Atilla's Box

The humans do strange things sometimes.

Atilla sniffed the box suspiciously. It didn't smell like anything alive. It didn't smell like food. It smelled like the newspapers and books and delivery boxes and so many other things made of paper and cardboard that his humans drag into his home. He had no idea why a paper-wrapped box would be in the middle of his kitchen floor, but he was certain that it was something that the humans did.

For some reason, the humans had wrapped the cardboard in brown paper and then tied it all together with string. The paper rattled loudly when he swatted it, and it provided him with a moment or two of entertainment before he noticed the string moving with each impact.

String!

Atilla swatted the paper wrapping again, and when the loose end of the string jiggled, he pounced, claws extended, teeth snapping. He knew it was a string, but it was still prey and he had to grab it, taunt it, and kill it.

He pulled with teeth and kicked at the box with his hind legs, his rear claws ripping into the paper.

Then, pausing, he stepped back, but the string had snagged on one of his razor-sharp talons. A wash of panic hit him and he pulled hard, but the box flipped over toward him, frightening him even more. He sprung backwards, the string pulling, the box dragging, Atilla hissing and howling, until he finally broke free.

He spent a good part of the day staring at the box, waiting for it to attack him again, but it didn’t move.

He eventually approached it cautiously, hissed at it as he walked around it, but it didn’t move when he came closer. He smelled the string on what had been the bottom of the box, then bit it.

Then he gnawed on it.

The string came apart, slid off the edge of the box and stayed lifeless on the floor.

He peeked up over the corner of the box to look at what was now the top. From this angle it was an elevated square with a big tear in the paper showing the plain cardboard beneath.

Atilla likes squares, especially elevated ones. There is always something pleasing about sitting inside a square, much like there was something pleasing about sitting higher than any approaching enemies. He jumped up.

The torn paper, though, wasn’t right. He pulled and bit at it, tearing at the paper until the it shredded and he was given a clear cardboard square to sit on.

It felt right.

It wasn’t a cozy spot to sleep, but it was a good vantage point. It was a good place from which to survey his kingdom, but it was also naptime. He tried curling up on top of the box, but eventually he decided to jump down and find his spot in the living room.

But even with the cozy spot in the living room, he couldn’t quite sleep, because he had to keep an eye on the kitchen doorway in case the box was going to cause problems. Eventually he got up and went back to the kitchen.

Upon returning, he noticed that what had been the box’s top, now a side, was exposed through part of the torn paper.

It was a dark empty space!

While Atilla likes squares, he especially loves dark empty spaces.

He reached into the hole, tugged at the paper, and opened the tear large enough to climb in. Sinuously, sleekly, with a tiny hop, he went through the hole with barely a rustle of the paper.

Inside, it was dark and cozy, just right for a nap.

Except just outside his cozy spot, that evil string was peeking through a small hole in the paper in at him.

Reaching out, he pawed at it.

He had to extend a little farther to reach the string, tearing the hole larger. A second paw darted out. Then paper ripped, and the battle with the string began.

It whipped and flailed, pulling the box. The paper joined into the battle and Atilla was soon overwhelmed by his enemies.

But with fierce claws and sharp teeth, Atilla was victorious.

And ready for a nap in his new box.

It had flipped back upright, with the opening on top. He peeked over the top, noted that it still had a comfortable size to it, then hopped in.

After an exhausting battle with the now-defeated string and paper, he curled into a ball and fell soundly asleep.

At one point in his nap, the humans who live in his house came home. He pretended to be asleep as he heard them pick up the paper debris and the severed pieces of string. Then they opened his food and served it for him.

It was only when they moved his box to a corner of the kitchen did he bother to open one eye and peer at them.

The big one yammered something and the little one yammered back.

Then they left Atilla to sleep in the box they gave him for his birthday.