On the counter in my office I keep a small pile of twist ties, the kind you tie around wires to keep them from becoming unruly during shipping. I have since replaced most of these ties with Velcro wraps where I’ve needed them, so I suppose that I should be rid of them, but every so often Berta has the need for one, or their unique nature leads to a specific useful result like ejecting a stuck CD drive.
In any case, I keep this pile of twist ties on the counter between my synthesizer keyboard and my scanner.
Phobos, the gray of the two kittens we acquired last year, frequently visits my office. He does not visit me, for that is not the cat way, but he does come in my office to review what he’s forgotten about the vast territory available to him in our house. There is a shadowy spot behind the synthesizer, under a shelf where I store an old toaster-looking NAS appliance, where he occasionally likes to curl up and nap. Recently though, he’s taken to a completely different activity when he visits.
Phobos has been seeking out twist ties. I don’t know why. When he enters my office, he now jumps directly to the spot where I keep the small pile of ties, roots through them, picks one up in his mouth, and then leaves my office.
I don’t know what he wants with them. Perhaps he chews on them. I don’t know.
Over the last few weeks my twist tie supply has dwindled down to nothing. Phobos has taken nearly every twist tie I had and redistributed them around the house. It’s most likely that the bulk of them have been batted under the basement door, where he finds some mild momentary amusement reaching his forepaws ineffectually under the door before returning to my office for another tie.
Now that the twist tie supply is scarce, Phobos is removing other things from my counter. You must realize that if I am keeping a pile of twist ties out in the open on my counter, then there must be any number of good wiry things that are just sitting around, ready to be knocked about by cats.
I recently saw Phobos leaving my office with a pair of iPod headphones in his mouth.
A moment ago, I caught him rooting around again, pushing a stack of loose burned CDs onto the floor. There was a white twist tie that he wanted, but he couldn’t orient his head to pick it up without tossing the CDs aside, and stepping on several buttons of the remote control for the satellite receiver, including “power” and “volume up”. After restoring peace, I handed him the twist tie he wanted, and he promptly left my office.
He has since returned, and is now standing on the scanner, smelling the USB port. His brother, Deimos, conspicuously smells the counter where the pile of twist ties used to be.
