The golf clubs. Golf balls. Magnetic letters. Oatmeal containers. Socks. My cell phone. A water bottle. A small book. Many, many cat toys.

Shoved through the cat door, they bounce down the basement steps and end up in poor Chili’s food. Sometimes they land in his water dish, splattering his water all around.

How many times have I told Conal not to put things through the cat door? Millions. Maybe billions. I’ve lost count.