I have been reminded to post the full story of the chipmunk incident, which Dad mentioned a few days ago. Not quite two weeks ago, I had gone up to Kalamazoo for Heather's ordiniation, and stopped by at a bridal shower for Tripp and Trish on the way home, so I'd been gone for about 24 hours. I'd dropped all my stuff, dinked around online a bit, and talked to a couple friends, who encouraged me to come by Kafein and hang out with them for a bit. I went back downstairs, and was in the process of putting my sandals on when I heard something moving in the basement. I immediately froze and listened carefully. I heard it again, and let my instincts take hold. I slammed the basement door, ran outside, and got the neighbors. Five minutes later, I prepared to reenter my home, this time with Michelle, who had brought Roy, their dog, and Frank, who had brought a baseball bat. After ringing the doorbell and waiting for a minute or two, we started exploring, poking around the basement with trepidation. We were just nearing the furnace when I saw the menacing silhouette in the window: a three-inch rodent. After establishing that it was, in fact, a chipmunk (whom I now refer to as Mr. Chippy, in reference to a fabulous comic book by Roman Dirge), and that we were wholly unprepared and unable to capture it, Frank, Michelle and Roy went home, and I kept the basement door shut. Two days later, Mr. Chippy had an unfortunate encounter my neighbor Ellen's cat. Thus ends the tale of Mr. Chippy (Ooh that's bad. Pun not intended, sorry).

Incidentally, Mr. Chippy's method of entry had been a puzzle for a few days, until I tried to do a load of laundry. Evidently, he had fallen down the dryer vent tube and ripped open the foil-wrapped coil at the bottom to get out.