The evening started out oddly enough to suggest that it might happen. The bumbling Internet technicians, sent via horseback to repair La Beaver's Internet connection, arrived two weeks and seven hours late sans excuse. They materialized out of the hot, humid air, letting themselves into the kitchen while Beaver had her back turned. Who were these two strange groundhogs in her kitchen? She gasped and cried for Domo. Two hours and two bags of potato chips later, the Internet was back, but the yellow fridge was finished.
Fur-lined friends might remember the story of the antique Frigidaire the former owner so kindly left behind him. Overheated and thirsty, it used up all their electricity and shook wildly each evening, but Beaver and Domo became very attached to it after painting it yellow one cool winter's night. But summer has come, with three digit temperatures, and La Yellow Fridge is no longer. It died a solemn death with a solemn goodbye. I...just...couldn't...take...it, it croaked, with much sadness. Beaver and Domo could only stand and sigh. And they had just gone shopping!
The evening's adventures were only just beginning. As Beavy climbed the ladder to her long-awaited dam, she was nearly knocked out cold by a monstrously large bat, flapping around aimlessly, asking for directions.
"Never in the bedroom!" She shouted, tumbling downstairs. Whatever happened to the respect of matrimonial spaces? The bats are going batty!The battiest of bats! Vintage Bjorg-like racket in hand, Domo headed to the dam quite gallant and manly, swinging this way and that without fear, without fright. Not one, but two bats had taken over the arched ceiling. "You've got the wrong neighbors!" He told them, when they finally settled down. "It's those guys you want, they're only here on weekends!"
The bats, visibly embarrassed, promised to bring by some choco-choco truffles and left where they came from, a hole too small to see.
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