Pinkmouse

One of my busiest design weeks in memory is bleeding over into the weekend and I’m already thinking of ways to spend the discretionary income. Why do we do that? Why am I all of a sudden so interested in when the Nikon D5200 will be released? Why does my laptop look so old? A month ago, if you’d asked me, I’d have told you that it looked just fine. A month ago, my prosumer point-n-shoot was all the camera I needed and my vintage Onkyo CD player was a curiosity. Now it’s an annoyance.

When I adopted Acadia, I didn’t think to buy her any toys, so her first visit to a friend’s house where toys are in abundance was a revelation for both of us. She fell instantly in love with Pinkmouse, whose pale pink fur clashes with everything I own and I, hoping to redirect her affections, discovered ModernCat, online purveyors of attractive, handmade doodads.

I ordered a generous selection. Felted wool Lynks in raspberry-avocado, catnip-infused Modkickers, repurposed wine cork Bamboleos jacketed in cotton twine. Nice cat toys. Expensive cat toys.

It would be an overstatement to say that she had no interest in them. It was as if they were invisible. She walked right past them to the drawer where Pinkmouse resides and willed the drawer to open, which it did.

I’ve continued to experiment with various kinds of toys, eventually lucking into the 100% wool pom-poms that we use to play fetch. But I’ve kept Pinkmouse in his drawer and take him out from time to time to see if Acadia’s feelings toward him have changed at all. They haven’t. Alas, there is no finer diversion than Pinkmouse, grimy fur and all.

Not one month ago, I was wishing all (okay, most) of my possessions away. Today I’m a consumer whore. And my cat’s preferred backup toy is a piece of uncooked spaghetti noodle.