If Bluebeard had a cat

Usually the munchkins are interested in one thing, and one thing only, come seven o'clock in the evening. But last night as I came in, cautiously as I do, with a dish of food in each hand, crouched over, using hands and one foot as barricade between them and the Greater Beyond, Kai took advantage of the basic powerlessness of my situation: if he were to run, what could I do, really, with one more kitten to keep an eye on, and hands full of dinner? Ask him to come back nicely?

I put the food down, shut the door on placid munching Meera, and set out to find the troublesome renegade. Of course he'd shot, head low and tail streaming, for the only room he's not allowed in, my bedroom (it's not kitten-proof yet). And of course he went directly under the bed, the only spot I don't vaccuum regularly. And of course Brat had to shuffle in at precisely that moment.

Brat smelled intruder. He froze...('Waaaait a minute,' I could hear the slow wheels turning. 'Isn't this room my safe haven? My sweet den of comfort? My port in the storm? Mine and mine alone?') But Old Man chooses his battles wisely. He turned, shuffled back to the living room, and presto! Cat-conflict avoided.

Return to the adventurer. Knowing what I know, I gave him ten more seconds max to get impatient and come sniffing back out. I meeean, this room is chock-full of exciting space. And there's a huge hidey hole of a closet! (If it had been Meera, I'd still be waiting, cooing, with dusty knees, an open can of tuna, and three of her favorite toys.) So I started to count. Out loud. 1...2...3... On 7, there was movement under the lace bed skirt, and Kai came trotting out, trailing dust bunnies and cobwebs and shaking string off his paws.

Simple as that, I scooped him up, gave him a chin rub, and popped him back in with his sister.

Scamp.