Both my cats, litter-mates, are incredibly curious. More than that, they are downright nosey. I've often tried to explain to them about curiosity and the cat, but they don't listen.
Past exploits have included Isabelle being shut in the wardrobe, and getting shut in the loft on another occasion, and once she got shut in a bedroom on the day we went off on holiday (but was fortunately rescued by my friend S who visited to feed them). Washburn has tried to get in the Ocado van and someone elses boot, and he once got shut in somewhere all day and most of the night. The list goes on. And on. And on.
One of the things they find particularly irresistible is boxes. Any box. They have to get in it. Sometimes it takes them ages to work out how to do it, especially if the box is partially closed, or has something in.
Anyway. This morning, Wash didn't come in for his breakfast. This is such a rare occurrence, it usually means he's got trapped somewhere (and once it meant he's been hit by a car and was lying injured by the side of a road); we try not to panic until he's an hour late.
At about half-past breakfast, DH called me upstairs. I looked into our small bedroom, where there is a large box suitable for packing a tailors dummy. The box was wobbling. A lot. Then a cat's paw appeared.
Wash had been able to jump into the box, but the flaps had closed behind him and he couldn't get out.
Silly boy.
Past exploits have included Isabelle being shut in the wardrobe, and getting shut in the loft on another occasion, and once she got shut in a bedroom on the day we went off on holiday (but was fortunately rescued by my friend S who visited to feed them). Washburn has tried to get in the Ocado van and someone elses boot, and he once got shut in somewhere all day and most of the night. The list goes on. And on. And on.
One of the things they find particularly irresistible is boxes. Any box. They have to get in it. Sometimes it takes them ages to work out how to do it, especially if the box is partially closed, or has something in.
Anyway. This morning, Wash didn't come in for his breakfast. This is such a rare occurrence, it usually means he's got trapped somewhere (and once it meant he's been hit by a car and was lying injured by the side of a road); we try not to panic until he's an hour late.
At about half-past breakfast, DH called me upstairs. I looked into our small bedroom, where there is a large box suitable for packing a tailors dummy. The box was wobbling. A lot. Then a cat's paw appeared.
Wash had been able to jump into the box, but the flaps had closed behind him and he couldn't get out.
Silly boy.
