These days, bushes crowded in too close for a car to squeeze through and roots had chewed up most of the pavement, but you could still smell the rusty skeletons of old wrecks buried in the bushes like a forgotten bone. The ghosts blew in with the morning fog and swirled featherlike through the brush until the sun shined them away around lunch time. 

The Stuck House was supposed to be the only place where the universe had to obey her rules, but now she couldn’t even boss around a lousy banana.

Donuts are like cheese sticks for Mom. When it takes extra bravery to get home without killing any strangers, Mom rewards herself with a donut. “But they weren’t in the basket where they usually are, and the whole bakery case was locked.” I didn’t like where this story was going. You don’t get between Mom and pastries.

Mom leaned back and her arm shot out as if to shove the Furryner off a cliff. She might have done it, too, if he’d come any closer, but only by accident. They froze for a second, both staring at the stop hand at the end of Mom’s stiff arm.

“It’s not criminal, but it’s a violation of something-or-other,” Mom said in her law-gic voice. “I wouldn’t call it il-legal. More like extra-legal.” What a relief. If the Law found us, they would probably give me a medal for being so much more legal than everyone else.