Then there's our cats. Ralph, he pees. Right, I realize we all pee, sort of a necessary bodily function. But Ralph pees inappropriately, a result of his vet-diagnosed anxiety "issues". (Note: we've investigated the matter fully- there's nothing physically wrong with Ralph. He's just emotionally troubled.) And for some reason, he chose my Pottery Barn sofa as his ONE object of obsession, so we've taken to covering it with plastic, keeping Stanley Steamer on speed dial, and buying stock in Nature's Miracle. To hasten the eventual premature death of my sofa, George has decided the couch is his personal scratching post. Whyyyyyy? I have ONE piece of beautiful upholstered Pottery Barn goodness to my name. Whyyyyy must they ruin this for me? My mom and I, as we discussed this predicament for the 100th time, decided the couch had to go away for awhile. Remove the temptation for long enough to break the bad habits. So earlier today, I tipped it on end and shoved it between the bookshelf and the wall. HA! Try getting to my couch now, evil felines!
Yeah, nice try. An hour later I went downstairs, and then thought "hmmm...haven't seen George in awhile". Then I looked up. And there he was, smug and snug atop my sofa. He got up, stretched lazily, and then clawed at the arm of the couch as I stood there looking up at him in helpless frustration.
UNCLE. I give up. We'll just go all minimalist and not have furniture anymore. The couch would eventually have met its' demise anyway when Anderson discovers crayons.
Since we're on the animal topic, a shot of Anderson with his Mister Monkey. The look on his face makes me giggle. "Uh...mom....are you aware that there's a monkey on me? Help? Hulloh? Anybody?"