He’s a tightly-coiled spring, waiting to pounce. He sits in the darkness knowing that his time will soon come.
He hears footsteps approach and hunkers down into his corner, his eyes seeking out the sliver of light that is his cue to move. His heart speeds up; he understands how much is relying on his split-second timing.
There’s almost imperceptible squeak, and a stream of light pouring into his box. He leaps, arms stretched wide. He reaches out for his target, hissing in frustration as he misses by millimeters.
“Again, Mummy!” says the voice. “Make the Jack-in-the-box go again!”