When They Are Good

To paraphrase an old nursery rhyme -

When they are good, they are very, very good.

And when they are bad, they are horrid.

I had such a happy little girl cat this afternoon. For some strange reason I decided to take all my clothes out of the closet, re-install the double clothes rod, and rearrange the shoe racks. Along about mid-way through - when I had a floor full of shoes and empty clothes hangers - I stepped back into the closet and heard the loudest purring you can imagine. Scout was lying under the row of suit jackets I had just hung on the lower rack, purring her little heart out. Nothing she likes better than a big to-do in progress with lots of opportunities for cat meddling. She has prowled and commented and napped and then prowled some more. Even after I was finished, she would step inside the closet and look around with utter satisfaction. I'm thinking in a past life she must have been an Imelda Marcos type.

Now, what I can't figure out is why I can't fit everything back into the closet, even with an extra rod and a big pile of items culled out for the thrift store.

LSW

P.S. The cat condo they are sleeping on is on its last legs. During their horrid stages, they zoom to the top, causing the thing to weave back and forth and shudder in protest. There are pieces hanging by a mangled bolt and the whole thing is slightly cockeyed. I'm getting ready to move it to the garage out of sight. They may have a collective hissy fit and insist I buy them a new one. Cat divas. Can't live with them, can't live without them. Well, I could, but life would be awfully dull.