When I got home the other day, the rug that is normally by the front door was tousled, upside down, crumpled up in the middle of the living room. The curtains were swung out and flayed haphazardly across the cushions of the sofa. Cat toys peppered the floor from the kitchen to the hallway.
What could possibly have happened here? An intruder? A home invasion? A wayward criminal? A tussle?
No. Nothing so dramatic.
Perched in all his misbehaving glory in the center of the coffee table was Sylvester, his large, fluffy tail wrapped around his ample body like a cape, reigning over his chaotic empire. I am not certain, but I think he was smiling at me.
Gary and I straigthened up the room, and he offered one more time to me the advice to open the front door and let Sylvester play in traffic.
Is a well-behaved cat too much to ask for?!