Then why did my big floofy boy decide he just HAD to assist me in my psghetti n' meepball cooking, jump up onto the kitchen counter, step on the cookbook binder I had out, overbalance and send himself, the water dish and a half-open bag of gummi bears crashing to the kitchen floor?

And why, also, upon hearing the commotion, did my cranky old girl try to leap up on the barstool to see what was going on, knocking it and herself over and sending missus c's Macbook crashing to the ground?

They both, of course, gave me that "What? I meant to do that, oaf" look and sashayed away, leaving me to clean up broken crockery and soggy gummi candy. Happily, the computer seems unscathed.

It's a mercy that these nimrods don't have to survive in the wild.