It is a cold winter day, overcast, with no sun heating the apartment.
Her Grace and Sleekness thinks it's a bit nippy so she steps off her (heated) pillow and burrows under the afghan currently hogged by the Waitress in Residence who is napping on the couch.
It is very cozy under the afghan, and Her Grace stretches out to better warm her tummy.
As she stretches, she notices there is a faint odor of tuna.
Yes, it's coming from the Waitress, who seems to have tuna ...somewhere on her.
Her Grace and Sleekness investigates carefully.
Abruptly the quiet is shattered by a scream that leaves Her Grace certain the world is coming to an end.
She notices Waitress is no longer under the afghan, or even on the couch.
She's hanging from the chandelier, yowling, although no where near as musically as Her Grace.
"Alexa! Call the Fire Department to get me off this ceiling!"
Before Her Grace has had time to resettle on her heated cushion on her royal chair, there is a brutal pounding on the door, and a number of bipeds race into the room, collect Waitress from the chandelier, and settle her on the Royal Couch.
It's clear they are mystified how Waitress teleported eight feet into the air. Her Grace gives a disdainful sniff. Only a biped would think an 8-foot-leap to be remarkable.
She hears one ask "how did you get on the ceiling?"
And Thumbs says, "The cat licked my lips. While I was sleeping."
|"It's not MY fault you had a toasted tuna sandwich for lunch."|