I had a cat who used to camp on the cool Formica top of a big metal desk I had. The trash can was next to it, and one day I tossed a ball of paper at the can and Gretel batted it away.
“Oh, thanks,” I said as I picked up the paper. Then it occurred to me to move the can closer to the paper and try again, and this time, she batted it about four inches from the can. One more trial, and we had the range. From then on, any time I started crumpling up a piece of paper, she would assume her spot on the desk. I’d move the can (she never learned to aim—never had to, I guess) and toss it, and she’d get it in there pretty much every time, no matter how many people stood watching.
Of course, no cat we’ve had since then has shown the least inclination toward batting, though Frances did take the initiative in deciding to balance on the wobbly iron rail between the living room and the stairs, so there was that.
