Okay, so David's at 'work', my visitors have gone home, my neighbours are out, we don't have a cat and I didn't have the nerve to ask the delivery man for help.
It has six legs too many is probably enough of a clue.
I have regressed to my teens and it is currently residing under a bin. Weighted down with the heaviest books I could find, otherwise it could shimmy underneath!
My parents once returned from their annual vacation to France to find an upturned bin in the hallway, weighted down by a large dictionary and a Roget's Thesaurus, (if you've not seen one of those, they are big!)
The occupant had been there for almost three weeks, since my parents had left me 'home alone', (okay, okay, I was nineteen at the time. Going on nine...) and it was still alive! Just.
This one will only suffer till lunchtime. Meanwhile, I can't reach the plug to plug in the iron to do the ironing for fear of knocking over the bin.
Do you think that's a good enough excuse...?