>This is Kiddo. Kiddo is unhappy. Kiddo is unhappy because I was unhappy that Kiddo was eating the baseboards and chewing on the drywall in the bathroom. Which also made Eric unhappy because, well, it’s his house.
I had reservations about the color of his exercise ball…looking at the world through fluorescent magenta rather than rose-colored plastic might make him erratic and perhaps cause him to lapse into a coma.
I took him downstairs to show Zoe this critter in his basketball-sized contraption (ensuring that she was in no way within kicking range…she’s 2…). Zoe and parents were in their room, as well as a 21-year old curmudgeonly never-gonna-die cat who, upon seeing this rat-like creature in a fiery red orb, began this low howling-growling business I have heard neither before nor since. Kiddo just chewed on the ball.
Took him back upstairs, making certain that I closed the door behind me. (thunk-a-thunk-a-thunk…); set him on the floor. Went to work on steampunk projects.
And he…just kinda…sat there.
Chewed on the sides a bit.
Turned around.
Took a shit.
And just kinda—sat there.
I realized he might need some tutelage.
As I was unable to personally demonstrate the purpose of his globe-like prison, my only choice was to roll him a bit to get him started. He didn’t quite get it. After several attempts which resulted in him remaining perfectly still while his rump rolled up the backside, I realized this was just one of those things he was going to have to work out on his own. After I arrived at this conclusion, I went back to work.
And…he just…sat there.
And chewed.
After a time I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye. He had figured out how to loll about. He seemed excited. And befuddled. Or, considering his condition, be-bubbled.
He also didn’t appreciate the photo shoot he had suddenly become a victim of. Bright flashes of light coming through magenta skylights…that’s f*cked up.
Thud.
The door! He had rolled into the door. He was getting it, by god. Of course, due to the extended amount of time he was spending in it (I spent $23 on the goddamned thing…he was going to learn to use it) he had made several deposits that made a pleasant rattling sound as he lolled about.
He eventually made his way to the bathroom which mercifully had hard floors which helped facilitate his movement. Recognizing where he was, he made his way to his favorite baseboard-chewing spot and despite the obvious barrier to his goal he began chewing on aforementioned barrier, I suppose to eventually work his way through to his chinchilla rendition of crack.
He is as of yet unsuccessful.
As horrid as it sounds, I did imagine what it would look like if he did make his way through the doors and down the (fortunately) carpeted stairs. It’d look like a Looney Tunes skit in my mind. Of course, the floors at the bottom of said stairs are hardwood so the nightmare wouldn’t end there. If he rolled just right he’d find himself careening down yet another flight of stairs, these being not-so-carpeted and inertia would be high.

Voulez-voulez vous thunk-a-thunk-a-thunk…