We’ve all been there, right? You spend hours, maybe even an entire weekend, meticulously arranging furniture, fluffing pillows, and placing that perfect candle on the coffee table. You step back, admiring your handiwork, only to have your cat saunter in, look at you with an air of disdain, and proceed to immediately knock over the candle, shred a pillow, and use your new rug as a scratching post.
The Case of the Disappearing Plant (and Other Cat-Related Decorating Disasters)
Case in point: just last week, I decided to channel my inner plant parent and bought a gorgeous fiddle leaf fig. I’d heard they were finicky, but I was determined. I found the perfect spot, bathed it in indirect sunlight, even whispered words of encouragement (don’t judge). I was so proud of myself!
Enter Mr. Whiskers, my feline overlord, who took one look at the new addition, casually strolled over, and proceeded to use the pot as a litter box. My dreams of a verdant paradise came crashing down faster than you can say “hairball.”
You know how some people have gallery walls? Beautiful arrangements of framed art and photographs? Well, I have the feline equivalent: a towering wall of precariously balanced cardboard boxes.
See, Mr. Whiskers has this thing about boxes. Any box will do: Amazon deliveries, shoeboxes, cereal boxes – you name it, he’s claimed it as his own personal fort. My attempts to introduce any sort of aesthetically pleasing storage solutions have been met with a disdainful flick of the tail and a pointedly placed hairball.
I’ve learned to embrace the chaos (mostly). My home may not be featured in Architectural Digest anytime soon, but hey, at least my cat is happy. And isn’t that what really matters? (Don’t answer that.)