Sammy has trained me so well!

When I sit on the commode with the door open (when I'm home alone or it's
just Ben and me), Sammy runs behind the open door and I have to play pawsy
with her by taking the hand towel off the sink and wiggling it along the
floor so she can stick her paw under the crack in the door and nab it with
her claws and drag it under the door to kill it.

When I turn down the bed at night she runs to lay down on the mattress next
to the turned-down comforter so I can throw the comforter over her and then
squeal, "Where's my little Sammy?", flip the cover off of her and scream,
"There's my Sammy!"  [Like playing peek-a-boo with a baby.]  I have to
repeat this at least a dozen times before she'll allow herself to be moved
over so I can get into bed.

When I make the bed in the morning she waits until there is just one throw
pillow left to place on the bed and runs into the hole of the missing pillow
so I can place the pillow over the hole, effectively closing her in her
hiding spot, then squeal, "Where's my little Sammy?"   She will then burst
through the pillows, scattering them all over the bed, as if to say, "Here I
am!  Here I am!"

There are dozens of other times throughout the day where my daily chore
includes a certain amount of playtime for Sammy.

Just sitting at my desk means I have to make room for her to lie on my lap
and suck her toe (it's too funny to see her get her toe thoroughly soaked
with spit and then laborously lick it dry when she's finished sucking it).

Ah, the joys of life with Sammy!

Hugs,

CatNipped