“The cats need to be locked up. They can’t walk on the painted floor or they’ll wreck it,” I said while I painted the entranceway floor (with oil-based paint).
“The cats need to be locked up. They can’t walk on the painted floor or they’ll wreck it,” I said while I put chairs in strategic places to remind everyone not to walk on the floor.
“The cats need to be locked up. They can’t walk on the painted floor or they’ll wreck it,” I said while I stood at the stove, cooking bacon.
“WHY WEREN’T THE CATS LOCKED UP????” I shouted as the kids let the cats in and Nan stood frozen while Piglet left a trail of paw prints.
“WHY DIDN’T YOU STOP THE CAT??” I raged to Nan as I placed a cardboard box on the wet floor and took a giant step inside, and another into the front room.
“What were you guys thinking?” I muttered to myself as I wedged the squirming cat under my arm and did the teetering hopscotch to return.
“Arrrgggghhhh!” I fumed as I touched up the floor, as far as I could reach.
“So what’s the moral of the story?” I demanded of the four solemn faces at the dinner table.
“Don’t put the cat down?” they offered hopefully.
“Close enough” I said.
The end.