Don’t tell me cats aren’t thinking, plotting beings

I have to hand it to Izzy, I’ve tried to lock him out of half the house as he recovers from his allergic bout of a few weeks ago.  The still prevailing symptom is him going into a trance-like state as he gets a particular kicking action going, then suddenly he’s involuntarily urinating, wherever he is.  Like last week on top of my car, this week on my windowsill next to the computer.  I’ve been taking him outside but he doesn’t want to be out right now.  I place two puppy training pads in the center of the hallway and he’ll powder his nose there.   So today I barricade him out of the kitchen – twice.  He’s taken to lying on the counter next to the stove.  Too risky for accidents, so he gets barricaded out.  Twice.  Each time, he found a way to move the bar stool and the box fan to knock down the giant sheets of cardboard and leap onto the counter again.  “I’ll fix your little red wagon,” I thought as I brought out the vacuum cleaner.  His nemesis.  He didn’t flinch.  He looked me right in the eye from the counter as I turned it on.  He kept his eyes locked to mine, looking very unconcerned.  I brought the vacuum up to the counter and began to vacuum closer and he didn’t flinch.  I vacuumed his tail.  Nothing.  Well played, Izzy, well played.  Stay there, you’ve earned it.