I was in such a good mood last night. Fran on her way home, gonna make some pizza and cuddle up on the couch, watch some TV. I was wrapping things up in the office when heard a 'slip' 'CRASH!' 'sprinkle' from downstairs. I hurried downstairs to see what was the matter and those turds had climbed atop the pantry and, probably in a fit of rage, hurled the giant container holding all our beloved wagonwheel pasta to the floor, scattering glass and pasta in every direction, and was proud enough to be standing there amongst the wreckage almost as if to say, "Oh, did you want these?". I mean there were enough broken wagon wheels to put you off the Oregon Trail for days.
And there was blood.
The culprit.
Some other things the cats have broken lately.
They seem to hate animals.
I think we got a Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer. And there's nothing at all to be done about that!
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