another (disgusting) cat story

When we moved into our new house, we were thrilled that it had a garage. After several years of apartment living we were in raptures about storage! parking! a place to stuff the cat at night! See, dear Sammy, the kitty, curls up with you so very sweetly in the evening. He'll crawl under the covers and keep your toes warm till about, oh, 4:30 in morning, when he decides it's time to wake up and eat breakfast. His campaign has all the subtlty that you'd expect. He meows, he marches across the bed, careless of body parts. After flinging him across the room in a fatigued rage one early morn, I decided it would be much much better for all if he slept elsewhere.
Now the new garage has a little portal to an attic crawlspace, accessible to humans only by ladder. The cat, of course, gracefully skips along the support beam and scampers in to play. A year passes. I wonder why the newly designated baby's room smells distinctly of cat pee. Mysterious stains appear on the ceiling. I mention my concern to husband. He guffaws. We hear the distinctive scratching above our heads that can only be what we fear it is. Revulsion.
And indeed Sammy had decided to eschew (great word, perfect for a cat) his litter box in favor of the roof over our son's head. Parents of the year, right here.
Do not worry. We have rectified the situation. Hole in garage blocked up. Spots dabbed with bleach, awaiting application of sealant.
It does beg the question, why do we have a cat?