Yesterday I got a call at work from Rochelle, who had just arrived home. “Your daughter has been a very bad girl.”
“What’s she done?”
When I got home, I found a pound of powdered milk sprayed across the kitchen floor. Apparently a cat, in some sort of frenzy, had clawed at the plastic bag holding the powdered milk we buy to take baths in, and then knocked it onto the floor, where the bag burst.
No proof which cat did it. But Basta is the one with the plastic fetish…