Curiosity is Getting Old

So while I'm in my office typing about my little monster, Eric hollers from the bedroom that I need to come help get the cat out. Why do I have to do it? Oh, because when a child is in trouble, that child is MY child, not OUR child. Rascal's latest tight space to enjoy (here's his last one) is behind and under my nightstand. I had the nightstand a little bit away from the wall so that I could reach the plug for my iPod Touch charger. And that light on the charger just calls to Rascal apparantly. The nightstand was further away from the wall last night but this afternoon I pushed it back - not all the way back however. Hence our current predicament.

"Mommy, get me out."

Can't get out that way.

Can't get out that way. And it's too narrow of a place for him to jump out of despite being able to get in there, in the first place. So I move the nightstand back out so that he can get in between the nightstand and the bed post.

And what does that little stinker do? Decides he wants to smell everything around him like it's the first time he's ever experienced that part of my room. Whatever! It's probably the third time this week he's been down there. I threw my hands up in disgust and walked away to blog about it.