"She's trying to fit into the box," my dad announces, laughing a little.
I wonder what he's talking about and I turn around to see my full-grown kitty sitting in, on, and spilling out of a box half her size. The box was not intended for her sitting. The cardboard thing says MELON because it held wonderful melon popsicles until an hour ago, when I ate the last one. Not that my kitty cares. As is the nature of many cats, she has a creative spirit about where she wants to lie down. Grocery bags. Magazines. On shelves. In cabinets. On one step of the stairmaster.
Sometimes it is an inconvenience. Like when I want to print something but there is a large, gray and furry ball of love resting comfortably and I cannot bring myself to disturb her. Or she's on my bed so I scrunch myself into a corner, letting her stay sprawled. After all, how can you remove a cat from your bed?
But I am an admirer. Because I could politely inform Kiwii that the box is for melon bars and not for felines. Or that if we shut the cabinet door she may be trapped inside amidst pots and pans in the dark indefinitely. But it wouldn't make any difference. She sits where she pleases.
"She fell out of the box," I hear, as my dad updates me on the status of things.
Well, it was a good try. | 
