“So,” my dad tells me, “I’d been in the kitchen scrubbing the stove. And I stepped back into the living room, and the front door was standing wide open, and the cats were coming and going at will.”

Minutes later, he opens door to the garage, and in darts one skinny, perturbed black cat. We shake our heads and laugh.

“Not only that,” he says, “but after I closed the door and went back to working in the kitchen, next time I stepped into the living room, no one was there. But I heard giggling in the bedroom, and sure enough, there was Acorn, turning somersaults and doing headstands on the bed.  Opened the door and closed it behind him, the little rat.”

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