Oh, I may have spilled the beans. Grover came home with Der Bingle last Friday – sort of a little break from the Three Week Barbershop Quartet Festival at Grover’s Place at the Ohio Redoubt of the West Facing Cave. He spent the time here on the porch buried in the silence of fluffy throws. And then I rode back with Der Bingle to pick up his trusty pewter Buick and talk to it on the drive home about not being upset by being LaCrossed. We forgot to take Grover; Grover would have to spend a week hiding from Summer.

Then, Der Bingle got this emergency go to San Diego call and he is not here this week-end . . . and Grover is in hiding for another week. For additional security, Grover cuddles beneath the fluffy throw and Sydney sleeps on it. But now that loose fingers have jeopardized sweet, lovable furry old Grover. I guess I will take him to the double secret hiding place. I know I shouldn’t have leaked information, but it is so suspenseful – kind of like the resistance in WWII.