Maddie sleeps in a kennel. It's her spot, and she actually likes it very much, judging by her enthusiasm to sleep in there, and her hopping in there if she wants to hide.
But, this morning, this is what I was greeted with at the bottom of the loft ladder:
And this was what her bed looked like:
I think she must have gathered up every spare piece of paper she could find, herded them all to her bed, and shredded them. Nothing of value lost (we know better than that), though we will need to talk to the dear people at Costco to make them take back one of the cushions that is now tagless (we were already going to return it, and now, well, it has the plastic ring part, but no cardboard tag attached).
Overall, she seemed very pleased with herself, like she knew maybe she had done something wrong, but that it must have been blessed by us because we were the ones who left her door open.
But the poor cats. Maddie tends to leave Paddington and Frankie alone, but Rumpole rarely gets a break. It's his fault for always voluntarily wrestling with her; now she just doesn't know he doesn't ALWAYS want to play.
At night though, it must have been a different story. WIRED doggie, completely jazzed and on a kicky high that she's out of her kennel. She must have tormented them last night, because this morning, all the cats were perched in high places.
I found a pathetic-looking Paddington in the closet on top of the dresser:
I found a horrified-looking Rumpole on top of the coffee table (in a spot not as easily reachable by the dog):
And I found an exhausted-looking Frankie on top a chair in the dining room (ignore the dirt; it's right next to the back door and it's been raining):