Shredded again

This morning we came downstairs to find a gazillion pieces of Terry’s bed shredded from one end of the kitchen to the other. It looks as if she did it with joyous abandon. But when the fun was all over, the reality of the situation didn’t suit her. She is all out of sorts now. There is nothing left that’s cushy to sleep on. The little princess needs her thick foamy bed. She does. And if she doesn’t get it, she’s going to be miserable. To me.

And you know what I told her? “Tough beans.”

That was the last shredded bed I’m cleaning up. Or replacing.

It’s blankets on the floor for this girl.

I’ll probably cave, though. There is only so much whining and fussing and pacing that I can stand. She’ll win. She always does.

But for right now, I’m committed to blankets on the floor.