Friday, March 23, 2018
My cat lives inside the couch. He'd made a home for himself already in the blue loveseat upstairs which we had to mend with black upholstery material Sean happened to have on hand, along with a nail gun. I didn't realize he'd done the same thing with the big couch downstairs until this morning when I heard and, rather, felt him scrambling around inside of it. What he does is tear a hole in the underside of the couch and then crawls up there in his little cat cave. He usually stays still but maybe he has more room with the larger gray couch. Whatever the case, all i know is I'm sitting on it, bouncing around like a fool because this psychotic feline enters a world he thinks no one knows about and lives to be its conqueror. I find myself start to pound on it from the outside-- "get outta there!" As if. And I know that if I feel around with my hands, on the outside, he'll send the claws straight out. He's out of his mind. I just hope he's not also a hoarder. A pack cat, if you will.