Whenever my husband and I see one of those telltale signs of trouble, we fall back on an old joke. "The cat is on the roof," we say. I don’t remember where I first heard it, and it has many variations, but it goes something like this.
A man is away on vacation, and his brother has been house-sitting for him. When he calls home to check on things, the brother says, "Your cat died."
"What?" the man replies in shock.
"Yep. Dead. Bummer."