So I come home for lunch to piano music. Well not music, but just a bonking sound coming from the piano.
Tom had run up the piano keys just as I was walking in the door. He’s never done that before.
Now he’s tearing around the house like a maniac. He jumped in his litter box, did his thing and ran out so fast the damn thing almost tipped over, then he bolted up the stairs and came back down, jumped up on the kitchen table and then bolted for the piano again but refrained from playing a second number.
I think he’s getting a little stir crazy for spring.
That kind of behavior sounds disturbingly familiar. At my house, though, it’s usually combined with finding something expensive and/or sentimentally valuable to chew up.