Maia Louise is damn lucky to be alive tonight after David got up this morning to find she had in the night smashed a valuable Rookwood vase that's more than a century old. Maia never gets up onto the top of the tall bookcase in the living room where she obviously felt compelled to go at some point during the wee hours while the humans (and their two tiny chihuahuas) blissfully slept on in the big bed together while carnage ensued below. When I got up, David told me in a very sad voice that I needed to come and see something downstairs and when I followed him, he came to me holding the remnants of one of our beautiful art pottery vases in his palms. How she even got up to that height is a mystery as she is getting up there in years and even very low jumps are proving more difficult for her (and often the simple act of climbing the stairs is tricky as well), but that is neither here nor there. Get up there she did somehow, and then clearly pushed and pushed until the lovely vase took a long, long fall to the floor, which now has a nasty crater in the hardwood. The bookcase was covered in cat fur, should anyone think poor innocent Maia has been framed for an act she had no part of. I am still so sad and angry that I have been keeping my distance from that damn cat all day long. Better to ignore her than be mean to her for something she clearly has no memory of doing.
Even though the vase is now worth absolutely nothing, David has been gluing the pieces back together throughout the day so I will at least still have my vase, even if it does have giant ugly Frankenstein scars all around it. It's going to take longer though to get over my anger with Maia than the time it will take him to cobble my vase back together.