Nevertheless, Butterfly trashed our home. As messy as it already was, she found ways of tossing, knocking over, kicking and throwing things to make it much, much worse. Then she barricaded herself into our room by throwing my ironing board in front of the folding door. (This type of door is not slamable.) This would not do. Regardless of what was at work on her brain, this was simply not acceptable, and messy house or no, I was not going to let it go by. I called the police.
After the police left, I took full advantage of the moment and told Butterfly she had to come and eat or we'd call the police back. She glowered as she ate, but once she was fed, eggs and potato, she was much calmer. I spent the remainder of the day putting things back where they belonged. The house wound up tidier than it had been for awhile. Even more important, memorable boundaries had been drawn and were indelibly etched in Butterfly's mind. While Butterfly's reactions and blow ups continued at regular intervals, she never again tried to trash the house. Occasionally when her anger seemed to be getting out of hand, she was reminded that the police were only a phone call away, and I would not hesitate to call them again if her actions warranted it.
We never had to call them again.