It was bound to happen sooner or later: Samson fell off the bed. I got a voice mail at work from Vicki, who had sat him on our bed while trying to get dressed. Why not put him on the floor, you ask. Because he's started trying to climb into our dresser --- a trick I'm pretty sure he learned from the cat. [That's all we need is some kind of collaborationist initiative between the two little mammals in our house.]
She was half-pantsed and moving toward him when he moved to the edge and loosed the surly bonds. Poor little guy. Apparently he bounced right back (no pun intended) and was content to continue watching his Teletubbies from the floor. I almost feel worse for Vicki; I know I wouldn't want to have to witness Samson as physics experiment.
I can still vaguely recall being about 2 and climbing on the Winnie the Pooh in my crib to see what would happen if I really leaned over the edge. I am also unable to fly.
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