Foiled again

Mom has left her bedroom closet door tightly closed for the past two weeks now. At first I was sure it was just an innocent mistake, and she would soon see the error of her ways. It's just not right for one of my favorite potty ahem, PLAY, spots to be consistently out of reach.

So imagine my delight when she went into the back bedroom to drag out a furnace filter (because somewhere or other she heard the absolutely unfounded assertion that furnace filters should be replaced on a regular basis, even though they are SO PRETTY covered with soft black and white fur) and anyway, she left the CLOSET OPEN!!! (This is the same closet in which I performed much destruction, ahem, CONSTRUCTION earlier in the season).

I waited until Mom was safely out of earshot and I dove headlong into the room, and barrelled straight into my favorite corner. But something was missing. Gone were my carpet tufts and strips of material carefully gleaned from the ancient comforter. Also missing was my impressive pile of foam bits, and a spare chunk of weatherstripping.

But what shocked me most of ALL was the absence of my carefully deposited mounds of poop, ahem, "personal territory markers". None were left. Not ONE. There's one on the front porch caught in the spider's web, for goodness sake! But none in my very own sacred sanctum!

Well, there was just one thing to be done about it, and I think we all know what that is. So I hoisted myself up by my bunstraps and set to work redecorating. Mom hasn't seen the fruits of my labor yet. She's been too busy patting herself on the back for her newly "fresh and airy" bedroom. At the glacial rate Mom cleans, my efforts should go undetected for at least six months. Or until it's time to change the furnace filter again.