Nobody here objects to the vacuum much, unless it gets very close, but something bad must have happened to Jake involving a plastic bag, before we got him. He runs off if we’re unloading groceries or if we use a bag to collect trash.
This morning, Tom was moving some boxes and stepped on the bags I keep upstairs for diapers. Sad for Jake; he went to sleep in Elen’s bed instead.
The other cat they had was just an old laid-back tom, named “Poopsie.” He used to torment Tokyo, as well. She was a rescue, but it would seem she went from the frying pan into the fire.
Roomie looks at me on one of her bad days and said, “When you move out, take that effin’ cat with you.” I didn’t have to be told. I had already planned on it.