We're trapping in a different location and it's taking up all of my time and hope and willpower.  The Shed doors have been closed since Thursday and it's a real possibility that some creature—hopefully not a mutant unicorn or a deranged Wyomingite—is locked inside.  I just don't have room in my house to take in a special-needs occupant.

We're trapping in this House of Treasures because it has recently started smelling like Eau de Parfum of cat pee.  And the cat pee smell fluctuates.  I've also examined bits of fecal matter deposited around The Shed and I'm of the belief that it came from a cat's bowels.  I'm pretty much like the female Inspector Gadget.  But things don't self-destruct around me.  Not yet anyway. 

In order to trap inside The Shed I had to put up with a lengthy discussion with the decidedly-retarded real estate agent in charge of the house.  It was as if I was speaking Alien Tongue.  I had to repeat myself approximately 182 times and each time her response was pretty much a series of grunts and gurgles with a "Huh?" thrown in here and there.  When she managed to actually put a sentence together she told me "There's not a cat in there" and I'm like "WTF do you, who have the intelligence of a stone, know about this?"  Actually I didn't say that, but I finally convinced her that she was most likely the biggest moron on the face of the Earth and she agreed.  So we obtained permission to walk through the enchanting doors of The Shed, which clearly must contain some sort of precious treasure hidden in its depths based on her insistence that I not place a single toe inside the magical building. 

Yes Lady, I really want that 80's sofa with the puffy arms.  I want it so badly I drool every time I step foot inside The Shed.  Please let me have it.  I know it will look delightful and charming in my home that is decorated with posters of The New Kids on the Block.

It's been 26 days.