I don’t want to be dramatic, but I’m pretty sure my cats are trying to kill me. First Helen throws her tail right under my foot trying to trip me, then Jack and Janet take naps stretched out across the steps and Chrissy sneaks up and stands right between my feet when I’m brushing my teeth so that I either jump, fall or both.
But nothing is as bad as the toys. Their toys are everywhere, and they particularly like to drag everything into my bathroom so they can make the most noise possible while we’re trying to sleep. It’s just darling.
I have here real, unretouched photos of everything I found on my bathroom floor just yesterday morning. You can see the precarious situation I’m trying to negotiate. Warning: this carnage may be disturbing to some people
Next to my sink:
In front of my sink
In my shower
Janet’s beloved weasel
That’s something, huh? Keep in mind these are just the toys in my bathroom on a single morning. Every room in our house has at least this many toys, not to mention tunnels and towers and cubes and real furniture they have now claimed as their own. And I guarantee you that there is a mouse waiting in the toes of at least half my shoes.
I can’t imagine how lovely it would be to just wake up every day with nice things, and nothing to do but eat and sleep. What do they know that we don’t? Then suddenly I remember…someone else had this same problem and got to the bottom of it. The wisdom of Steve Martin:
And now we know why they’re trying to kill me.