Our socks have feet

There are socks all over this house. I mean not just overflowing from hampers and around the hampers, I mean ALLLLLL over this house. You can't take a step without possibly stepping on a sock. Clean socks, dirty socks, his socks, her socks... it's like Dr Seuss puked a sock book in my house.

Every day we pick up all the socks.
And then every night this, this hit our house like a four legged sock strewing machine.

Oh sure she looks all innocent sitting there in the window. But be sure, that is an evil sock destroyer.

She does this so often that we don't even hear the tell tale sounds of her meowing through the house. Muffled mind you. Because it's hard to muster a good meow when there is a SOCK stuffed in your mouth.

She used to do a good deed. She USED to haul all the socks to the laundry room. Would have been nice if she'd just picked up the dirty ones though. We never could get her to put them in the hamper, but then I can't get my husband to either. Apparently we didn't gratify her enough for her good deed. Now she just strews them everywhere.

I guess I should be grateful that she's not hiding them under the bed. Of course, then that would give the puppy something to haul back out.