The ground floor, a plush carpeted base, was where Barnaby began his morning patrols. He’d give the burlap-wrapped pillars a vigorous scratch, the rough fabric serving as a whetstone for his sharp claws. This was the "Garrison," where he kept a watchful eye on the vacuum cleaner (the sworn enemy of the feline state).
By midday, the sun hit the higher platforms. Barnaby would ascend to the , pausing briefly to swat at the dangling fluffy ball that hung like a pendulum of destiny from the underside. It was a fierce battle, but the ball, as always, remained elusive, swinging back and forth in a mocking rhythm. 2373-set-1x.jpg
When the house grew too loud, Barnaby retreated into the . It was his private "Bunker." Curled inside the dark, two-foot-high sanctuary, he could watch the world through the circular portal without being seen. It was the perfect spot for plotting—mostly about how to get more treats, but plotting nonetheless. The ground floor, a plush carpeted base, was