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.
