This was no "throw-the-ball-throw-the-ball-throw-the-ball" of a dog, this was the steely gaze that said "throw. the. ball. I. will. destroy it."
The little playful chirp was a red herring, the muscles were taught, the claws were out, this kitten was ready for the fuzzy blue ball with the pieces of shiny blue pieces of metallic-looking plastic thread sticking out of it.
You knew that when you threw it, there would be no "Why, hello.. what do we have here? Hello, Mr. Ball, I think I'd like to play with you." No, this was going to be a massacre: throw the ball, pounce, sink teeth.
Someone might say "Awww, look at the little kitten play" but they were people who had not yet had the kitten declare war on their toes.
120 is a the umbrella under which I place my creative writing. It refers to one of the practices - writing for 120 seconds on a single topic with no chance to go back and edit. Click here to read more.