Midway through listening to the stack of records he had pulled from the hall closet — his beloved dreary-day music — Old Possum heard a knock at the door.
Several little chipmunks had piled onto the stoop, and as soon as the door opened, the bravest one, the one who had knocked, blurted out — with no preamble or hello — “We were playing and heard the strangest sounds floating through your windows, Mr. Possum, and we want to know what you’re doing.”
Slightly taken aback (How, Possum wondered, could it possibly have been so long since he’d played that particular record that Mama Chipmunk’s grandchildren had never heard it before?), he merely said, “Bach’s Cello Suites.”
One of the chipmunks gasped, wide-eyed, and whispered, “Boxed Chilly Sweets? You’re eating ice cream on a cold day?”
Which of course made Old Possum laugh as he ushered them all through the doorway.
“No, no, little ones,” he said. “Come inside and listen. It’s music! The most delicious music for a cold, dreary day.” But he decided that a loaf of spicy gingerbread and a pot of hot tea to share sounded like a delicious idea, too.