It’s the wee hours of the morning between dark and dawn. I’m awakened by an urgent “scritch-scritch-scritch” of kitty claws on plastic. There is very little plastic in the bedroom, and certainly none approved for kitty usage. I open my eyes and force them to focus — just in time to see Mayhem, perched atop the humidifier, successfully turn the knob from “low” to “high”. He then stands proudly upon the unit with a kitty paw on each of the unit’s four corners, humidified air blowing on his belly. “Im on yur humidifier, humidifying my hair balls.” He seems smug.