“That’s not blood, sweetheart,” Mom replied. “That’s marinara sauce. You and Chloe were upstairs clogging and you fell through the ceiling. You landed on the table, splashing up all the pizza and marinara sauce. Somewhere along the way, all four of your, uh, my shoes, fell off your paws. One shoe broke a dinner plate, another landed in the middle of a peach pie, and two of them are sticking out of the potted plant,” Mom said as Dad examined me.