My first cat I had on my own was Sarah.  I got her young, at
only four weeks, from the pound.  From the very getgo, she
had this funny little game she loved to play with me right until
the end (she died at four, car).  No matter where in the house
she might be, if I said the word "Peekaboo", in totally normal
human, non-cutesy tones, she would drop whatever she was
doing and come roaring at me like a motherbear protecting her
cubs.  Still, at only two pounds, one couldn't help laughing.
At about six feet away from me, she would then become
airborne, launching herself right at my arms.  If I didn't catch
her, she would pelt herself right at my chest, knocking
me over (yes, at two pounds) so it was kind of necessary
for me to catch her.  Which I usually did, heheh.  Then,
without stopping to adjust her balance or anything, she
would rear up in my arms onto her back legs and box
with my face, slapping me all around, claws in, while
I just laughed hysterically.  I never failed to laugh
hysterically.  It never, ever got less funny!  I still get
tears in my eyes with laughter thinking about it.  If I told
people about it, they didn't believe me until they saw it
for themselves.  There was no other word that would do,
but Peekaboo.  Anything else that sounded similar, would
make her sneak a look, but she knew when I was trying
to fool her.  Never could!  Go figure.

--tension