At first I was annoyed.
For the second year in a row, the male two legger's favorite baseball team, The Texas Rangers, have managed to extend the interminable baseball season all the way to the championship series. This means several extra weeks of the male dressing up in his teams colors, eating peanuts, and yelling at the talking box thingy. (This behavior is different from football season only in the implementation of the peanuts.)
This also means that I will not be shown my proper attention until either the Rangers cease their winning, or they win the whole shebang.
However, I am a firm believer in the old saying: "When life hands you lemons, mark them up three times and sell them to Ivan as "canary eggs".
So I decided to derive some amusement.
I parked my happy butt squarely in front of the talking box thingy.
By positioning my handsome mug directly in front of home base, I was able to ensure that no pitch could be seen without proper obstruction.
The male devised a cunning plan to thwart me. He utilized the laser pointy thingy in order to distract me. Unable to resist the red dot, I chased it until the male burned out the batteries. I then resumed my vigil. Soon, he attempted to lure me away with the feather stringy thingy. I was not amused until Ivan streaked into the room, causing a total beer and peanut shell apocalypse.
The two legger finally stopped yelling at the talking box thingy and immediately began casting aspersions upon the character of all felines.
By the time Ivan's path of destruction had been properly cleared and bulldozed, I had resumed my place and the male had resumed his. Thus resumed the staring and the yelling.
By the seventh inning thingy, the male had surrendered to the fact that I was going nowhere and resigned himself to watching 40% of the game while listening to the commentary. I quickly discovered that by saying the simple word "Mrowr" approximately 7.3 times per minute ruined what little pleasure he was receiving.
Oddly, I find myself becoming a fan of baseball.