Squashed kitty . . .

. . . well, almost.

It's all Ellen's fault for balancing a suitcase on a stack of junk (in fact, other suitcases) in her spare wardrobe. She should KNOW that I often go in there to play/sleep/hide and that it's dangerous having a case that could fall on top of me. I could have been killed.

Luckily I heard it shift and I ran away before it fell. But, gee, it was a close call! She would be very sorry if it squashed me.