At first? She was proud of herself. Proud that she had not only jumped on the couch, but also that she'd made the precarious crossing from couch to coffee table. She pranced around gaily for a few minutes enjoying the view from her new perch and the fact that she was now officially as far off the ground as her big sister.
But then? Reality set in. And that reality was that going anywhere else was going to necessarily involve the "jump-down". And the jump-down has been the very last maneuvering skill to be reacquired since her surgery. In fact, the jump-down doesn't ever happen anymore unless it happens unconsciously. As in, she is sitting on my chair and, suddenly, hears the sound of the treat jar lid rattling. This sound will automatically cause her to lose her mind and quite forget the fact that she's jumping off of anything. I'm pretty sure she'd hurl herself off the Empire State Building if she heard that tantalizing sound in the distance.
But today, the treat jar wasn't rattling. Today she was just stuck and so she went to Plan B. And that is crying. It usually works. She produces a sad little yodeling sound, it is multi-tonal and pathetic. However, since this whole situation evolved about two feet away from me, I wasn't exactly about to come running, worried about what her situation might be. When the yodeling began, and it occurred to me she was marooned, I did what any good Mommy would do. I grabbed the camera and started snapping.
And then I lifted her onto the floor. (Oh yah. I'm a hard-ass.)