The taxes have gone smoothly the last two days because it's so chilly in the apartment that Annabelle has preferred to stay in her washtub in the bathroom. Things went to hell for two reasons:
1. I lowered my guard
2. After their dinner, she and Thatch were feeling frisky and romping all over the apartment.
I had just tallied up my film and theatre tickets and reached for an envelope to hold them when Annabelle leaped onto my worktable from the windowsill, knocking over a pile of envelopes and all of How to Succeed . . ., all of which slid onto my tax receipts and knocked over my table lamp. Then, to add insult to injury, she climbed onto my desk calculator and erased the total amount for the tickets before I could record it. Thirty minutes later I calmed down.