A few years ago, my family bought a weasel ball for our cats.
It was supposed to provide them with hours of fun while its floppy stuffed body frolicked with its motorized plastic ball, inviting the violent attentions of a house full of small predators.
Instead, their eyes bugged out, their ears went back, and they retreated into our arms until they couldn't mash themselves any further into our bodies.
Having reached the limit of that method of escape, they flailed their way free from our attempts to reassure them and fled into the basement, never to approach the weasel ball again.
She got bored.
He got a weasel ball.
She got scared.
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