A short peek into my head. You've been warned.
Pretty much every day after work, I experience this chain of events:
I go upstairs to change into comfy clothes, walk past the spare bedroom, stop, walk back to the spare bedroom and look inside. Huh, I think, every.single.time. I know I closed that closet door. So, like any logical person, I grab the closest thing to a weapon I can find, usually a roll of wrapping paper, tip toe over to the closet and slowly open the door the rest of the way - only to find nothing. Because nothing could fit in that closet around all of my craft supplies. My heart starts slowing down; I start breathing normally. And then I remember! The damn outdoor cats, the ones that spend more time indoors nowadays (when and how did that happen?!), can open the closet doors! Whew. I am not being burglarized by a tiny gnome. Or elf. (You know, something small, to fit around my craft supplies.) It's just those pesky cats, again.
This wouldn't even be worth mentioning if it didn't happen every day. At some point, I should make the link between the open door and the cats without the whole wrapping paper weapon business, right? We'll see what happens when I get home from work tonight.