The Art of the Imperceptible Pounce

Arthur, a man whose enthusiasm generally peaked around lukewarm tea, watched his cat, Mittens, stalk a particularly plump pigeon. Mittens, a creature of exquisite lethargy, moved with the deliberate grace of a glacier. The pigeon, clearly experienced in these matters, continued pecking at a discarded croissant crumb, occasionally glancing at Mittens with an expression of mild curiosity, as one might observe a particularly slow-moving cloud.

After what felt like a geological era, Mittens finally pounced. It was less a pounce and more a gentle, unhurried topple in the general direction of the bird. The pigeon, with a sigh that was almost audible, hopped precisely three inches to the left. Mittens landed with a soft *thump*, then looked up at Arthur, a hint of confusion in her eyes.

Arthur took a sip of his now decidedly cold tea. "Remarkable," he murmured, "the commitment to subtlety."