I found out what was living under my house, and subsequently found out why our heat was sporadically working,and of course it was all Foley’s doing.
Our heat stopped working one day, and while the calendar says spring, it is still quite cold. River and I were shivering in the bedroom when we heard paw falls, and smelled something quite odiforous. We ran to the vent and yelled out “who dares enter the home beneath two scary dogs of such statute.” (I was exaggerating but I believe River was quite serious.)
“It is I, Puxatony Phil!” a voice called out from beneath the floorboards.
“Puxatony Phil!” I said shocked. “What are you doing here?”
“I needed a break from the constant tourism,” he said. “People pestering me, looking up my hole. Foley stopped by and told me you had some heat issues. I agreed to live under your house, get away from all the curiosity seekers, and get back into shape by running on the wheel that makes your heat work. Next year when they pull me out of the hole I don’t want them talking about six more weeks of winter. I want them talking about how wonderful I look in spanx.”
I thought it was rather late in the year to lose weight by keeping our heat going but Phil assured me that the cold air would continue, and who was I to argue, he is Punxsutawney Phil. In fact he told me that six is the highest amount of upcoming weeks of winter he can predict, but given his druthers, he would have picked 12.
The next week was cold, and when I peered down the grate I saw Phil running as hard as he could to keep the heat working. On Friday night there was a big bang under the house. It was dark and I could not be sure, but I thought I saw Phil slinking away in the night, abandoning his quest to slim down and leaving us huddled around one small space heater for warmth until a new heating unit can be installed.
If any of our human friends are driving between southeastern Massachusetts and western Pennsylvania and see a plump rodent waddling down the road you have our permission to run the fast bastard over.