My Schedule is Flexible

It's been a while, but the Freddy nonsense has not stopped. If anything, it has intensified.

Where most men, as they get older, start to lose their athleticism, this little blue man has managed to increase his without even trying. I regularly catch him successfully fitting his entire, very lengthy body into a shoebox, or very nonchalantly using his back legs as a pillow:

Other times, he practices his diving moves:

A Proper Burial

I walked into the bathroom this morning, and Mister Fred had done his usual food burial, this time after ripping a convenient hole in a sheet of paper he found near my printer (which is miles away from the bathroom). The floor, as usual, was a total mess, because he can't eat without dousing walls and floors with vittles.



I guess "Mixed Grill" goes on the list of cat food flavors that are unacceptable and poop-like.

Inconceivable

I had to lock Mister Fred in the bathroom last night once again because he just couldn't keep his paws off my phone charging cradle. I walked in at some point early this morning to check on him, and this was the scene:



I think he has regressed and suddenly does not understand what the purpose of a litter box is. Luckily, it's in the bath tub, so he can't do much damage that can't be quickly washed away. Still, I am concerned for his mental state.