From the kitchen upstairs, the toaster lever popped up on its own. Nobody had touched it.
She called Harold Finch.
The house at 13 Mockingbird Lane didn't look like much from the street—peeling white paint, a porch swing that creaked without wind, and gutters stuffed with the skeletal remains of autumns past. But inside, it was a kingdom. Animal House
Chaos erupted. Chestnut grabbed the whole cake. Gus, sleep-sliding on the linoleum, gave chase. Barnaby knocked over a lamp. Poe, from his perch on the fridge, screamed, "Piece! Piece! Piece!" (The only human word he’d mastered.) From the kitchen upstairs, the toaster lever popped
Harold read it twice. Then he looked at the squirrel, who had placed the cherry on his own head like a tiny, ridiculous crown. The house at 13 Mockingbird Lane didn't look
The trouble began with a squirrel. Not any squirrel—a wiry, manic looter named Chestnut. Chestnut had been casing the bird feeder for weeks. One Tuesday, he managed to squeeze through a gap in the attic eaves. He emerged in the living room just as a cake—baked by a surprisingly dexterous raccoon named Margot—was cooling on the counter.