Last evening I spent four hours carefully sewing (by hand) a new top on my worn-out hassock. I'd luckily found perfect upholstery fabric and I had a plan, and I did it, and it turned out even better than I'd hoped. I was *so* chuffed.
I went out for a few hours this afternoon, and when I came back, SOMEONE had vomited copiously all over my brand-new hassock-top. I could. Not. Believe. It.
They're BOTH in the doghouse and I don't care if it's not fair. SOMEONE did it on purpose. They're felina non grata for the night.