The lightning hit.

There was a smell of singed wool.

Igor waited awhile and then trudged round to the bundle, trailing molten rubber behind him. Kneeling down, he carefully unwrapped the blanket.

Scraps yawned. A large tongue licked Igor’s hand.

As he smiled with relief there came, from far down below in the castle, the sound of the mighty organ playing “Toccata for Young Women in Underwired Nighdresses.”