I have come to the conclusion that my cat is an asshole. Yet, for some reason, I still love the hairy little bastard. What does that say about me?
I have to hide my ponytail holders from him. Yes, actually HIDE them. If I don't, he will steal them and promptly lose them under the nearest large appliance (fridge, washer, dryer, etc.). I shudder to think how many of the damn things are now collecting dust bunnies under my major appliances. You'd think they would be safe in a drawer in the bathroom. You'd be wrong. Oh so very wrong. He has mastered the art of opening drawers with the express purpose of absconding with my hair accessories. He has gotten quite good at it, actually. He is an evil genius. I have taken to keeping them in an antique dresser in my bedroom. The drawers on this sucker are sometimes difficult for me to open, so I know he won't be able to open them. Let me rephrase that - he hasn't figured out how to open them yet.
He knows that I keep them in there. Whenever I go to get one, or put one away, he is always there... watching... waiting... plotting...
He also likes to eat paper. If I leave any papers on the table or counter (especially important ones), he enjoys shredding himself a light snack. My husband says he is just a violent reader. I'm not buying it. He's just an asshole (the cat, not my husband).