My husband (yippee!) beat me home from work today as usual. If he finishes on time he tends to get to the dollhouse quite a while before me, but he docked at the mothership extra early today because he worked through all his coffee breaks. I guess in jobs where a person gets coffee breaks, missing them is cause for an early home time; it’s been years since I had a coffee break, so this experience is now beyond my grasp. At any rate, I arrived home to find my sweetie reclining in the coolness of the basement, scratching the dog behind the ear.
During the wait for my arrival, The Electrician fed Sherman and put him outside for a poop, and he also put some kibble down for the cat so Leroy would stop screaming at him. Some cats–only the really special ones–actually scream when they feel they are starving to death. Unfortunately, my sweetie also found our howling feline in a place he should never be.
At some point during the day, Leroy tucked himself snugly into our bed. I picture him with his furry head nestled into The Electrician’s pillow, because, of course, only The Electrician is allergic to him. The Electrician found him snoring away (prior to the hunger-screaming) and shooed the suddenly indignant kitty out of the bedroom.
Leroy is never allowed into the bedroom, and I am certain I would never forget to latch the door. In the early-morning pre-work dash about, I could not possibly have missed the final step of pulling the door shut until it latched, particularly, since I function best when I’m leaving at the last moment like I have been for the last few school days. I am way too much of a morning person to make an error in my pre-work routine: it’s simply not possible.
There is only one explanation for the cat hair on the duvet cover and The Electrician’s pillow case. The slowest cat in Edmonton has learned to operate doorknobs. They say still waters run deep, and there are no waters stiller than Leroy’s kitty mind. He’s breeding mosquitoes in there, folks. Somehow, he has been struck by inspiration and has mastered opening doors. This is particularly impressive since the dollhouse features original cut glass doorknobs that require a little extra oomph to turn.
I found him on the couch before dinner, snoozing, and I asked Leroy to explain just how exactly he managed to break and enter our bedroom while we were at work. I thought perhaps, cornered and faced with undeniable evidence, he would crumble and reveal his secrets.
The cat is a steel trap. He refused to respond save a hearty purr, and he gave no indication that he knew what I was talking about. I tried every interrogation tactic I know, but he stuck to his story: utter cluelessness.
Well played, Leroy. Well played. I may need to find a feline surveillance camera to solve this mystery.
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