Walter...my sweet sweet kitty. He is a cross-eyed, chubby, gay, republican, burmese orphan cat.
His full name is Admiral Walter Seamus Crumly "Master of the Ocean" and he is the best cat ever in the history of cats.
Even better than Maru. Wait. I take that back. No he's not, Maru is epic.
Anyway, my sweet baby boy is a bit like Maru. He's clumsy...oaf-like...and none-too-coordinated. It doesn't help that his crossed eyes don't allow him to see things in perspective.
So last night, as I was binge watching My 600lb Life, AGAIN, Walter was perched on our 12 x 12 inch, glass, side table which was right next to our Christmas tree.
<side note: YES, OUR CHRISTMAS TREE IS STILL UP. And yes, it is beyond dried-out. And yes, the ornaments are precariously hanging on the dried out, bent, branches and falling off one-by-one. And yes, we will take the tree down tomorrow, MOM!>
So Walter is, again, seated precariously on the tiny glass table when he starts to nod off. After resting his weary body from his busy day of napping in five different spots on the couch, he goes to roll over....right into the Christmas tree.
As he is mid-roll, he wakes up (thank God) and just in the nick of time, grabs the table top and pulls himself up. Had his roll been completed, he would have taken down our Christmas tree, and it would have fallen into the television, and most likely ruined all of our ornaments, or just the ones that I like.
I died laughing. I mean, not literally died, obviously as I'm writing this from my computer. But you get the drift.