Rough Morning

I woke up to the crystalline tinkle of glass shattering on my kitchen floor. I groaned to myself as I slipped out of bed to go find out which pet was responsible for the mess. Probably Max. 

When I got out there, nothing was out of place. I blinked at the lack of mess for a moment before shrugging it off as a particularly vivid dream. 

Then I stepped on a fresh, warm, extra squishy hairball. 

One Comment on “Rough Morning”

  1. LRose says:

    I usually half wake up yelling, “What did you do now?!” and then go stumbling around in the dark to discover the dead spider, who had the audacity to crawl up the bookcase, made her do it. Then I step into the (blech/shudder) wet hairball. I’ve come to dread 2:30 in the morning.

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