I. Give. Up.

Someone I used to know would say "Some days, chicken, some days feathers." Perhaps she was too ladylike to go to the third degree involving another product of chickens, and I'm not talking about eggs! This afternoon while working on my auction descriptions for next week there was a horrendous crash. It wasn't in here or the hall or kitchen. The usual four-footed suspects seemed as unnerved as myself. In the living room the source of the noise was revealed:

The shelf Mr. B put on the wall gave way suddenly, dumping the cat shrine and breaking much of the contents to smithereens. I spent more than half a day at Manna working and was tired already. Cleaning up this level of mess was not on my list of things to do this afternoon, but what are the options? Some days chicken, some days feathers, some days chicken stuff you try to avoid stepping in. Let's all cross our fingers Tuesday is a whole lot better. 

 

Sigh,

Michele