Cats and Cupboards

What is it with cats and dark places? The other morning I seemed to spend most of my getting-ready-for-the-office time chasing George out of closets and cupboards. And if I lose him in the house, I can usually find him curled up in the rag bin at the back of the pantry. I remember once when I was a teenager we were looking after a cat that belonged to friends gone on holiday. (At this point, I can see my sister frowning and thinking she doesn't remember this - it's okay, Sis, your memory's not going, you were away at college.) He disappeared for TWO days and we were panicking. I mean this was a pure bred, pure white beauty, the pride of his human family. We searched high and low with no luck until my mother opened the linen closet and found him curled up asleep. We'd looked in there but white on white doesn't show. When we woke him, he had that "What's your problem?" cat-itude that you either love or hate. So where is this random thought going? It's just that there are days - such as recently - where I'm so busy that my head's spinning, and I'd so like to crawl into the rag bin, curl up and sleep for a couple of days. That's all, nothing deep or profound.