This Hole-y Time of Year

Hearken back, if you will, to my sweet double dutch doors and to my teeny wee bit of glee at finally, (oh please dear God) finally constructing a respectable safety barrier between that little red headed fellow and All Things Dangerous, Poisonous, Sharp and Tasty. Oh my innocence! My short-sidedness! Oh...damn. He's done it again. Over the Gate and Through the Kitchen to ATDP&T He Goes. Three times now I have removed, refilled, redrilled, re-leveled, and re-screwed this lock, which surely must be cast of spun sugar and certainly has no business whatsoever even resembling a lock by virtue of all that re-re-ing I've done just keeping the noun verbed. The door and surrounding areas are peppered (if you're using good-sized green peppers, mind you) with enough holes that people are compelled to ask about our gun policy. Three big ol' damn holes and counting. Dag, he's good. Picture, if you will, TLRHF mounting this door, gaining foothold (where there intentionally is none, nada, nyet), swinging his arm over the ledge (I was so freaking proud of that ledge, too...so sure of myself and my ledge) and flick-click-slap-click-flick--unlocked, opened, cleared, shut, re-locked. He re-locks it. That kills me. Now, I have previously been hesitant to grease the door, probably for all the same reasons you don't grease yours, but I am out of options. And wood putty. I'm out of wood putty.