I think I should start blogging.... here's today's entry.
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I got up this morning and discovered that the cats had eaten the buttons off my fleece jacket. No, really – they did. Last night, I wore the jacket while I read and dropped it by the side of the bed when I turned off the lights. Yes, I know that I should hang things up when I am done wearing them. I am, however, 41 years old. No one is picking things up behind me and it’s my house. If I want to drop a jacket on the floor besides MY bed, and pick it up in the morning when I get up, who is harmed? Do I think that my husband will actually notice the jacket on the floor? I think we have an agreement – I turn a blind eye to the socks on his side of the bed, and he forgives the jacket. Likewise, I forgive the empty cans on his bed side table, and the fact that he stuffs the drawer of his nightstand with finished crossword puzzles rather than throwing them away and he forgives the two days worth of clothes that I throw onto the quilt rack rather than putting them away.
However, one or two out of four balls of fur feels otherwise. Somehow I offended them. When I pulled the fleece on this morning to guard against the chill of a Minnesota subzero winter, I discovered all three of the buttons down the front had been tampered with. One was gone altogether and the remaining two were mere fractions of what they had previously been. I discovered the pieces strewn across the floor on my side of the bed. I don’t believe that there was a strong enough cold draft across the floor to shatter three plastic buttons. I also don't believe that that cold would have left a fourth one – one that was hidden from view inside the collar – completely intact. Nor do I think that some burglar or my teenagers snuck in and smashed them. So, that leaves one or another of the fuzzy footed inhabitants of the house.
But why? I can’t imagine that the buttons were tasty, or particularly fun to play with once they were in sharp little pieces. In fact, I doubt that they played with them after the destruction as all the pieces were close by to the scene of the crime. Were they mad at me for not leaving the jacket on the bed or quilt rack; thus giving them a softer bed to lie upon? I doubt that too as none of the four have shown an interest in this particular fleece jacket. My heavy winter coat, particular quilts, the laundry and any piece of fabric that I am working with are generally their chosen spots during the daytime and I tend to find one on the hallway rug, one on the bathroom rug and two on various beds during the night. Those spots are interchangeable and switching them usually involves running at high speed across our bed and through other rooms. No, this fleece and that side of the bed haven’t been in high demand.
So, now I am protesting the situation. I am indeed wearing the fleece, but I have “buttoned” it closed with two large safety pins. These pins are the ones which I use when I lay out quilts. I do an inordinate amount of sewing. I have machines that will sew on buttons easily. However, these rotten little cats think that they own everything sewing related of mine. Any fabric or quilt laid upon the floor is theirs to plop upon, tables are not off limits when there is a fabric pile there and pins and bobbins are the best toys in the world. I cannot count the number of times that I’ve come home, or woken up to, a spool of thread wound around all the legs of all the chairs in the dining room.
I protest – I will wear this fleece jacket with safety pins holding it closed. I won’t give these darned cats the satisfaction of having to repair their damage. I am sure that they wound simply wait and destroy the buttons again. Last I checked, they don’t have opposable thumbs so they cannot undo the safety pins from the fleece and make off with them. Hah! I’ve thwarted them…. For now…
