Cat Containment

Every ten years or so, I have to baby-proof the house.  Twenty-plus years ago it was for Kaileigh, the smiling baby who honestly never got into much.  Ten-plus years ago it was for the twins.  We lived in houses with stairs, so I had to install gates to keep them from tumbling down.  As you might imagine, the girls were fine, but more than once I tripped over the bottom of the gate mechanism and almost fell to my death.  Maybe you can't imagine that, but take my word for it.

I thought I was done with the proofing.  I was just starting to think about containment of teenagers (they both have second story bedrooms, with window access to the roof).  Maybe I'm thinking too much like a boy.  I can totally see the late night egress and entrance possibilities.  Earlier this year, just to be ready, I installed motion-sensor floodlights on the roof pointed toward their windows.  So far, the girls have not set them off.  But on at least three occasions, they have scared the living crap out of squirrels.  One time, literally.

"Dad, why is there a dead squirrel on the front porch?"

"I don't know. Suicide?"

"Dad, what was that bright light shining through my window last night?"

"Um, maybe it was the little squirrel's soul going up to squirrel heaven?"

"Dad, we are Unitarians.  I don't think we believe in squirrel heaven."

I changed the subject before they realized that technically, by biblical standards (from my limited understanding), suicide would actually send the creature to squirrel hell.  No trees, lots of acorn shells with nothing inside.  Full of really fast dogs who can climb trees (if there were any trees, which there aren't in squirrel hell).

But this is keeping them safe from the outside world, not from the dangers lurking in the house.  Since 2004 (when they turned three), we put the poison back under the sink, mixed the bleach with the ammonia, and removed all of the "Mr. Yuck" stickers from everything.  We lived a carefree existence where cabinets could be opened at will, plugs didn't need plug-ins, and no part of the house had to be physically separated by gates, barriers, sandbags, or security guards.

Then we got cats.  Very curious cats.  Cats who enjoy shredding toilet paper.  And knocking over large glass things.  And getting in the dryer undetected (long story with a happy ending).  And cats who:
1) jumped onto the bathroom sink counter, and
2) used their paws to unscrew the bathroom sink stopper, and
3) knocked the stopper out of the sink and down the hall, and
[here is where it goes from simple cat fun to clear intent to wreak havoc]
4) scooped Jill's jewelry from the small container next to the sink into the sink, where it fell past where the stopper would normally keep it from going down the drain (thus the name "stopper") and down into the bowels of the pipe (though bowels is the wrong term for the sink pipe).

So, we packed away all of the glass.  Re-separated the bleach and ammonia.  Close the bathroom doors.  Set up a system to electrify the counters at night.  Jill switched to massive plastic jewelry that won't fit down the sink.  We replaced toilet paper with bidets.  Put "Mr. Meow" stickers on everything. And double-check the dryer before turning it on (trust me - that one had a happy ending.  Or at least a not tragic one).