Mother always stayed on me about making my bed.  I was a bonafide lazy kid, intent on getting loud without doing it.  It just wasn’t on my priority list.  Sadly, Mother usually caught me and sent me back to do it. I knew better than to lie. Despite her nagging,  I hadn’t internalized the need to make my bed at that point.

One morning, she had multiple catastrophes allowing me to slip out.  I sloppily pulled my covers up, pulled the door behind me and escaped, unaware I’d shut the cat in my room.  He snuggled into the warm spot I’d left and settled in for a nice nice nap.  I suppose he yowled later in the day and Mother let him out.

When I got in bed that night, I lifted the covers and slid between the sheets in one swift move, encountering a cold,slimy sensation from knee to thigh.  When I hopped out of bed, I found a soupy poop surprise the cat smeared on my leg.  It was horrible and felt like it couldn’t’ t be washed off.  It changed my attitude about bed making forever.  The cat knew how to motivate