Last night Mr. Field Notes and I attended an annual gathering of WWII Iwo Jima vets. He was covering the story for the local paper and I went along for the ride. That meant Yuki had to stay in her box for 3 hours, her longest time confined thus far.
When we got home, we got greeted at the door by Yuki and Katy. It took a few seconds for it to sink in that something went terribly wrong.
We both went into search and rescue mode, turning on all the lights, checking everything to see what had been destroyed. Having gone through this with Katy, we knew the damage could be major. Couch cushion eviscerated, curtains torn off the hooks, chair legs chewed, books destroyed — you name it.
We could only find a tiny set of tooth marks on one of Mr. Field Notes' running shoes.
We dodged a major bullet. I don't know long she'd been out, and I did fear that entering the bedroom where box is would reveal a totally destroyed box, rendered completely useless, but it looked like she just pushed on it enough to get the zipper to come apart and then nosed her way out.
I am so glad we didn't close the bedroom door. She would have destroyed everything in there I'm sure. But, it looks like she just broke out and then slept the whole time.
It's almost as if she said to us:
I know I don't have my driver's license yet and you haven't really taught me how to drive yet, but I took the car out while you were gone and drove down to the grocery store and bought us milk. I'm more grown up and responsible than you give me credit for.
Uh yeah, and the scratch on the fender?
... wag wag wag ... batting eyelashes ... good Yuki, good Yuki ... sorry ... good Yuki ...