Late Night Phone Call

I was sleeping last night, snuggled away against Moms and Dads (I was the little spoon). And then the phone rings. First I think, "Oh, Dad's being paged." Then I realized Dads wasn't on call this weekend -- and the ring was coming from my Superman BatPhone. So I ran out of the room to get the phone. I said, "Hello?" And the voice on the other side said, "This is Bandit. I have your camp hostage."

At first, I feared for the beauty and comfort of Trump Fairfield; I thought it was being punked. But then I said "Trump Fairfield" and "Camp" and realized these weren't the same things. So I said, "Hey. Who is this?" The voice said, "It's Bandit. I'm a Maine Coon. And I have your Camp." I asked, "You're a cat? Are you chubby? My folks say I weigh too much but, really, I've never been able to talk it over with anyone other than Archibald and we're not quite in agreement that I'm FAT..." Bandit cut me off. "I'm not a cat. I'm a Racoon. A Maine Coon. And I have your camp. Your BAMPIE'S CAMP."

At first I freaked out. Then I realized I'm not allowed to cross the street, let alone leave the door. So I couldn't physically fix the problem. I said, "Pretty please, leave my Bampie's Camp alone." Bandit just said, "Ha. Ha. Ha." Then there was a click. I tried talking for a while more (if anything, to get another opinion on the weight thing) but the phone started beeping and then I fell back asleep. This morning, these pictures were in my email box with two words: "Love, Bandit." Thankfully, he left paw prints. I think we can get 'em...