Help me, the toddler is evil

I don’t think I can take it. I am not made for this sort of abuse. I don’t know how it happened or exactly when, but Devon is Satan’s Spawn. It’s true. He can now open all the doors in our wee home. This means he can freely enter the bathrooms at any time and flush the toilet until there is no longer any water in our tanks. This also means he can lock himself inside the bathroom and giggle at me as I frantically try to coerce him into opening the door. He has yet to flush down random bars of sopas or toys while locked in there, but I’m sure that will be his next step. Devon can also squeeze through the opening of the broken cat door. This means he can slip out on to the front porch if I forget to put up the baby gate.
A few other things Devon enjoys to fill his days: he loves to go in the back yardlet (my term for the small patch of grass out our patio door) and quietly remove the chains from the bikes. Yes, I have warned the owners of said bikes about this, but they continue to park them there. He enjoys climbing up on the ferret cage in order to gain access to the kitchen counter. Once there he takes great pleasure in turning the knobs of the toaster oven so that the next person ends up with burnt toast. If a stove burner is on, he will walk by and turn the gas either all the way on or completely off. He is fascinated with any sort of sweeping untensil in the pantry, once he has secured one he runs about the bottom floor swatting at the walls and cat. Speaking of the pantry, that is where the recycling basket dwells. Needless to say the recyclables are usually interspersed with my pans and mixing bowls in the cabinets. If the dog bowl and water are left on the kitchen floor he will silently place all kibbles in the water where they will swell up. Once done with that he will then go drop the goo into the ferret cage. And it is not at all uncommon to find the contents of my wallet mixed in with the ferret’s bedding.
I have accomplished nothing today. That’s nothing. No. Thing. No work. No laundry. No exercise. Nada. Nien.
One good thing about Devon is that he is punctual. In 15 minutes he will be singing in his brib. And not a moment too soon, in my opinion. At that point I plan to do the only thing that makes sense, watch Notting Hill. Only a Hugh Grant Film Festival can rescue me today.