The Nonhipster Home For The Incurably Criminally Insane

So. We have this condo. It's a two-story condo, basically, with a large loft where Dan and I have our bedroom/office/space. There's a ledge that extends off the loft, across the dining room wall, above the door to Max's room, which is just wide enough to store decorative things on, basically. It's not accessible--there's a railing--which is to say that it's where all the crap that we don't want Max tearing apart ends up, because he can't possibly reach it and wouldn't even try, since he's not allowed in the loft without permission.

Currently, there are a few plastic bags holding outgrown/discarded/otherwise unsuitable clothes until we have time to make a run to the Salvation Army, Max's old bouncy seat, and the frame backpack carrier stored up there, as well as a couple of baskets with most of my yarn stash.

Our cat, who I long ago determined was incurably criminally insane, likes to climb through the railing and onto the ledge, where she can peer imperiously down at us, with an expression of "you stupid effing people. I hate you" on her face. Right now, there's not a lot of space up there for her, but she can peer imperiously down at us from pretty much anywhere on the loft, really. She doesn't need to be on the damn ledge.

Today, she climbed out onto the ledge, on top of the plastic bags, and through one of the legholes of the backpack in an effort to peer at us. Since the backpack and the bouncy seat are balanced somewhat precariously on top of four plastic bags, I was thinking this was probably a pretty stupid idea, but I live with a pre-schooler and a giant man-child, so a pretty stupid idea doesn't rank that far up on my list of Things I Need To Prevent From Happening.

Of course, unsurprisingly, the backpack and the bouncy seat began to slide down the stack of plastic bags. It's not an enormous drop--maybe twelve feet--from the ledge, but I wouldn't want to fall twelve feet, and I suspect my cat doesn't either. Nevertheless, that is precisely what happened--bouncy seat, backpack, and incurably criminally insane cat stuck inside the backpack all slid down the bags and fell off the ledge. There wasn't a thing Dan or I could possibly have done to prevent it, since we were both standing in the living room at the time.

The cat crawled out of the tangle of backpack and bouncy seat, looking totally humiliated and frustrated. She saw us both looking at her, and--no lie--sat down in the bouncy seat, stretched out, and gave us the imperious peer she'd been planning to bestow on us from the ledge. "I wanted to sit here," she said calmly. "I just wanted it downstairs, not on the fucking ledge, you morons."