Sandra closed her eyes and silently counted to ten.
"No use crying over spilt milk," Sandra sighed, "Next time use a mop to clean your mess instead of the cat, Jake."
Jake's face flushed in embarrassment. "Yes, mom."
"Now, what to do about that cat...?" Sandra muttered to herself. She watched as Boomer pawed at the dishtowel hanging from the refrigerator door. His claw hooked on the cloth and with one yank, the fridge tipped forward.
With a howl of protest, Boomer dashed out of the way before the appliance hit the kitchen floor.
"This is definitely a problem," Sandra said with a shake of her head. She looked at her boys and shrugged.
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