Pika! What are you doing on the table?"
Her usual response to my cat-on-the-table hysteria is to run because my hysteria is usually followed by my getting a squirt-bottle of water.
"I am not on the table you silly, loud, hysterical human. I am in a basket. Now go away. You are disturbing my nap."
So I went away--after moving the basket, cat and all, to the floor. I wanted to shake it before setting it down but restrained myself.
I went upstairs and found a huge mess in the bathroom. Kramer had delicatly plucked hundreds of fibers out of the rug. I was so astonished I forgot to take a picture but later took a picture of the garbage can after two hands full of plucked fibers were thrown away. I was up there later and he'd done it again.
The rug will soon be bald. I went downstairs to have a little talk with him. I couldn't bring myself to do it. He looked so forlorn, curled up--not on the beach towel but next to it. And as I turned to leave he made a tiny little dog pouffer and it drove me out of the room and out of the house and I have now applied for citizenship in pet-free countries.