My Apologies to Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a nine-thirty dreary, while Hannah and Molly watched United Ninety-Threary
A sad and serious drama of 9/11 lore.
While puppies nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently scratching, scratching at the fireplace door.
Tis some little mouse I muttered, scratching at the fireplace door,
Only this and nothing more.

Ah distinctly I remember, there might have been a dying ember
In that fireplace’s chamber, had it been a colder evening.
Then Scrappy perked her ears alertly, as scratching sounded more overtly,
And we approached the stove covertly - wondering what it had in store
Tis true that Friday nights in Billings can often be a bore
But this one isn’t, nevermore.

“Tis not a mouse, might be a kitty, or a bunny slightly gritty
They’re catlike eyes upon its brow,”
As we with flashlight inward peering, dimly discerned what we were hearing
Suddenly leapt back in stunned surprise, cried “Holy crap, it’s an owl!”
“Let’s call Bill Murray (phone is busy); Who’ll help us? Lewis Vowell?”
“Is it to late to call right now?”