One of the many things I like about cats is their nonchalance. They just blithely take over things and don’t care. Clean laundry? Perfect! Your favorite spot to sit? Occupied. Right in the middle of the stairs where you nearly trip and tumble down the last half? Meh. Almost the entirety of the bed? Why not. They have an uncanny way of either sprawling themselves out or shrinking themselves down, depending upon where they choose to be at the time. I have discovered ours snoozing in sinks, watching the birds somehow IN the skylights of our ceiling and once, peeking out of our empty crock pot. I remember I had a girlfriend watch my cats one time when I was on a trip with my mother and she kept freaking out because every time she came in the house was different. Little things had been moved (whatever the cats decided to carry off and/or bat around) and she would find varying cabinets open almost every day. I tried to explain to her that was simply the nature of the cat. The English author Terry Pratchett once said, “In ancient times cats were worshipped as gods; they have not forgotten this.” My husband, who did not grow up with cats, has been fascinated with studying them in the ten years we have been married. One of the things he has graciously come to accept … from his socks to his newspaper to his water — is cat appropriation.