Sam stared downward, shocked, at the catastrophe below his feet. He could hardly force his mind to reboot, after his entire afternoon was shattered before his eyes. In his mind, he could picture it: yelling, scolding, crying; and ultimately, solitary confinement. The room swirled around him from his perch on the kitchen counter. Some of the surrounding cabinets laughed at him, others sneered, and the refrigerator simply shook its massive head. Outside, careless birds were chattering and singing, ignorant to Sam’s imminent demise. He swallowed and stared at the open cupboard in front of his nose, at the dozens of glasses and porcelain plates mourning the loss of their companion. Under the sink, he could distinctly hear the broom and dustpan shaking with the anticipation of some action.

Suddenly, from behind him, Sam heard his doom approach. His mother’s heels clacked ominously against the tile as she came in to prepare supper. Sam closed his eyes and his heart sank.

“Sammy! Don’t move, sweetie! Stay right where you are,” his mother gasped as she rapidly tapped into the kitchen. Sam felt firm hands grip his shoulders. Tears streamed down his face.

“I’ll get this cleaned right up. Don’t you worry. You’re not hurt, are you? It’s a good thing you didn’t cut your feet on this glass,” she continued, bending down to retrieve the broom after reassuringly kissing his forehead.