Blaming Arthur

Poor kitty.  We knew Arthur would become a scapegoat for something.  I mean, he's a little over a year old, freaking huge, and akin to a bull in a china shop on most days.  He gallops around the house like an elephant, flawlessly hunts mosquitos and crickets (and the occasional stray lizard...yuck!), and attacks my feet when I'm sleeping.  But I love him dearly.

So does Samantha. 

Especially now that she's discovered he's really good for something.  Now that she's discovered the little white lie. 

We've been talking about truth a lot lately.  Discovering that it's sometimes easier to get real information out of her using the process of elimination in conjunction with the magic question, Is that the truth?  She's only too happy to answer that one surprisingly truthfully.  Here's a lame and fictitious example:

Me:  Is the sky purple?

Sammi:  Yes!

Me:  Is that the truth?

Sammi (grinning):  Nooooo...it's blue, silly!

So, last week, when I walked into the powder room and discovered the walls literally dripping water, the sink top soaked, and puddly drops all over the floor, naturally I asked her who got water all over the bathroom.  And I was pretty sure I knew the answer to my own question... 

However, I was not prepared for the answer I got.

Sammi (totally composed):  Arthur did it. 

Not a crack of a smile, not a giggle, nothing.  Deadpan. 

I had to laugh.

Is that the truth?

Sammi:  No.

Me:  Who really did it?

Sammi (grinning):  I did!

Okay, so I'm glad she finds it amusing.  I gave her a caution, and let it go.  Of course now, after that exchange, she thinks it's perfectly fine to pull my chain and say that Arthur did it whenever I ask who did something naughty. 

But we mamas know better, right?