My mum and dad turned my cotbed into a bed the other night after I threatened to hurl myself over the edge into the abyss. Not exactly a suicide attempt, just a call for help, well a request really, or maybe a demand to get into Mummy's bed. Things haven't really panned out in my favour though. I am being punished. Terribly. They gave me the freedom to roam my room but have shifted the stair gate from the top of the stairs to my bedroom doorway. If I knew some bad words I'd be using them. What will they do next?: Bars on the window? I have shown them my feelings on this by slamming the door in their faces every time I am put to bed.
I don't think they like me. Despite all their kisses and cuddles and words of affection; they just don't understand me. I never get to do anything I want. And just because I nearly gassed them in their beds, well that was an accident. Doesn't mean that my every move has to be monitored. Not my fault that they didn't check that I'd been turning the gas hob on before bed. And it was someone else I am sure that left the oven on all night and the freezer door just opens itself about 3 times every day. I'd send it back.
And I'm only being helpful when I turn your 30 degree wash up to 90 degrees somewhere through the cycle. Knitwear can never be too small. But it might have been me that tore open a big box of Cheerios, and put an open bag of flour into your handbag. Admittedly, I was covered in evidence. But it could have been my sister. I think it must have been her that pulled all the toilet roll out Andrex puppy style.
But it definitely couldn't have been me that emptied a big cup of juice into a little tiny tub on the coffee table, soaking my mum's new Elle Decoration and probably making it unreadable, and then letting it overflow on to the floor, because I've been busy typing this, haven't I?