Yesterday my fiancee Liz put into words the downside of having our boys. She said "I feel like a prisoner in my own home." In a way, she is right. We must constantly watch what we do and don't put in the livingroom (the main room of our one-bedroom apartment). Our bedroom is a pile of things, including 4 chairs, that were hastily removed from the livingroom after the cats got into them or started destroying them.
When we leave the bedroom, we have to be extremely careful because teh boys are often waiting outside the door and will make a mad dash into the bedroom as soon as we open the door. In theory, it would be nice to let them in, but like I said, the room is the place where we put all the things which are dangerous to cats that we removed from our nearly-empty livingroom.
Each day, the boys find something new to explore. The pull the fabric off the bottom of chairs and we have to take the chairs away for fear they will end up swallowing string. They start wrestling against a desk and we worry that they will knock the desk over. Yesterday, Arthur started batting at the closed livingroom windows. We think that he saw his reflection in them and thought it was another cat. But I was worrying that he would break the glass.
Half of our books are unavailable to us; they are stuffed under the couch in our attempt to keep the boys from running under the couch and hurting themselves on the sharp metal bars down there.
We can't put salt shakers or napkins out on the diningroom table, because the boys would end up chewing them or hurting themselves with them. We may even have to remove the stereo from the livingroom, because they think that the speaker mesh is a scratching post.
We love the boys more than anything, but this is pretty frustrating right now.