Outsmarted. By a fuzzbutt. Again.
Dec. 17th, 2011 11:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceSo for the last don't-know-how-many days, I have been mutely suffering the attentions of a sock-thief: every night bar one, a single yesterday's sock has mysteriously vanished from my bedroom floor, to be rediscovered in the middle of the living-room floor downstairs. (On the single other occasion, it was both socks. Two trips? A double mouthful? Two cats working together? Don't ask me.)
Last night, I thought, "Hah, little cat-burglar: I will fool you!" And I hid yesterday's socks beneath my jeans. (Why yes, it would have been much easier just to toss them into the laundry-basket where they belong. That's not the point.)
And dragged myself out of bed this morning, and peered beneath the trouser, and behold: both socks, still in situ.
Triumphantly, I tossed them into the laundry basket and carried on. Bathroom, computer, internet. Kitchen, coffee. Living-room - oh.
One sock. In the middle of the floor.
I have no idea how he managed that. I don't know where it came from; I don't know if he has a secret stash stored up against this very occasion, or what.
Also, I don't know which cat it is. Barry doesn't show up in the bedroom until he's ready for some serious sleeping, at which point he just curls up by my left shoulder and turns into a cannonball: so it's not him. But Mac comes in with me at bedtime and we play String until he is victorious, at which point he drags his victim away and goes off about his lawless occasions, and I don't see him again until he's ready for a cuddle under the covers. So it's not him either. Maybe it's the dreaded Third Alternative. Either that, or their night-lives are more complicated than I know. But I don't see how that can be, given that I'm awake for so much of the night at the moment; they're asleep before I am, and still there when I wake up, so...
In other news, more sleeping would be nice.
In the same news, I don't remember the last time I was routinely popping painkillers last thing at night and first thing in the morning, and I wish I wasn't doing it now. Grr. Don't know if it's all this work I'm doing, or generic stress or what: but grrr. With an extra r.
Last night, I thought, "Hah, little cat-burglar: I will fool you!" And I hid yesterday's socks beneath my jeans. (Why yes, it would have been much easier just to toss them into the laundry-basket where they belong. That's not the point.)
And dragged myself out of bed this morning, and peered beneath the trouser, and behold: both socks, still in situ.
Triumphantly, I tossed them into the laundry basket and carried on. Bathroom, computer, internet. Kitchen, coffee. Living-room - oh.
One sock. In the middle of the floor.
I have no idea how he managed that. I don't know where it came from; I don't know if he has a secret stash stored up against this very occasion, or what.
Also, I don't know which cat it is. Barry doesn't show up in the bedroom until he's ready for some serious sleeping, at which point he just curls up by my left shoulder and turns into a cannonball: so it's not him. But Mac comes in with me at bedtime and we play String until he is victorious, at which point he drags his victim away and goes off about his lawless occasions, and I don't see him again until he's ready for a cuddle under the covers. So it's not him either. Maybe it's the dreaded Third Alternative. Either that, or their night-lives are more complicated than I know. But I don't see how that can be, given that I'm awake for so much of the night at the moment; they're asleep before I am, and still there when I wake up, so...
In other news, more sleeping would be nice.
In the same news, I don't remember the last time I was routinely popping painkillers last thing at night and first thing in the morning, and I wish I wasn't doing it now. Grr. Don't know if it's all this work I'm doing, or generic stress or what: but grrr. With an extra r.