"Maggie crapped on your pillow."
There are about 10,000 other things I'd rather have heard from my wife while I was out of town for work, like: "We're gonna need to save for a new vacuum cleaner," "The little monster across the street is using your brand new car as a backstop for his baseball," or "I'm leaving you for the localWalmart greeter."
You never want to hear that one of your three cats has gone rogue and deposited something that looks like six Lincoln Logs wrapped together on anything you own, let alone where you rest your head at night. Because I'm a nice guy, I gave Maggie the benefit of the doubt, even though there are two distinct ways to tell if she is the culprit: 1) if it looks like an elephant broke into your house and crapped on the floor, or 2) when you come home and Maggie isn't in her typical spot on the living room couch or in the bedroom, but rather hiding under the center of the bed, perfectly out of reach. But Maggie didn't get a chance to run that time, because my wife saw the bushy bandit committing the crime, which pretty much sealed the deal.
I then asked my wife if she punished Maggie, her little bundle of joy, after she caught her. Normally my wife is all about capital punishment. She's not a gambler, but if the state of Missouri sold raffle tickets to see who got to pull the switch at an electrocution, she'd probably buy a few. She said she tried to punish Maggie, but she couldn't help laughing about the matter the entire time she was doing it. I can only imagine that the beating hardly amounted to more than a rigorous petting between fits of laughter, and probably ended with her laughing so hard that she wet herself.
Ref: associatedcontent.com
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