I quickly corralled them downstairs, then somehow corralled the frightened bird outside.
In the meantime, Murphy quietly pushed past the baby gate (yes, even though he's three, I still rely on baby gates) that was propped on the front stairs and took it upon himself to "clean out" one of the litterboxes. He would have gotten away with it, too, if not for the tell-tale pieces of litter clinging to his chin.Needless to say, I wasn't very thankful for his "help." He's currently serving time in the pokey, also known as the back deck. I hope he uses the next half-hour to reflect on his poor choices, though, knowing him, he'll just pass the time by licking himself.
