Harris at war with my messy desk because he wants to play with his Growly.
After only a few days, it's ready starting to look like his previous one — that is, how it looked after it spend long stretches of time in Harris's mouth but before Lion ate 14" of its string and put it out of commission. This is the old one. It's made of fox fur, I think, and it is irresistible. I don't dare try to photograph the new one because it will be attacked if it sits anywhere for more than a few seconds.
Kittenator showing signs of being digested
I wish I could show you Harris's intense focus and feats of athleticism as he chases his new growly. I work hard to keep it from him; it flies high and darts all over the room with just a few tempting pauses to challenge him into running after it. He's a match for me, though — talented at grabbing it when I least expect it, often when it's in the air. And we play where HE wants to play. He usually likes to play in the bedroom, so he will race in there and wait for me to follow.
I wish I could film him victorious, strutting around with it in his mouth. He drags me from room to room, growling and proud, with ears flat and eyes narrowed. He especially loves to jump into the Amazon box we kept around for him, which he thinks is the perfect spot for growling over his Growly.
But I can't photograph him because I won't take my focus or my hands off the pole toy even for a few seconds after what happened with Lion. I'm no longer letting Harris spend several minutes at a time with the toy clenched in his jaws, either. I want this toy to last and it won't if his saliva dissolves it. So I pry open his jaws, which is a struggle, and I yank it out after a short time as he fights me off with his paws. Growling.