A visitor to the Anderosa might think the Andersons have a severe ear-wax problem. In every corner of every room, on the floors, under tables and wedged into couch cushions, you’ll see Q-tips. Q-tips intact. Q-tips with the ends chewed off. Q-tips that shouldn’t be anywhere but in the trash.

The culprit, of course, is Peggy. She will leave no trash basket upright in search of her beloved sticks with cotton tips.

Like Peggy, I love my Q-tips. No, I don’t have waxy ears, but I do wear mascara, and there’s nothing better for flicking mascara specks off my face than Q-tips. Since I don’t want to walk around like Tammy Faye Bakker, I’m not going to give up the one thing that keeps me from having raccoon eyes.

My husband suggested tossing the Q-tips in the toilet to keep them out of Peggy’s paws. Great idea.

But no. Even more Q-tips decorated the floor.

Peggy must be getting them out of the cabinet, I thought. Sure enough, the cabinet door housing Peggy’s cottony obsession was ajar. The little devil had learned to open the cabinet.

So John put a hook on the bathroom cabinet to keep the kitty from opening it.

So no more Q-tips on the floor, you say. Wrong.

How the heck was she getting her paws on the Q-tips?

The answer came when I caught the cat in the act. I walked in on Peggy with her butt in the air and her head in the toilet grabbing Q-tips like a bear snagging salmon.

John said, “Just flush.” I think he meant the cat.