We've unwillingly hired an interior decorator

I see how no other conclusion can be drawn from the sit'iation I'm about to describe: my cat is a GENIUS!

My husband and I are--in a manner of speaking--wholly dissatisfied with the flooring in our house.  The bulk of our floors are covered by five inch shag carpeting (note: a slight exaggeration).  One room in particular has an especially deep and hideous pile.

Adding insult to injury:  it's also orange.

Blake, likewise orange, blends in so well that when he lies in the middle of the room he is virtually undetectable.  Thank goodness for his white belly and preference for sleeping in the bedroom, else he'd be in constant fear for his life.

As a side note:  I mean no disrespect to the previous occupants of our house by my disparaging comments.  I'm sure when the carpet was new it was a well-loved, trendy novelty.  But carpeting is not intended to last for 30 years, nor yet any distinctive style of anything (bell bottoms, Jordache jeans, avocado green refrigerators . . . all are supposed to go to the place where unsightly trends go to die).  Not even the manufacturer expects their product to last three decades (or at least, they shouldn't).  It's just time for it to be replaced.  Plain and simple.  Long overdue.  Moving on.

It's awful.  It smells.  Countless paws have pittered and countless accidents have pattered across the swaying, amber waves.  Blake is certainly not the first.

He won't be the last.

My husband and I have already discussed what type of flooring we want to replace the horrific shag.  It's our dream to have hardwood throughout our entire house.  No, it's not hardwood underneath.  Since we're both of the "Go big or go home" (a.k.a. expensive) philosophy, we've not yet made it to the point of ripping up carpet.  We want to do it right and are okay with waiting.

But I've been here for three years and the other day we started talking about it again.  It was an especially hot day, the morning sun hit the carpet at a particularly pungent angle, and we both came to the conclusion:  maybe we should just do the living room (probably 250 square feet) in laminate?  It's definitely the worst of the entire house, and since we spend a lot of time in there . . . maybe we don't need to wait?

Blake was eavesdropping, apparently.  He not only heard, but he also understood and agreed with our assessment.  (That's what makes him a genius).  He clapped his little paws together in childlike excitement!  Hooray, no more orange shag, which is completley abhorrent to his little metrosexual sense of aesthetics.  At last, something is going to be done.  Relief.

But then . . . we didn't start working.  And he thought, "WTF?"  He thought, "Where's my laminate flooring?  This orange shag sucks!"  He thought:

"What can I do to speed the process along?"

And darn it all if the little schmuck didn't start blatantly pissing in the corner.  While I was sitting right there!!  When we're not home.  Whenever he feels a tingle.

I know, I know.  I'm taking him in to check and see if he has a bladder infection.  That's what I'm supposed to do, and it will be done with due speed.  But I highly doubt that a bladder infection is the answer.  I think it's much more likely that his philosophy of beauty is just that offended by the monstrosity of the orange, and he's letting us know in no uncertain terms that the tangled shag has got to go.

My new interior decorator, if somewhat devious in his methods.

"The true method of knowledge is experiment."
William Blake, 1757-1827