“What are you doing?” Layce asked. This question gets asked a lot in our house and the response is not usually normal.

I was consulting my watch, noting the time and entering it in a small notepad I’d taken to carrying around. “I’m charting Mister Beans’s daily schedule.”

“Maybe it’s time for you to go to Washington.”

“Why?” I asked, as I followed Mister Beans into the kitchen. He glanced over his shoulder, put his ears back—his annoyed gesture—and went for a snack.

“Because you’ve obviously got cabin fever.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You’re following the cat around and taking notes. That’s cabin fever taking hold.”

“Don’t you find it interesting how he spends his day?”

“No.”

I ignored her. I flipped through my notes and began to read. “This is what I have so far.”

6:47 Get humans up by knocking on the door and meowing in a loud and annoying way, indicating my needs are not being met.

7:30 Leg rubs to mark humans as my property. Sit on recliner arms which need to be larger. Bat at hands to stop fingers moving on keyboard thing. Step on keyboard.

7:45 Do business, throw litter all over floor. Sit and observe human scooping up fecal matter.

7:50 Go to bathroom sink and demand water from faucet. Human must wait until I’m finished to turn off water. Very satisfying.

8:00 Wait until human has sat down, demand treat. Use intense eye contact until human relents.

8:05 Take a nap.

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“That’s as far as I’ve gotten.”

Layce snatched the pad away. “No more. It’s an invasion of his privacy to be under surveillance without a court order.”

Mister Beans stalked off, tail in the air. I hate when he thinks he’s right. “We’re not done here,” I threatened.

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