Here I am about to start a training session (something my boss had to approve and the newspaper pays for) and RING, RING, RING.
The cell. It's my wife. She knows what I'm up to, so I know it has to be important. I answer.
She sounds frantic. It's not about my 20-month-old daughter Ana Isabel; it's the cat. Wait! It is Ana Isabel.
My daughter locked Mac in the spare bedroom. Worse! My toolbox is in the same room (since I'm working on a house project nearby). Oh, I say, the cat will survive in there for a few hours. But my wife worries about Mac peeing everwhere if he can't get to the litter box.
We map out a game plan, sort of. I'll call her during my first break with an answer. Two hours later, I call. My crafty wife has already figured out a way to undo the door knob without a screwdriver. Great. Crisis over. I think we have to do something so that Ana Isabel doesn't lock the cat in a room again.
A couple days later, I check that door knob. Hmmm. It seems to stick in the lock position. And with the windows open, a strong breeze often blows the door shut.
How often have you blamed the kid when he/she didn't do it?