I did it. I braved the basement. For most people, that's not a big deal. But at my house, it requires a little prior planning and some nerve-steeling. After all, the basement is the scene of the weirdness that happened this spring. I haven't been down there since that happened. Go ahead, click on that link, read that post, and then tell me you'd honestly spend a lot of time down there!
So, once I get up the nerve to go down there, then I have to wrangle the three cats into the bathroom (the only room in the house with a door that shuts tightly), move my laundry room table to the other side of the room, and roll up the area rug that covers the trap door. Then I have to yank the trap door up, catch the ring on it with the hook in the wall, and hope it doesn't slam shut and imprison me down there. After all that, then I have to drag four boxes of Christmas decorations up the basement steps. Make that five boxes—I forgot I bought another Christmas tree at one of the after-Christmas gigantic sales last year.
And the weird basement did not disappoint. After I dragged everything up the steps, I went downstairs one more time to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything. "Meow," Louis said from on top one of the furnace ducts. "You're supposed to be locked in the bathroom!" I said as I pulled him off there and carried him upstairs. "How did you get the door open?" When we walked around the corner, I heard the other two cats scrabbling to get out of the bathroom. The door was still closed. Hmmmm....