The case of the fallen harp

There is no sound like a harp tipping over. I've heard it too many times in my years as a harpist (never with the concert harp, thank goodness, but still). Playing outdoors in the wind, performing around vigorously celebrating people, entrusting the harp to not-too-attentive guardians...all ingredients for a shell-shocked harp and a very upset harpist.

I heard it again tonight. I was upstairs working when I heard it — that solid smack followed by the painful ring that doesn't stop for a long time. The house was quiet for a second, and then I heard something suspicious: the jingling of a cat collar.

I ran downstairs and found the evidence. 

My lap harp was on its side on the floor. 

I'd left it beside the couch, where I'd held it while working out a couple of new melodies (sometimes, composition is best accomplished while reclining...). The harp was fine, thank goodness. But I was determined to find the culprit. The suspects:

This one in her nest, looking like she's dreaming only of cat chow.

This one seeming more interested in perching in the place

where the lap harp usually rests.

And this one...hiding between the coffee table and my purse,

avoiding eye contact, looking verrrrrrry innocent...

The jury's still out — who do you think is the guilty party?

Springing

65 degrees. 

Scilla popping up in Mom and Dad's yard.

Spring. 

Happy Easter.

During tax season, I'll take all the help I can get

Thanks, SamTheCat. 

If I get a good return, I'll buy you some catnip.