When I graduated from high school and moved out of my parents house, I decided to get a bigger bed and leave my toddler (twin size) bed back home. Obviously, this would leave me with a bed when I come home to visit and I wouldn't have to sleep on the couch, right? WRONG. My bedroom has turned into the "first one who falls asleep gets the bed", room. So that means I have to choose between the couch and being woken up at 6:30 when everyone else gets up or the upstairs bedroom that has the worst ventilation ever. Seriously, the rest of the house is 55 degrees and it's 84 degrees upstairs. Way to go on the bonus room, parents.
Anyways, because I value sleep more than low body temperatures, I decided to take the upstairs bed. This means having to go downstairs in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. Guess what I found on my way down.
The cat sleeps on the bottom stair.
The cat would have been unharmed if my dad hadn't insisted buying the wall sconces with the bulbs that were on sale because they were being discontinued EIGHT years ago when we bought our house. Guess what, dad. Light bulbs aren't a renewable resource. Anyways, all the lights were out and my foot connected with poor Chloe's stomach. She's fine, but I had a mild heart attack when I realized that I couldn't see or catch my balance and was risking my life for my cat's life.
Then I couldn't remember why I went downstairs in the first place.