Toeffe snuck past me into the garage tonight while I was doing laundry. I don't actually mind, but Ken doesn't like the pawprints on his car. (I think they're kind of cute.) Anyway, I grumbled and went after Toeffe and hauled him back inside. "You," I informed him, "are a bad cat. Do you know what happens to bad cats around here?"
"They get tuna? And bellyrubs? And they sleep on the bed?" Ken guessed from the kitchen.