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.

“Oh good! The horse came home after all. I knew we’d find a happy ending.”

"You're not even paying attention to who might be sneaking up on you!” I checked out all the windows, then I checked them again.

Pots clattered as she dug through the kitchen, searching for I-knew-not-what. She grunted triumphantly and pulled out the knife.

"Oh my dog! It's the shoopacabra!" I barked. "Let's get him!" I leaned hard into the leash and ordered him to run.