A pickup truck crunches into the gravel drive and parking lot in front of a smallish solid log building. A warm glow eminates from the windows on the front and those in view on the side. Smoke curls from the chimney and occasional puffs of smoke come from behind the building.

"Ah! It looks like MMario is stoking up the smoker for the auroch already!" A small noise in the doorway attracts your attention to the small tidy cat, every hair in place in a fluffy winter coat. The cats have stayed cleaner this autumn, ever since the jello pit was filled in and that spot was plumbed and wired for a large 16-seater hot tub. The cats like to walk around the outer rim and bump their heads into the heads of the occasional patrons who take time for a hot soak.

Sage heads to the back of her pickup truck and pulls out a heavy cooler filled with salmon destined for the smoker and lugs it into the tavern and leaves it beside the door into the kitchen, then heads back out to retreive the box of Norwegian breads and cookies.

The front room is looking good, and a freshly cut tree is propped in the corner next to a tree stand. Someone has been busy getting ready for the holiday bash. The washrooms are tidy and empty of occupants, and there is no duct tape extant anywhere in the building, save the lone large roll tucked under the bar.

A warm breeze blows in from that southern door that sits ajar. This is where the Oz contingent have been known to enter, while there is a sharp cold draft and a snowy aspect through the glass in the top of the closed northern door. The folks from the north end of the northern hemisphere usually track snow in through this portal. Funny, but you can't see these doors when you're out in the drive or the parking lot. All in all, it has been nicely cleaned up and put to rights after last year.

Anybody here?

There's a thump and rustling sounds come from the kitchen. . .