Evidently suffering from separation anxiety, Spelunker has taken to following Two faced into the bathroom. She generally accompanies me, slipping in and out when I do. She occupies my throne time by biting the metal tip of the bathtub drain, which she always knocks into the tub, rearranging so that it points upward for ease of chewing.
When I stop that, she reaches up the wall as far as she can, grabbing the vine of the rhododendron, which I read somewhere is poisonous to cats. She then chews on a leaf. If I don't lock them up overnight, she'll chew a new leaf on the one in the kitchen window or behind the north chair. I used to get a lot of reading done in the throne room.
Of course, the hall is chilly, so I shut the door. It has been very hard to latch from the inside. Spelunker, the avalanche specialist, has learned to bang his 11+ pounds into things to move them -- doors, off balance people, piles of books, clothes, machinery, and most lately, the kitchen cabinet doors.
There he found a treasure-house of toxic products to play with. He rambled through the cleaners under the sink while I was down at the mail box, getting both banned to the utility room yesterday. I let them out, and he immediately went to the door and began banging it. He turned an OPENED can of Ajax upside down. Then he tried to right it... By the time I got the computer, lap board and blanket off my lap, I had a pretty liberal coating on the linoleum.
I took the yard stick and ran it through all three handles. He'd gotten into the salad oils and crisco, but not tipped anything yet. I swatted him out before he got very creative. A quart or so of corn oil ought to have made a lovely floor covering with the Ajax mixed in. Home-made paste, anyone?
So, now he uses that oh, so talented front paw to let himself out of the bathroom. He BANG barges in; I lean forward and slam the door, which fails to latch, but closes. He watches Two Faced chase the drain plug, wiggle the vines, and decides to go occupy my chair before I get back out there. He flips his body up in the air, landing facing up, in the opposite direction, then sticks a paw under the crack, wiggling. Sometimes he does this at the hinge edge, but most of the time now, he uses the sink side.
He and Two Faced used to play one on each side of the door, chasing each other's paws, swinging the door back and forth before it got cold out. I guess this is more of a variation on a theme.
He knows he's in the dog house, so he's clinging even more. As I type, he climbed from his sleeping spot lying lengthwise along my legs stretched out on the support to curling up in front of me. That worked great when he was a kitten, but now he blocks a large percentage of the keyboard. I have a blanket that stops there, so he's burrowed down inside it.
That's actually a good thing. It keeps me from having to fish little white hairs off the keyboard.