Pope John Paul II died last night, and then apparently got into my kitchen.

It was a dark and stormy night and I suppose it could've been wind across that hole squirrels chewed in my new gutters, or a branch scraping across the window-glass, or the hinges of the stormdoor caught in the wind, but I've never heard it before and it damn well sounded like it was coming from the air in the very center of the kitchen. About every ten minutes, and it was loud — something like a creaky door and something like a scream. Or a scream played backwards; the sound effect pod people make when you set fire to them.

Then the back door rattled for a while, then the front door rattled for a while. It was DISTINCTLY creepy. Thank goodness for vodka!

SHOO Karol Wojtyla! Aren't you supposed to be somewhere?