I came in, fed the cat, and then settled in to treat my internet withdrawal symptoms by leeching off of Cameron’s wireless. I printed out some reimbursement forms, and then went looking for a stapler. I figured there would be some in the office, so I wandered into that room. Imagine my surprise when I heard the door shut behind me.

I went to open the door and found it immovable. Something had been propped against the door preventing it from opening. I was wondering how in the world this could have happened, when I heard a maniacal, laughing meow from the other side of the door.

“Maki!” I shouted. “Let me out of here RIGHT NOW!”

Well, about a minute later I hear the printer warm up, and something print. Then a piece of paper was slipped underneath the door. It was a print out of yesterday’s post, the one where I said the cat couldn’t outsmart me. Apparently, she took offense.

Whatever. As soon as this cat got hungry, I would be let out. Imagine my consternation when I hear the fridge people opened, and the can opener being worked. I now realize that it’s not that cats can’t feed themselves — it’s that they want us to do it for them.

Over the next few hours we began negotiations. It took a while to work out a system of communication. As seen in the previous post, Maki can’t write, and as we all know, cats can’t used keyboards like humans can use keyboards. These sort of preliminary talks extended into the night, and continued on through the next day. Most of the discussion centered around number and quantity of meals (she wanted 6 meals spaced 4 hours apart), the amount of time spent scratching her neck (100%), and turning over “the evil one” into her custody. It took me a little while to figure out she was referring to the laser pointer. To exert her control over me, she gave me food by sliding Cheez-its under the door, one at a time. I was pretty sure I could hold out for favorable terms, though, since eventually someone would have to clean the litter box.

After about a week and a half went by, I was starting to get desperate. I had been surviving on Cheez-it’s and leftover Easter candy lying around the room — Cadbury creme eggs are an excellent source of sustenance in rough times. I began to construct a rudimentary lathe out of common household objects, hoping to build some carpentry tools that would help me open the door.

In the end, though, I lucked out. She had managed to push every single ping pong ball into a tight spot underneath the couch, and had no choice but to let me out so I could retrieve them. Well, actually, she just scratched some rudimentary lines into packing paper and slipped it under the door. After a few hours of decoding her script, I realized that she was just telling me that the door to the room opened in, and that I had been pushing out this whole time. Man. How embarassing.

Well, that’s pretty much the reason I haven’t been writing much lately. I couldn’t tell the people at work that I was trapped in a room by cat, though, so I had to tell them I was kidnapped by Colombian druglords and held at ransom, but then eventually released when there were no takers. I have a lot to catch up on, but hopefully there will be things to post and to complain about in the near future.