I came home yesterday evening to a trail of undergarments winding their way through my hallway, inching their way towards the stairs. Except they weren't a romantic invitation. They were my panties. I was just home from work. My husband was still across town. And I don't have a secret boyfriend.
I do have a cat, though, and he is a pervert.
We rarely see Turk with his treasures. He prefers to steal my socks, undies, and tights out of the hamper when no one is looking. They disappear and reappear suddenly: one morning, a pair of tights is draped languidly across the living room floor; a dirty sock is placed lovingly on a basement step. Not that he is ashamed of his actions - the few times we have seen him, he carries his head high and holds his trophy like a flag. When it's time to nap, we often find him curled up on used towels on the bathroom floor. He loves dirty laundry.
I just wish he would stop carrying my underwear around.