Sharing a Bedroom with a Stir-Crazy Cat

Last night, I almost didn't shut Jasmine in the bedroom with me.

Almost.

First, a teensy bit of background.  Jasmine doesn't like being shut in the bedroom.  But when contractors are here -- particularly contractors who might leave the door open a lot -- I shut her in the bedroom.  But she knows when I'm trying to do this and will make herself scarce.  Therefore, if I really want to make sure she's in for the day, I have to keep her in the bedroom the night before.  I did this the other night.

When I got home and discovered the Containment Zone, I let Jasmine out of the bedroom.  She didn't seem too interested in clawing at the plastic -- in fact, she actually took a few steps backward when she first saw the monstrosity in my living room.  So I thought, "Great, I can just leave her out."

Until about 11:30 p.m., when I stopped her just in time.  See (well, you don't see, yet -- I still haven't taken the pictures), the Containment Zone itself is floor-to-ceiling plastic.  But the little vestibule is plastic over a skeletal frame.  And the frame doesn't reach the ceiling.  So, around 11:30 last night, I see Jasmine sitting on the top of my piano, and she's calculating the vectors involved in leaping to the top of the vestibule. 

Here is the image that runs through my mind:  Jasmine lands on the top of the vestibule.  It is just a plastic sheet and her claws tear right through it, dropping her about six feet, while all the mold inside the containment zone then freely escapes into my living room.

I grab her just in time -- her rear paws were prepared to pounce.

Afraid she'd try this again at night, while I was asleep (and therefore unable to supervise), I shut her in the bedroom with me again.  (I briefly considered putting aluminum foil on top of the piano as some sort of rudiementary alarm system, but figured she'd be safer with me.)

Well.  After tasting freedom, Jasmine wanted none of this.  First, there was various jumping on the bed, and jumping off the bed.  And climbing on the top of the headboard.  And balancing precariously (and just a little threateningly) over my head.  She let me sleep for a few hours, then she pulled off the curtain over one of the french doors so she could see out into the hallway.  Then she sat there, staring out into the hallway, meowing mournfully.  So I'd know that she would like to go out please.  When I failed to respond appropriately, this turned into a very insistent meow.  Hello!  Want to be on the Other Side Of The Door!

I apologetically refused her till it was time to get up.  Once I was showered and dressed and able to supervise, I let her back out.

The contractors arrived at 8:00.  As soon as they got here, Jasmine ran and hid behind the washing machine.  They left an hour ago, and she's still hiding back there.