I was sitting on our bed, playing Bingo on my phone while Gareth was at the computer, replying to emails. The house was quiet except for the hum of the heating system, the occasional gust of wind as it tossed snow at the windows, and the tat, tap, tat, tap of Gareth's fingers on the keyboard. I was about to bust loose with a string of expletives for not being fast enough to get a Bingo! when we heard a massive THUD come from Gaby's room. Gareth ran in there to make sure she was alright. Apparently she had fallen out of bed. I stood outside her bedroom door while he got her situated back into bed.
Gaby was mostly still asleep despite her hard landing, and Gareth asked her if she was hurt? She looked at her daddy through sleep-heavy eyelids and shrugged and said, "Not at all." Then he asked her what happened and she said one word, "Geronimo."
Sir-Fluff-a-Lot had climbed into bed with her, stretched himself out, and in the process, pushed her out of bed.
Once she was settled back into her bed, snuggled up under her covers and tucked in amidst her lovies, Geronimo made himself comfortable at the foot of her bed. I went into check on her a few minutes later and made a point of pointing at him and telling him, "You don't need the whole bed, you stay down here, or else! I mean it 'Nimo! Gaby's too nice to be firm with you, but I'm not!"
As our evening wore on and we walked through the house, locking doors, closing blinds, and performing our typical nightly rituals, I peeked into Gaby's room to check on her one last time. This is the sight that greeted me:
That cat had damned well better have nine lives! Because one is going to be far too short for that little girl!