Thursday: I wanted to see Grey's Anatomy (sadly, a rerun), so opened the living room for the first time since Glenwood's release. My brother (father of Harry) and I had spent a solid 30 minutes devising a way to block the room off until the time was right. Aesthetic, no; functional, yes. I figured letting her in there with me was safe, then I'd put the barrier back. My studio is in there, along with a lot of small, delicate, cherished objects.
Friday 1:00 am: The three-foot barrier proved useless once she knew the room existed (who knew she could jump it?), so it went away.
Saturday: Timmy and Glenwood had explored each other's cat boxes, so I moved her box out of the bathroom and put it near his (the last step before the merger). At last, my bathroom was free free free of Glenwood's stuff! No more litter scattered on the floor. No more food splattered on the walls. No more pharmaceutical stockpile under the sink. Unbelievable. I scrubbed it for me, and am slowly returning its contents. It is utterly luxurious to have a bathmat again.
In terms of the day-to-day, Timmy is barraged by Glenwood pretty much every moment they're both awake. Poor guy is exhausted. 
He did manage to find something like a hiding place under my Van Gogh chair ...
... but it's not a sure thing.
During the few moments that Glenwood is at rest, cuddling happens. See how much she's grown? She's a station-wagon model, apparently: long and lean. Timmy is a Humvee.
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