When we first brought Smokey in from the forest, he didn't know how to
play.  He would eagerly chase a ball rolling across the floor, but
once it stopped rolling, he didn't know what to do with it.  He'd look
up at me as if to say "Um, looks like it dropped dead...and it's no
good to eat, so now what?"

I had to show him, repeatedly, how it only took a small thwack of a
paw to get it to roll again.

Fur mice, on the other hand, were swiftly gutted only to find a lack
of tasty guts within.

His favourite game was "smush" which is a wrestling match where we
roll him onto his back and rub his belly and face.  Funny how a feral
cat loves a rassle so much, and never acted frightened or bothered by
the aggressive fur-noogies.  On his part, instead of biting us, he'd
put his face near our arm or face and work his jaw open and shut as if
to say "I'm biting you now, okay?  Rar!"

Smokey still loves his smush but he has since learned how to play with
toys.  The kittens and Nocturne, on the other hand, seem to play
instinctively.

--Enfilade