes the pesky ears and tail first; kitteh is consistent. Often, she'll pick it up and toss it for herself, spinning on her hind legs and being all manner of adorable. Her preferred manner of play though, is to clamp her teeth on the poor, prematurely deaf and stub-tailed toy and bring it to me, wherever I might be. My job is to throw it for her. Her job is to race after it, usually wiping out on the hardwood floors, and bring it back to me. Lather, rinse, repeat.

So kitteh plays fetch. No big, right? Lots of cats play fetch.

Esme's new variation, however, is to wait until I'm in my office on the computer. She'll poke her head through the doorway, then run off to track down the nearest oval-shaped-fur-thing-that-used-to-be-a-mouse. Running full out, she jumps onto the edge of my chair, bounces to the window ledge, the edge of my desk and up on the 'hutch,' scattering papers and hair clips and Heroclix and pens. Once she's sure she has my attention - really; she waits for eye contact - she drops the mouse-thing and waits for me to throw it toward the other end of my office. Esme leaps off, more desktop detritus goes flying, and the game is on. She'll do this for a solid twenty minutes or so. We just finished a round. She's curled up on my lap as I'm typing this. Hold on... I'm going to pick her up and see if I can get a decent shot with PhotoBooth...


Rawr! I am fierce! Pay no attention to the woman behind the fierceness!