Provoking others, after all, is great fun. Even a cat such as myself will, on occasion, take pleasure in provoking the young ladies of the household. It's only natural, then, that the gentlemen of Rakuunkan should seek to provoke my none-too-brilliant master Kushami. The master alone, it's safe to say, takes exception to this arrangement. The psychology of provocation can be broken down into two key elements. First of all, the target of provocation must demonstrate due reaction. Secondly, the provoking party must, by force or by numbers, outpower the object of provokation. The other day, for example, the master returned from the zoological gardens in great excitement. He'd witnessed an entralling altercation, as he told it, between a small dog and a camel. The small dog, barking up a frenzy, had raced round the camel like a whirlwind. The camel, for its part, took not the least notice. It stood there stock still, lump and all fixed in place. The dog went wild, yapping for all it was worth, all to no avail. In the end, it tired and called it quits. The master had a good chuckle over the apathetic nature of camels, but here we have a case in point. Even the best of provocations is lost on such as a camel. That being said, too strong a reaction is also no good. A lion or a tiger, for example, at the slightest provocation will rip one to shreds. In the ideal provocation, the provoked party will bare its teeth in anger, yet however angry it gets, have no real power to inflict harm. There are various reasons why the provoking party finds this amusing. For one thing, it spices up a dull day. A man will resort to counting the whiskers on his own face to alleviate boredom. They say that a certain prisoner, in former times, occupied his days scribing row upon row of triangles down the walls of his cell.