Pink and the shattering glasses – another of the nine lives gone.

Pink is a cat I’ve decided. She has to be to keep on being this lucky. We were all scattered to the four corners of the house, all happily employed in various saturday-type jobs and activities, when there is a girlie yelp and a scary sounding grinding crash. Followed by the sound of glass… falling, breaking, smashing, crashing… on and on and on… I crashed into C at the top of the stairs, him still with a piece of bed in his hand, me falling over the armload of washing I had just flung on the floor, and we bounced down the stairs in about 3 strides. We skid to a halt in the door of the playroom; Pink (in my mere 5 minute absence) has taken it upon herself to climb up the dresser in the playroom. The dresser which has a top shelf where we...