Yesterday, Katherine booted the litterbox out of my office into the upstairs hall to clean the floor under it. She suggested I move it back, and my response was "why?".
Her valid reason was to avoid tripping over it, but I pointed I never really planned on a litterbox in my office in the first place. We moved a small wicker stool out of the hall (actually into my office) and declared the litterbox's new home the hall for now.
Pavlov promptly started playing with the liner from outside the box; I pointed out to him what he was playing with by picking up him and setting him into the box. He promptly did the right thing and christened the box in its new home.
Happily, overnight no one decided to use the blank floor in my office where the box used to be.
Now if we could just reclaim Katherine's closet ....
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