The Crinkle & Wrinkle Saga – Doubletrouble_sphynx

There’s an art to keeping cats entertained, and after eight years of trial and error, I can confidently say I’m still terrible at it. Crinkle and Wrinkle, my Sphynx duo, have turned me into a full-time entertainer, part-time toy supplier, and occasional accidental toy-stepping gymnast.

You see, buying cat toys is not just a task—it’s a gamble. Will they love it? Will they ignore it? Or will they glare at me with a look that screams, “How dare you insult my refined taste with this monstrosity?” Spoiler alert: it’s usually the latter. Yet, my house is full of toys. Rubber bands, springs, feathers, and even a Mr. Lobster plush (Crinkle’s absolute favorite) have taken over my floors. These items don’t just stay in their designated spots either; they lurk in shadows, waiting to ambush me when I least expect it. And yes, stepping on one barefoot is every bit as delightful as stepping on a Lego.

Despite their shared DNA, Crinkle and Wrinkle couldn’t be more different when it comes to playtime. Crinkle is a fetch enthusiast. Throw her beloved Mr. Lobster, and she’ll bolt after it, tail wagging (yes, cats do this too), and proudly return it with a victorious chirp. Wrinkle, on the other hand, thrives on chaos. Her true love? Springs. The unpredictability of a bouncing spring brings her unparalleled joy. But here’s the kicker: Wrinkle doesn’t chase the spring. No, she wants me to chase the spring. Watching me crawl on the floor after it is, apparently, her favorite sport.

And then there was the infamous cat wheel incident. I bought it with visions of my little hairless athletes running gracefully, tails swishing in unison. To my surprise, they took to it instantly. A few claps and overly enthusiastic cries of, “Good job, Crinkle and Wrinkle! Look at you go! Woohooooo!” had them racing like Olympians. Their triumphant meows filled the room as they competed for wheel time.

But alas, this tale took a turn. Wrinkle, in an apparent territorial claim, began marking the area around the wheel—yes, with pee. And poo. Suddenly, the cat wheel wasn’t a symbol of feline athleticism but a battlefield. I couldn’t help but wonder: had my over-the-top cheering led us to this point? Had I become that mom?

Despite the occasional chaos, I have to admit: entertaining these two is one of life’s greatest joys. Their quirks keep me laughing, their preferences keep me guessing, and their little faces (even when judging me) remind me why I adore them. Sure, I’ll never master the art of keeping them entertained, but I like to think they appreciate my efforts.

At the very least, they’ll always have a never-ending supply of springs to bounce, rubber bands to bat, and a Mr. Lobster to toss. And I’ll always have stories to tell—and the occasional bruise from stepping on their toys.