Oh, right. Cat.

This morning, I grabbed my lunch from the fridge to take it to work. Upon pulling it out of the fridge, I knocked a half-full glass of cold water. It teetered a bit as I looked at my full hands, unable to steady it, then crashed to the floor and shattered.

Well, that's another few bucks of my deposit gone.

I told the cat to stay out of the kitchen, as if she could understand me.

I grabbed a couple plastic bags, doubled 'em up, and started filling them with pieces of broken glass. The glass had shattered quite impressively, so there were many pieces. Partway through gingerly picking up the pieces, I remembered "dustpan! they gave me a dustpan!" Grabbed broom and swept up all remaining shards. Put broom away and switched to the vacuum, to pick up the tiny bits of glass that were too small to see.

Felt pretty good about the twice-cleaned kitchen floor. Picked up my lunch, dried it off (so that's where the water went!) and proceeded to leave.

At which point, my cat went into the kitchen and made a beeline for the fridge, which she immediately started reaching under to play with the pieces that had scattered beyond the reach of broom or vacuum. Yeah. That'd be her.

(Of course, it is when I got on my hands and knees to pick them up to save delicate feline paws that I actually got cut.)