A boy and a hockey stick

This morning, Robbie was playing with a mini hockey stick. First, he built block cities and used the hockey stick to wipe them out as quickly as he'd built them.

Then, he put on a most enjoyable concert from the base of the fireplace, wildly strumming the imaginary strings of his makeshift guitar.

Then the stick became a putter as he attempted to make par with a pair of rolled up sweatsocks. All of which amused me and made me delight in his 5-year-old imagination.

Until...

He slipped the hockey stick down into the leg of his pajamas, with the blade end of the stick resting against his hip. He put his hand on the blade, holding it as a sheriff might hang onto a gun in its holster.

"Robbie, what are you doing?" I asked.

"Quiet Mom," he said looking at me with perfect determination in his eyes. "I'm goin' on a catshoot."

Quick! Somebody hide the cat!