I spent a couple hours yesterday cleaning out/cleaning up my work area in the basement. It was cluttered with plastic bins of beads and wire and other jewelry ingredients…recycled paper tags that I made but I’m not happy with how they came out, so I’ll be adding them to the next batch of paper pulp…scraps of fabric from my recent and future sewing projects…accumulated stuff that needs to be put away.
You know, the usual sort of mess.
Anyway, I was about halfway through the project, starting to sort out what I wanted to keep handy and what could get packed up and put on a shelf for now. I have these canvas-on-wire bins that are nice and deep – I store projects-in-the-works in them…one has tissue paper and packaging supplies for shipping Etsy stuff…another has denim – just denim – salvaged from old jeans – which will become something at some point. I’d stacked a few bins inside each other while I sorted through fabric, and suddenly I heard a sort of whump sound.
Scratchy.Like the rest of his breed, he cannot, cannot, leave an empty container alone. Empty paper bag…empty tote bag…empty suitcase…empty box…empty canvas bin.
And Scratchy is so…
fat solid…that getting him out of whatever container he is in requires both my arms, tightened abs, and strong legs. I swear he wills himself to weigh five times his normal weight in situations like this.
I can’t get out of here yet – I’m not finished with my inspection.
Rather than risk pulling a muscle, I just left him alone, figuring that eventually he would get hungry and have to go upstairs in search of food. He gets hungry roughly every 3.1 minutes, so I knew it would be soon.
Finally he hopped out and I was able to finish the rest of my reorganization.
He came back later and, though disappointed that there were no more empty bins to inspect, seemed to approve of my organizational efforts.