There once was a really pretty white antique bowl that lived on the center of the dining room table. It'd been there for about a year and one half since Mama inherited it from a cousin. The bowl and I were really good table mates, seeing as my pink bed lived right next door to the bowl for so very long.
Well, one day recently, I got full of the devil and decided to use the dining room table as a slip and slide, bypassing my bed altogether looking a new and exciting use for the table. WHOOSH! I went sliding across the table, taking the tablecloth with me and then I sent SMACK on the carpet below.
That sure was fun I thought until Mama came running into the room and yelled at me because, not only did the tablecloth and my silly self go sliding, the bowl went sliding, too, hitting a piece of furniture and breaking into, well, you know...
This couldn't have all been my fault, I say. Who puts nice things on a table with a slippery table cloth in a house with three cats who could get super silly at any time?
After Mama calmed down, she said she was happy the bowl broke and nothing happened to me because the bowl is a thing and I'm a purrson.