So, the box from my microwave oven is still in my living space, even though the microwave is happily installed on the counter. The reason for this is I want to keep the box for when I move in April, and it's not the type to break down and reconstitute easily; nor is it of an appropriate size/shape to fit in any of the closets. So it sits behind my computer chair and collects newspapers and other flat detritus as sort of an ersatz coffee table. (The coffee, however, is usually in front of the computer chair.)
The box is sturdy enough that the cat can stand on it and the lid flaps will bow, but not collapse into the box, especially if there is an old copy of an alternative weekly tossed carelessly aside on top of it. The packing material inside is of a nature that it rustles and makes enticing noises when the flaps are bowed inward in this manner. This of course proves irresistible to Xiombarg, with the following result:
I'll hear her pawing at something papery, and turn around in time to see her tail disappearing into the box, as she succeeds in levering her weight onto one of the flaps enough so that she is gently tipped inside. That's my cue to move whatever papers are on top of the box, otherwise in a few minutes she will be miowing piteously that she can't get out - as the papers are often just heavy enough to prevent her from pushing the flap open enough to realize that with a little effort she could push her way out.
I've "rescued" her twice this morning - now in her gratitude she's sitting on my wrists. No, it's gratitude - otherwise she'd be playing the "how long before I can inch my butt up onto the keyboard and add a few million space characters to whatever Joy is typing?" game. It is much easier and more fulfilling to type with her draped across my arms, trust me.
Of course, Pete is probably sleeping off his jellybean binge now, and won't even see this 'til later...