I love shoes and bags. And bags. And, well, bags. Lately I’ve noticed that every time I open the doors to the purse/shoe closet (insert angels singing), Melvin gets up from wherever he is and goes in. I’m not sure if it’s the fluffy rug, the den like feeling or that he can sense it’s my happy place. I sort of expect him to shake his head if he feels I make a bad choice when getting ready.