Ravaged Lace

Day 143: I have no one to blame but myself for this. Tip's predilection for protecting the household against invasive receipts and other threats is well-known. He seeks them out in places where no cats go in daylight, hunting them with the greatest stealth. How was I to know that lace was dangerous?

I finished the handkerchief edging before leaving for work yesterday and patted it out flat on the harpsichord to admire my handiwork. With other things on my mind when I got home, I wasn't even thinking about attaching it to a square of muslin, but that was supposed to be one of the first things on my agenda this morning. However, as my eyes drifted toward the harpsichord, they caught a glimpse of something crumpled at the base of one of the legs. "What the heck is that?" I asked myself, and in the next split second knew exactly what I was seeing. My hopes of being able to pull it back into shape were dashed as soon as I saw the severed threads. Oh, he'd gone straight for the heart...two of them, as a matter of fact...and it would take me as long or longer to mend the poor ravaged lace as it would to create a new edging.

When something like this occurs, there's only one thing you can sensibly do: laugh. Anything else would be bad for your digestion. The guilt is mine entirely. I never forbade the eating of lace. I never told him it wasn't to be hunted. It was my own fault for leaving the little hearts to tempt him. Anybody have a three-sided handkerchief they need to trim?