They are the only ones who chase me. I am the only one who outruns them. Eight running legs with bony figures and floppy ears like mine. Eight shorter than mine but still the same kind. Eight toys being fought over by animals. From the stairs, I can chase them, but can’t outrun them quite yet.

Their meows are loud. They use sharp claws to distract me. They scratch here, and they scratch there and they swat my snout with their furry paws and bite my tail with white teeth and never quit their running. This is how they win.

Let them forget I have a toy, they’d both sleep like babies in a bed, both with their heads on each other. Sleep, sleep, sleep I beg when they win. They grin.

When they are all too energized and too wide awake to keep sleeping, when I am too young to go against the older, then it is I accept the loss. When I have no toys left to let them fight over. Eight who love after battle. Eight who leap and do not forget to leap. Eight whose only purpose is to beat and beat.