A shout-out to Nesties with furbabies: We’re looking for your hilarious photo and story submissions for our weekly Pet Confessional! Maybe kitty had a not-so-friendly encounter with the real-life Pepe le Pew and spent the next week in odor detox. Maybe puppy couldn’t resist using his own arm as a fuzzy rawhide…and the anti-lick collar prescribed by the vet transformed him into a little satellite dish with legs. Or maybe Fido is a closet doggie clothes-o-phile and begs to get dressed up in the new pet line from The Limited.

No matter your furball’s misdemeanor disobedience, we want to hear about it! Check out past pet confessionals for inspiration, and send your incriminating photo with a short story explaining the crime to pets@theknot.com. You just might see your friend featured in a future Pet Confessional post!

I must start this confessional by saying that I have a feeling it’s going to be a long winter.

My name is Paisley. I’m self-sufficient, confident, and mostly keep to myself. My favorite activities include washing behind my ears, chasing my stuffed mouse, and taking long catnaps. The subject of my confessional: My (not so) top-secret rendezvous with Squirrel.

I first met Squirrel over a year ago on a bright summer afternoon; he was sunning on the outside ledge of my back window. It was infatuation at first sight. But as soon as he caught me staring, he leapt up and onto the fire escape, just out of my window view.

I laid low for a while at the window, watching the birds fly by. Then, there was that face again! I slowly peered back out; but he hopped on the fire escape again. We continued our game of peek-a-boo for another 10 minutes, until I’d had enough of his snubs and pawed furiously at the glass trying to get to him. I thought I saw him wink as he leapt off the ledge and disappeared for the rest of the day, and all that was left to see through the window were my tiny paw prints.

The following day, and the next, and the day after that, I came back at the same time and place. So did he. We continued this way for months.

We remained undercover until one morning when my people were sleeping in unusually late. It was one of those days (you know the kind, when you wake up on the wrong side of the litter box and want to tear up the side of the couch and climb the curtains), and as soon as Squirrel appeared I went wild. My people heard my claws pinging the window and jumped out of bed, figuring something was wrong (I rarely make a peep). They roared with laughter when they saw us playing our little game of hide and seek. Now they understood the mysterious prints on the window. I was mortified! Yet even though I knew I was caught, I couldn’t stop myself from coming back for our daily session, until the day the leaves fell from the trees and he was gone…this time I thought for good.

I didn’t see him once while the snow lay silent on the sidewalks. I determined he had moved on and found a new cat to play window games. But as soon as my people put tulips in the planter outside the window, he reappeared! And he kept returning, as long as the trees were green.

I haven’t seen Squirrel for a while now, ever since my people started wearing their coats again. I’ll admit that I’m a bit bummed. It’s okay, though -- I’ll keep myself entertained with my stuffed mouse, because I have a feeling I’ll get to play peek-a-boo with my friend again as soon as the coats get stored back in their closets.

Bonjour again, my Nestie friends. It is I, Napoleon. That's right, the same Little Man with a “complexâ€� you heard from a couple of weeks ago, regaling you with my tale of cookies and hydrogen peroxide.

You act shocked, but I’m sure you knew I would be back to confess another of my many sins. If you had my stunningly handsome looks, you’d be munching through as much aromatic trash as you could sneak and destroying shoes like it’s your JOB (well, okay, it is my job)…while simultaneously charming the pants off of your people. Yep, I’m just that talented.

My most recent feat involves one of my favorite illicit toys: used socks.

In France, we voyage everywhere au naturel -- because human smell contains that certain je ne sais quoi. Naturally, then, I began to covet my people’s used clothing, covered in that same irresistible human aroma. But to my frustration, my people never allow me anywhere near it. It began to hound me: their already-worn things sit bunched up, unused in a stinky bin, when they could go to good use (me). That was until I learned that all bets are off when the lights go out.

My first successful heist was accomplished after a long’s day’s sleep. I was dozing off again in my nest when I saw a single, still-warm sock lying all alone on the floor. My people had had a lot of wine to drink that evening, so I knew they were fast asleep. I trotted over, trapped it with one bite, and dashed back to my bed.

Safe with my prize!

Contentedly chewing my salty nugget, I suddenly realized that I could have as much tasty human refuse as my little nest could fit! So I went over to the stinky bin and pulled them out one by one -- used socks, T-shirts, underpants…and, for good measure, my person’s eyeglasses. I breathed in all the au naturel smell I could inhale and fell into nocturnal cat-chasing mode.

The next morning, I awoke with a start: my people pushing my bed around, laughing. I looked up, innocent-like -- “What could I, your handsome little man, ME?! have possibly done?�

I didn't have a chance to guard my stash before my lady person hoisted me up and gave me a little scolding while the Big Man confiscated the goods from my bed.

Now, you might ask, “Why, Napoleon, did you not fight to win back your hard-earned territory?â€� Because I think I want to awake like this every day for the rest of my life. There’s nothing better than starting your day with full attention on you.

So, for the past weeks, this has become my nightly routine. My people call my goodie-filled nest my “Pawn Shop,â€� and it's true: Will trade dirty laundry for pats. They’ve tried several aversion tactics, but to no avail. And I have to say, this might be my most brilliant coup yet. 

Any of you had such good luck stealing your people's stuff?

Your pet got a confession to make? Send the details with photo and your Nestie username to pets@thenest.com to come clean in an upcoming confessional.

My name is Lilas. That means "lilac" in French. It’s a good name for me. I’m shy -- and lots of things scare me (our kitchen rug is terrifying). And just like a bush digging its roots in the ground, I, of course, like to dig my paws into “le dirt.�

Oh! The smell of it. Earthy. Dirty! I love it when it’s dry; I like it even better after the rain. I think my people have zeroed in on my obsession, because they keep me indoors when the ground is wet. Any time I get a toe into that delicious dirt on the lawn (where the boss man spends his weekends laboring for the perfect green), they shut me back inside, and I make do with boring rawhide.

I, however, hit the jackpot last Thanksgiving with some much-deserved alone time…with dirt. My people’s family had invaded the house and they were all diverted, cooking the turkey in the oven and the beans on the stove (don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t have minded a muzzle up in that action too…but I digress). They put me outside, away from the food, on a perfect Arizona night that nipped the tip of my wet little nose. Then I saw it: a patch of dirt on the lawn with DOG written all over it.

I strutted over and put a paw in, and it was just the right feel: like a giant ball of wet clay. Then I stuck my nose in and took a deep sniff…and I was high on grass. I started pawing and clawing and digging, covering myself in that gooey goodness, until I was seeing brown. It soaked in and caked into my fur right down to my chin and legs.

I stopped to catch a breath, and then I decided to smear my nose on the glass door for a closer look inside. That’s when my people saw me.

Before I could run inside to explain myself, I was drenched in cold water as the big man sprayed me and my dirty prints that covered the patio. My people laughed as I shook, and then the boss pinned me down with a towel, muttering a bit under his breath about the “damn dog� and “my grass� and dirt. And yep, you guessed it -- it’s been a lot more difficult since then to get any quality alone time outside.

My name is Napoleon, but my people usually call me “little man.� You could see why that might give me a “complex.�

I have a confession to make.

Spotted: bag of cookies, sitting on the edge of a shelf in my kitchen yesterday, just where I could get a fat whiff. My person was in the shower. And the cookies smelled so good; I got a nose-full when they were baking in the oven. So I know I wasn’t supposed to, but I just gave the bag a tiny nudge…and what do you know! It fell right off the shelf. And then I gave it an expert rip on the corner. Out came two chewy, soft, jumbo-sized cookies FILLED with chocolate. Too easy. You know where those went.

Next thing I know, I’m on my back sweating like a hooker in church, squirming in circles. Big Man is jamming open my jaw, thinking he can slip me a dose of some nasty stuff called hydrogen peroxide.*

Resistance!!

I sprinted around the kitchen (Manic-like! The energy! No wonder you people eat those things), and he fumbled after me. He finally snagged my back legs and flipped me over and forced a giant gulp of that awful stuff down my throat.

The cookies came right back up. All over the kitchen floor.

Yep, that’s right. My own artful contribution to home decor. I am victorious, as I watched my person on his knees, cleaning up after me. And just for that, I’d do it all over again.

*Chocolate is poisonous to dogs. After extensive googling and calling dozens of closed vet clinics late on Friday night, Napoleon’s people found out that in cases of accidental doggie ingestion, owners should induce vomiting with hydrogen peroxide.

Your pet got a confession to make? Send the details with photo and your Nestie username to pets@thenest.com to come clean in an upcoming confessional.