|Her Highness, Silkie|
This little gal (well, to paraphrase Shaq's mom, she isn't really "little") won't get "into" anything. She loves "caves."
For her, it can even be under a tray table. The legs and top provide the "cave" effect for her. I gave up trying to get her to play inside a paper bag or a small carton. Instead, I make sure there are little spots around the house that she can pretend are caves. Under a kitchen chair works for her, or under any chair, or between two objects.
She eats funny, too. She prefers to lie perfectly flat and eat off a small ICBINB lid for her crunchies or her high-fiber dry foods. Of course, that means "mom" picks up the few that fall up and over the little ledge of the lid.
Another thing is her fur. It is very thick. Thankfully, it does not go to, or cling to, any of my yarn or clothing. However, it seems to fly onto human skin. During her first two months here, I got into the habit of brushing her at the end of the night. It was self-defense. If I don't do that, Frank and I would walk around looking like werewolves.
She has taken to the ritual nightly brushing really well. She considers it her massage/spa therapy time. We usually do it around 9 pm. She begins pestering me by rubbing my ankles or pawing my thigh (I'm usually on the computer then), and crying weakly and pathetically, to try to get me to do it earlier.
Oh, she's very good - she's got me trained very, very well, it seems (sigh).