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Memoir

Attic mystery

Here’s a little light reading for Thanksgiving week. True story. From the archives. And the attic. 

Todd arrived home late one night. After a long trip. When he opened the front door, the first thing he saw was me. Standing at the top of the stairs, on the second floor. Gripping a cricket bat with both hands. 

What? 

I silently pointed to the air vent in the ceiling. One little paw was reaching down, clawing at the air. I whacked the ceiling and it retreated. 

I had no idea what “it” was. But I wasn’t about to let it just waltz down into our home.

Photo by Joanna Kosinska, from Unsplash