Feline vs. Fruit, round one

Kai is still learning how to retract his claws.

I'll find him sprawled on the floor by the giant windows, so relaxed and content, one claw caught in the lacy curtains and hanging awkwardly six inches off the floor. (What? he asks, with attitude. I sleep best like this. You look ridiculous, I say, and that can't be good for your circulation. Put your arm down. No, he says.)

This morning I put a bowl on the floor, a bowl that held one tiny baby grape. (I don't eat tiny baby grapes. I put them in the same category as the very tail ends of pickles, broccoli in my Chinese take-out, and the dark spots on a banana; all end up in the garbage disposal.)

I wanted to let Kai drink the water that pooled in the bottom of the bowl; I thought I was being extra nice. But now I know: even H2O pales in comparison to tiny baby grape. He looked perkily at it. He sniffed it for awhile. He experimented with different paw techniques: the spread-toe swat, the curled-paw swat, the slow roll, the quick jab. The ignore, then pounce maneuver.

And then the tiny baby grape got snagged on a claw and wouldn't come off. Kai lifted his paw out of the bowl and gave it a sharp shake. It clung tenaciously. He lifted his paw higher and higher, til finally he was sitting back on his hind paws, shaking that front foot.

Perplexion! In a last-ditch effort before succumbing to his fabulous, permanent, new toe bauble, Kai limped around the living room. Mid-stride he gave it another go. This time the tiny baby grape went flying into a corner of the dining area. It hasn't been seen since, and I notice Kai didn't go chasing after it...

(Was he surprised by the grape's stubborn grip? Cowed, perhaps?)