Well, I guess she did once, when I escaped and was trying to break into the SmartPak saddlery on Rte. 9 in Natick.
But I digress. I assume you want to know about the squirrel, not me.
A writer friend of mom's, upon arriving home this week, was startled to hear music wafting from her piano. A ghost? An intruder who just couldn't resist tickling the ivories as he or she lifted the family silver?
She calls 911. Walpole police arrive, and find—a squirrel.
Squirrel still at large. But how did he learn to play the piano? I sleep right next to ours, and the magic just hasn't happened for me.
