The heathen cats are toast. Just when you think you've reached detente, they throw down another gauntlet and the hostilities begin anew.
Someone - and I strongly suspect his initials are BOO - went into my closet night before last and pulled a half-dozen blouses and a skirt from their hangers. I found claw snags in two jackets - one that had been worn once and one that was brand new with tags still attached. One of my favorite blouses has a slit where he apparently hung a claw and had to pull loose.
If they were the slightest bit repentent, I might feel a bit forgiving. But now he's eyeing my new knitting project with a speculative eye that tells me he may go foraging in my knitting bag while I'm asleep at night.
Pure evil. Thy name is cat.