As to what happened to the other shell buddies who were also in that card game ... there is just one word to explain why this guy was the sole survivor. That word is ... cats.
Sure enough, as the rest of the family was dozing off to sleep in the big bed in the master bedroom the other night, there was, from the main room in the house, a somewhat muffled sound of certain destruction.
With morning's light, it was apparent that Huck and Spice, the resident 18 month old kittens, had apparently decided that the shell art purchased on the only trip we had ever made to the beginning of the Keys here in the SoFlo should no longer be a part of the bar, and would look better smashed to pieces on the tile floor.
That which reminded us of family card games of yore, you will be missed (and will hopefully be replaced someday soon).
NOTE: in lieu of the usual links-in-triplicate that typically accompany these posts, I'll show pics taken one year ago, when we inventoried the house as Irma almost hit. It may be the only evidence of that which once existed, pre-kitty-fun.
