“That’s enough, young mousers.” My father swung Pink away from the kittens, tucked her under one arm like a football. “So here’s the plan: I stick the flamingo in that big pot of christ-and-the-mums, or whatever the heck they are, next to the front door. That’s our signal that everybody is welcome to stop by for dessert and a wee Thanksgiving sip or two. Just make sure we hide the fancy pants stuff under the kitchen sink so they don’t drink us out of house and cocktails.”

John and Polly leaned forward in tandem and each scooped up two kittens, which was apparently my signal that I was on my own here.

I cleared my throat. “We have a full house for Thanksgiving already. Besides, how will everybody know what Pink sticking out of the mums even means?”

My father winked, never a good sign. “Sugar Butt enlightened me that an open door and a pink flamingo out front means come on by, y’all. I knew you wouldn’t go for the open-door part, what with all these felines meowing all over the house—”

“Maybe in parts of the South that’s what it means,” I said, “but a pink flamingo doesn’t exactly scream open house in New England. How about a tasteful little garden flag that says WELCOME—you could add it to your Christmas list. Wait, you talked to Sugar Butt?” Sugar Butt was my father’s second worst girlfriend. Or maybe the third worst. In any case, it was definitely not a relationship we were encouraging.

“Don’t look at me.” My father raised his shaggy white eyebrows skyward. “I simply put that secular phone you kids insisted on buying me in my pocket. And lo and behold, when I sat down, Sugar Butt was on the other end.”

I let out a long-suffering sigh. “You pocket dialed her, Dad. We keep telling you—either enable locking on the phone the way we showed you, or keep it out of your pocket.”

My father gave Pink another twirl. “So then it hit me that I could email my entire thingamabob, too.”

“Contact list,” I said.

“That, too. What with all the strays around, what’s a few more at the tail end of turkey day? And after we let dessert settle for a spell, all the blessed souls who flamingled in can have the honor of flamingling me up to my new man cavern.”

I had to hand it to my father, he had a definite talent for making everyone else do all the work. Maybe I could help him put together an online tutorial, and we could split the profits.

“Once you get moved in to your man cave, Billy,” John said, “do you think we could hang on to your friend’s canned ham trailer until the upstairs renovations are finished? We’d be willing to rent it from him, of course.”