Because they aren’t supposed to go in the fucking closet.
Because my sweaters are a thousand times more comfortable than actual cat beds made for cats.
Because one particular sweater, smeared with hair, smelling vaguely of urine, is the best place any cat has ever slept in cat history.
Because onetime a cat was about to dart into the closet and I sprayed him with water, so now he darts into the closet to undermine my authority.
Because the cat I sprayed with water has, as part of his plan to undermine my authority, convinced the other cats that darting into the closet is a good way to stick it to me for not giving them food at 4 a.m.
Because one cat peed in the closet, ages ago, and the others want to smell the ancient pee.
Because the cats still pee in the closet.
Because there’s an empty shoebox in the closet, and it’s good to go inside.
Because there’s an empty shoebox that looks good to go inside but is too small, and so the cats try again and again to go inside it, raucously, in the middle of the night.
Because there are long-lost cat toys in the closet.
Because there are rumors of long-lost cat toys in the closet.
Because there’s one particular long-lost cat toy covered in dust, between two shoes, that resembles a decomposing mouse, and the legend surrounding this ancient toy makes it superior to any other cat toy in cat history.
Because there’s an actual decomposing mouse in the closet.
Because there’s a decomposing cat in there, left by the previous owner.
Because there’s a decomposing cat to whom the cats ascribe ancient wisdom, such as knowledge of the best places to pee in secret and where to find freshly washed grapes and berries to knock onto the fucking floor.
Because there’s a conclave of cat spirits whose ongoing symposium provides answers to such puzzles as how to unravel an entire roll of toilet paper before accidentally sticking it in the filthy area behind the toilet; how to knock a toothbrush off the counter and then sort of paw it into the filthy area behind the toilet; and how to open the toilet lid in order to drink from the toilet with both front paws in there, getting totally wet, but under no circumstances to pee in the toilet afterwards and instead to pee in the sink.
Because the cats don’t go in the closet. The cat spirits go in the closet. If anything, the cats have been trying to defend me all these years from the cat spirits, who are evil.
Because the cats aren’t supposed to go in the closet. Is this the second time I’ve written that? Good. These are fucking cats we’re talking about.
