Last week my sister gave me two big bags of shredded paper from where she works. You know, so I can make my papery snowflakes and things.
Big bags.
BIG bags.
I left one in the back of the car, and brought the other one inside.
And within oh, nanoseconds, Scratchy had claimed it as his own.
Have I told you that he likes plastic? Plastic bags? Yeah. He chews on them. It's pretty gross, actually. It's like he's teething and somehow plastic bags are soothing to his puffy gums.
Only he's not teething. He just...likes to chew on plastic. He doesn't eat it, either. Just...chews. And I shoo him away and pick up whatever he's been mouthing, and it's usually wet and...well, it's just icky.
So this? This was like a humongous gift from my sister. He's never even SEEN a plastic bag that big! And not only that, it's got lots of...of crinkly crunchy wiggly things to play with, all stuffed inside!
And now I have to keep the big bag o' shreddings locked in a room, because if Scratchy has the opportunity, he's on the bag, chewing, digging holes in the plastic, and trembling with joy.
Yesterday I was making a big batch of paper slurry for more snowflakes and things, and so I kind of HAD to have the bag out in the kitchen. I left the room for a moment, and, of course, Scratchy was on the bag in an instant.
PLAY TIME!!!
Mysterious invisible critters were inside, apparently, because he would pounce and pat at them with his paws, then regroup, choose another spot, and pounce and pat some more.
I'd try to shoo him away, just to keep the holes in the plastic at a minimum, but he does this thing whenever he's claimed a spot and doesn't want to budge, where he sort of wiggles down into place and magically makes himself twenty times heavier than he already is. Kind of like "Oh yeah? Well just try and push me away NOW, weakling human girl!"
Of course, I have my own magic, which involves determination and a good (but gentle and loving) shove. That works. Temporarily.
