So I'm sitting at the kitchen table this morning, finishing up my
cereal and reading a book.

I hear some rustling and look up.

I recently bought a "husband" -- one of those chair-shaped things you
can put where your pillow would go to sit upright comfortably.  It was
snowing outside when I bought it, so the sales clerk put it inside a
very large plastic bag.  Slob that I am, the plastic bag was still
floating around the living room.

Oscar has chosen this morning to have her first ever
"ohmygodIgotmyheadstuckintheplasticbaghandleandIcan'tgetout"
experience.  All I can say is, I'm glad that she didn't wait until I'd
gone to work.

So.  Oscar has a bag attached to her head.  I try to speak to her
calmly and approach her slowly, but she's a cat, so of course she
freaks and runs down the stairs.  I chase after her, knowing what she
has planned.  Sure enough, I hear the sounds of a cat jumping up into
the basement rafters, her safe place.

Groan.  Now I have a cat, bag attached to neck, hiding in the rafters.
I can't just leave her to her own devices; my imagination is all too
happy to provide me with gruesome "cat strangled by bag stuck on nail"
scenarios.

We have a half basement, which means that half of our basement isn't
really basement at all; it's a retaining wall with dirt behind it, at
about half the height of the basement.  That's how Oscar gets up into
the rafters; jump onto the retaining wall, then one more hop up.

I fetch some treats and try to entice her down. No go.  So I grab a
chair and try to climb up onto the retaining wall.  The chair has
rollers and is thinking about fleeing, but I do manage to get up onto
the wall.  At this point, Oscar jumps down from the rafter to claim
her treats. No bag attached. Don't ask me how she escaped, but she
doesn't care, because she has freeze dried chicken to entertain
herself with.

I clamber back down from the wall and get ready for work, first
stuffing that stupid bag in the trash.