There is no question it is alive
I see the ball
Multi-colored, fuzzy, breathing
Out of the corner of my eye
I catch it in motion
But as I fix my gaze
It returns motionless
Taunting me in its stillness
But it lives, I swear to it
Professional in its inertia (or lack thereof)
It plays the patience game
However I too can remain static
The faceless ball waits.
Ready to pounce, I only inhale
...and exhale
With eyes fixed on any movement
In the meantime...
Footsteps pass on the floor below
Wind gusts blow around the parked cars outside
The clouds dim the shaft of light entering the living room
Suddenly the room hushes as the refrigerator stops running
But the ball is not phased
Neither am I
As the central air switches on
Blowing on the tufts of hair on my ears
I hear the ball laughing
Its many tufts remain still
But then...
A pulse makes the ball twitch
And I am on it
And it's caught in my jaw
Then torn by my back paws
I have it thoroughly tortured
It cannot escape me
...not even from the other side of a closed door
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