Then you have cats. What I don't understand about cats is their obsession with the strangest things. One of Bogey's favorite types of entertainment occurs whenever I change the sheets. He can hear the rustle of cotton bedclothes even when he's in the basement. Such activity incites a mad rush to the bedroom where he wastes no time leaping right into the middle of the action.
If I try to tuck the fitted sheet, he worms his way under one of the edges.
Snap the flat sheet and he attacks the puffs of air that balloon beneath it. And don't let your hand get in the way. Bogey has very efficient claws.
Then there's the ultimate coup...
Frankly, the only way I'm able to safely change sheets is by closing the bedroom door. However, this creates a frenzied meowing on the other side, the tone and tenor of which causes my ears to ring. I'm pretty sure what he's saying in cat-speak includes exceptionally unprintable comments regarding my personality, parentage, and utter lack of moral fiber. It feels like I've come between a first day dieter and a triple chocolate layer cake.
My cat and bed sheets. I just don't get it.