Many hands may make light work, but many feet can foil progress infinitely.
Spelunker is having an off footed day.
Two Faced, the diminutive tortoise shell refugee from a drug home whose face is half orange, half black, was not quite in the right spot to slip into the bathroom with me this morning, so soon after I was firmly seated, she launched her 2.4 pound body against the door repeatedly until she managed to bang the door open and entered. As the cold hall air hit my bare leg, I swung it shut, right in Spelunker's face, apparently. Reaching up to his full height, he leaned his massive 11.4 pound body against it, slamming it back against the bath tub, then entered with dignity.
I leaned over and roughed up his freshly groomed coat as my other hand swung the door shut. Turning his head with disdain, he stalked back to the door and inverted his body over his head, flipping himself completely over in a complicated maneuver he learned as a kitten while playing, landing head toward the sink.
One paw, his two-toned 'flipping' paw, slipped deftly under the crack, hooking it toward him. Nothing. He tried again, repeating the body flip and all. I began to laugh. His ears flattened. Removing his white foot from its anchor spot on the door, he gave up.
He began sniffing the crack between the cabinet doors. He flipped, using both front paws to try to draw the front edge of the cabinet toward him. A few inches up, the doors end.
Giving up, he stretched his full length along the crack, pawing at the top of one door while his white "anchor" foot firmly pressed it in place.
I opened the door and he fluffed his fur as he exited, his nose definitely out of joint.