Overnight I have discovered that the two-legs have names, as, apparently, do I. They also have some very strange ideas about what constitutes a proper bed. Me, I’m quite happy with a bit of floor. A bit of floor of my choosing, I might add. They, however, think I should be sleeping in that thing in the photo.
Yeah, right, is all I can say.
It’s all very nice and all, and I’m quite happy eating in it, or padding in and out for a drink. And ripping my bed up is great fun, although apparently that’s not on the approved list of activities either.
I just fail to see why the door should be shut. I mean, what if I want to get out? Particularly as I keep hearing them talk about “crate training”. If that crate isn’t trained to let me out when I want, I’m not going in it, quite frankly. It’s a health and safety nightmare.
I gather that they’re going to spend some time working on this “crate training” over the next couple of days. Let’s hope they get it sorted out, then I might be prepared to be shut in it again. I don’t want to be fussy, but there are limits.