Animal House

Sunday morning:

Step out of the shower and race to answer the phone.   The bassets (AWOL since yesterday afternoon and as usual, not wearing I.D. tags) have shown up at the Davidson's, who are quite familiar with Gracie, though this is the first trip for Duchess.  Throw on some sweats and with hair dripping wet, jump in the car to retrieve the runaways.

Get the dogs fed and in their proper place and return to the house.  The kittens have finally succeeded in knocking over the trash can, and the stinkers who are finicky about their cat food are chowing down on coffee grounds and paper towels.  Go figure.

Trying to quickly finish getting ready for church when I hear a strange noise.  Now the kittens have managed to knock the bowl of pecans off the table, and tiny bits of nut shells are scattered all over the dining room floor.

Just about ready to leave, quickly step into the guest bathroom to apply lipstick.  The toilet tissue is in shreds on the floor.  More of the kitten's handiwork.

This is why I'm not an animal person.