Email sent this morning:

domesticat + power tools + "Ballroom Blitz" == VERY SCARED EDMUND

Shortly thereafter, a phone call:

"Um, dear, what power tool are you using?"
"Oh, the drill. The littlest drill bit makes a hole that's just a little bit smaller than what's necessary, so it's perfect."
"Ah. I just wondered what in the world you were using to hang hooks."

After hanging up the phone, and with Edmund safely on the other side of the room, I revved the drill and winked at him. He threw a gangsta-cat look at me that could only be construed as meaning, "I'm gonna cut you, bitch," before remembering that his leg needed washing.

Again, not the brightest cat in the world.

After I got all the hooks up (must make entry regarding aerobatic tricks necessary to finish painting room and hang hooks without moving the enormous entertainment center) I started hanging the Christmas lights around the perimeter of the room. This required moving the furniture, including the kitty perch. Insert more gangsta-cat looks.

I went to the computer room to retrieve some supplies, and returned to find my cat desperately attempting to think. I stood there for a good thirty seconds, snickering quietly, before I remembered to go to the computer room to get my camera.

I returned, turned the camera on, and the cat never moved.

Brian's caption is better than mine: "two ideas, one neuron"

"Do I eat the poinsettia? Or do I eat the lights?" It's like the cat-and-buttered-toast problem; which irresistible urge does he give in to, the urge to eat fake greenery or the urge to eat electrical cords?

Luckily, it takes him ages to form a thought, so I had time to shut off the camera, move the ladder, and hang up the lights before he made up his mind.

I should probably rev the drill again, just for the fun of it.