Let me tell you a story.

At five o' clock this morning I awaken to the sound of scratching and meowing on my bedroom door.

"Mold. Seriously." That was me, whisper yelling.

Not so effective.

"Mold. Come on!" Not so much whispering ten minutes later.

Still not effective.

"I'm going to murder you. For real." Fling my legs off the side of my bed and pull my sleepy body toward the door. Kick door lightly a few times. End up back in bed, but I don't remember the act of walking over to it.

Effective. Fall back asleep.

I wake up at 30 minutes after my alarm clock goes off and turn on my coffee maker which is conveniently located about two feet away from the foot of my bed. Open door and step in pile of clothes that resemble mine. I know because they are tye-die, plaid, and one has paint on it. Throw clothes back in room, wondering why they are in the hallway.

They were the clothes that were originally on the other side of the CLOSED door, about a foot away from the door. Mold had stuck her paw under the door (At least a foot into my room, how is this possible? It's a cat, not a member of the flipping Fantastic Four!). Mold had pulled the clothes under the door into the hallway and piled them all up there.

That was a very long, not so exciting story brought you by Melissa. Brought to you by viewers like you.

Thank you.