Yes, I had to prop the stove on the garbage can. Yes, it's still like that now as I type, six hours later. We've had a time, I tell you, Mal and me!
It all began with the plastic bag I brought my fish taco home in. Mmm, fish taco. Mal liked it too, but he got none of it, which disgruntled him mightily, but he consoled himself by attempting to destroy the poor, seemingly defenseless bag.
Yes, "seemingly." Poor Mal. The bag turned on him and attached itself to his hindquarters somehow, and chased him around the room. He freaked badly and wormed his way under the stove into the crawlspace beside the tub, and no amount of fish tacos in the world could induce him to come out now. The bag got him good.
I swear to god I thought he'd fallen down a hole or smashed his brains out on a pipe or throttled himself with the bag. You know how they say adrenaline can give you the strength of ten in certain situations? Not so much. Hee! All's I could manage was to tilt the stove, and I'da taken a picture of Mal's big, big eyes at the back of the little hole next to the bathtub, but dudes, I couldn't even stretch out my arm to pull him out of there. Luckily, after about an hour he crept out by himself, and purred at me and let me pet him and check him out. But then he slunk back under there when I levered myself up over the kitchen counter, and there he remains.
Guacamole! Sometimes I forget how much of a baby he still is. Poor little guy.
....and, success. He finally came out. Still skittish, still freaked at every vaguely bag-shaped noise, but okay. Whew! You know, Pounce Treats really do make everything better, it's true. And Mike's Hard Lime. :)
Oh! I got my scholarship, too. I and my credit card are so pleased.