Recently, he has stuffed an entire black yard-waste bag into the bowl (no doubt a commentary on water pollution) and padded it with a whole section of the daily newspaper (interestingly, at the same time that I was making papier-mache while helping my daughter make a costume--coincidence? I think not).
One day last week, he draped half a beach towel into the water, then lay on the dry part of the towel sprawled alongside the bowl.
His current obsession is socks--usually whole ones, but sometimes just the cuffs that have been cut off of old, worn-out ones and repurposed:
|"I call this one Cuff Lynx."|
|"And this one is White Sox/Wet Sox."|
|"This work, jarring in its loneliness, is |
'Sock: Lost in Dryer, Now Wetter.'"
He made a valiant effort to add unmentionables from the laundry basket to the water today but was thwarted in this endeavor by the resident bipedal philistine.