The Frank And Beans Quandary 'link' 📢

The neighborhood potluck that evening was chili-less. Frank brought a bag of store-brand tortilla chips and a haunted look in his eyes. Sheila told the story to everyone. Beans spent the night in a cardboard box, wearing a tiny, improvised cone made from a coffee filter, plotting his next move.

Frank did the only logical thing. He retrieved a can of tuna, a pair of oven mitts, and his neighbor, a quick-witted paramedic named Sheila who had once extracted a hamster from a vacuum cleaner. the frank and beans quandary

Here was the true quandary: to pull the ferret out meant enduring more bites, more chili, and the distinct possibility of getting his hand stuck. To leave the ferret meant dismantling the wall with a sledgehammer, which his landlord would not appreciate. The neighborhood potluck that evening was chili-less

Beans, meanwhile, had escaped his cage via a flaw in the latch that Frank had been meaning to fix for six months. The ferret, driven by some ancient weasel imperative, ascended the dish towel draped over the oven handle, dropped onto the counter, and squeezed into the chili pot. Beans spent the night in a cardboard box,

Frank searched. Under the couch. Behind the water heater. Inside the box spring. Nothing.