Dear Miss Cloud,
Please don’t give me dirty looks for laughing at you. I couldn’t help it. You looked like Dick Van Dyke doing that signature roll over the ottoman during the opening of the show.
I do know what you were trying to do. You were trying to jump on the bed, as you’ve done several hundred times before. You gave your little chirruping trill of warning, wriggled your patchwork quilt design butt, and leapt – and almost missed. So you grabbed the quilt with your claws and kicked off with those strong back legs again. Trouble is, you overcompensated and arrived on the bed in a classic somersault, rolling tail over nose and arriving on your back.
I know, I wasn’t even supposed to notice the manner of your arrival, let alone laugh out loud. I couldn’t help it. It was so magnificently klutzy.
Grace, thy name is not Cloud.