“Jessie, why is the door open?”
“Didn’t you lock it?”
“Well, I had my hands full–all those bags going to your mother’s.”
“You’re blaming my mother? She’s not the problem here-”
“It’s obviously someone’s fault . . . not even closed . . .”
“Anyone could have come in . . .”
“And there they are . . . Oh, no! my cake!”
Caught in the act, two cats sat on the table licking their paws, frosting still clinging to their whiskers.
Banished to the front yard, the culprits sat at the edge of the porch and sulked.
Jessie, banished from the kitchen, sat on the porch swing sulking.
Wife stood at the kitchen door and surveyed the scene of carnage, took her broom and began sweeping.
Disclaimer: No animals were harmed in the writing of this story, although the cats did complain somewhat of distressing tummy aches.
The cake however was harmed. There was no dessert with afternoon tea.