Tuesday, September 21, 2010

The Q-tip chronicles

My fiesty kitty Gunnar has discovered Q-tips. He thinks they are the best thing ever. So every morning he sneaks in my bathroom when I'm getting ready and steals a Q-tip out of the box and plays with it. He'll flip them around, pin them, hold them between his paws and kick and bite at them, bat them across the floor, etc. He has a ball. Only, I'm worried that he might eat the cotton ball on the end, or even the stick, so I take them away from him. I had sealed up the box well so he couldn't get into it, but he figured out that if you press down on the box's center tab, he can get them out.

For a few days his stealing Q-tips was cute. Then, it became burdensome. I'm trying to get ready for work, I don't have time to babysit this crazy cat while he wastes perfectly good Q-tips. So, I put the Q-tips on the counter, where he couldn't get them.

This morning I was extra sluggish. I had already brushed my teeth but came back to get dressed. I look in the bathroom and see the an explosion of my pink Q-tips all over the bathroom and Gunnar sitting on the toilet lid, reaching over to the counter to knock whatever else was left on the counter to the floor. (And I wonder why I can't find my hair cream or eye gel in the morning!).

Not really wanting to deal with this, I pick all the Q-tips up and throw them out. I scoop up the box and notice it's completely wet. The toilet is closed so I don't even want to know how it got wet. I put the Q-tip box up even more out of kitty reach and go back to hunting for pants that fit.

The next time I glance in the direction of the bathroom, this is what I see:


(Please excuse the blurriness. My cell has the worst camera phone ever).

Gunnar has knocked over the trash cans and is digging out the Q-tips.

He will stop at nothing to get his morning fix of Q-tips.

I pick him out and toss him out of the bathroom (Jazzy Jeff style).

Crazy cat, I do not have time for this. Now, I'm running late for work.

Update: Gunnar continued the craziness by throwing up a fist-size pile as soon as I got home from work.

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