The clearing had become his secret place, away from his siblings’ teasing, away from expectations. Just him and the old terminal he’d dragged there himself.
Young Fluffy had failed again that morning. Another missed pounce. Another mouse escaped. His siblings had laughed.
“Too slow, Fluffy. Too clumsy.”
But sitting there in the dappled sunlight, paws hovering over the keys, he felt something different. Here, he could try as many times as he needed. No one is watching. No one is judging.
The machine was strange. Three numbers at a time. That’s all it understood.
“What if...” he whispered to himself, “what if I could teach the machine to pounce?”
It was his first real program. The code was messy. Awkward. Just like his hunting. But it was his.
“I’ll get it right,” young Fluffy murmured, determination flickering in his eyes. “Even if it takes a hundred tries.”