things that go smash

Sometimes I Don’t Know My Own Strength

I don’t always plan my mischief down to the last detail.  Sometimes I will just leave a little vortex of chaos lying in wait someplace, all ready for one of the unwary humans to step in.  (I like to be surprised.)

I left such a spell in the kitchen-dining room yesterday.  I expected a dropped fork or a smear of jam on a borrowed library book or perhaps even a burned pork chop.  Nothing happened yesterday, but I have just heard the most enormous CRASH and some colorful language, so I think it may have been triggered!

Great Frigga’s Hairpins!  Be careful, my love, there is very great deal of broken glass in here!


And rather a lot of something wet…


If the human male’s mutterings are to be believed, he was trying to lift a twelve-pack of fizzy water up off the floor.  Somehow a bottle of beer (whose six pack was sitting next to the fizzy water) “hitched a ride” on the carton of water but then let go at a height of approximately four feet.

The destruction is most comprehensive.


Now the human male has some housekeeping and decontamination to do, all the while keeping curious felines out of the beery carnage.  I don’t know what he planned to do today, but whatever it was, he is not getting to it any time soon…

Ehehehehehe.  Good one.

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This Is Why I Hate Her

The humans have been married for mumbledy-something years.  (Doesn’t matter.  Humans are like mayflies compared to the Jotnar and Aesir, so keeping count is laughable.)  For their wedding, all those years ago, they received a set of nice, dark green kitchen canisters.  If you ask me, they’re the nicest things in the whole house.


Imagine, then, my dismay when the human female, with her usual ape-ish butter-handedness, dropped a heavy mug out of the cabinet right onto the sugar canister, which was my favorite.


I’m so mad I can’t see straight.  I didn’t even have the fun of watching her die slowly and agonizingly of intestinal perforations, because she found all the micro-slivers of ceramic in the sugar and threw the whole sticky mess out.

They don’t make them anymore.  Now, unless the human male gets lucky on ebay or something, I’m going to have to look at a set of mismatched kitchenware, and it will annoy the daylights out of me.   Believe me, she deserves everything she suffers at my hands, and more.

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I Am Not Technically Responsible

You poor humans work so hard all day.  Male, at keeping all the computers in the department up and running merrily.  Female, at trying to look busy.

Sometimes, because your work days are long and often stressful, I like to arrange little surprises for you to find when you come home tired and three-quarters brain-dead.

Take today, for example.


Female, I know you’re trying to be better about not leaving glasses on the end table where the feline, hopping up on the sofa, can knock them over.  Good for you–you’ve been careful to put them on the coffee table instead.

Guess now we know where I’ve been teaching your cat to sit.

Oh, stop whining.  It’s not like you couldn’t have predicted this.  They call them “tumblers” for a reason.

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