Taming the Striped Feather

I dropped down from the bookshelf molding and landed softly on the low coffee table. Sticking straight up out of a round pencil cup was a long, striped quill feather that kept quivering in the morning draft. It wobbled with quick, nervous twitches that demanded a proper challenge. I eased low on my hind claws, leaned forward, and batted the fluffy tip with one foot claw. It sprang back with a wild, vibrating sweep. I didn't back down. Snapping my jaws shut with a firm click, I pinned the stiff shaft clean against the rim of the cup with my snout. It gave a final shudder and stayed still. That settled that nicely.