Wastebasket Enemy Combatant
Today, I declared the wastebasket in the living room (next to Shelly's desk) an enemy combatant. I rubbed myself against it. Rubbed my face all over the corner of the wastebasket enemy combatant, rubbed against its fat knees and tickled the wastebasket under its fat chin with my tail. Yesterday, I bit Tony in the forehead. I rubbed against the wastebasket's forehead until it fell over from my fierce indefatigable rubbing -- and no one can pick me up (bad kitty!) and stick me underneath the bed. I rubbed my face along the underside of my wastebasket, my enemy combatant; I rubbed my face until it left a smear of grease. Underneath is a complete pleasure system.