One of the cats made a leap from my bed and took with it the cord for my reading lamp, tossing the lamp to the floor. My first fear was that the falling lamp had injured the cat, but all escaped undamaged. As I survey the wreckage of my apartment - Thatch's pieces of chewed-up paper, the spilled dry food, the various Amazon boxes, the DVDs on the floor, their toys cluttering the floor - I can hear my mother yelling at brother Macbeth and me "I can't keep nice things."
Karma's a bitch, Ma.