Agreed

Bad times a coming folks...

It had once been a burrow built on the edge of the Mojave Desert, a burrow such as the wombles generally live in, but in recent years it had been deepened considerably. It could now conceivably be called… a bunker.

At the head of the table sat Auntie Hiroshima, the oldest and most senior of the select group, arranging themselves around in no particular order sat her eldest son, Fukushima, Cousin Three Mile, the Ukrainian Chernobyl, and from England Brother Windscale. Their faces were serious.

“Climate disaster is already upon us.” Said Auntie Hiroshima, “Runaway temperatures, wildfires, shrinking glaciers, it’s already too late.”

“We can’t tidy up this.” Commented Cousin Three Mile, scratching his nose.

“No,” answered Fukushima, “we cannot.”

“Yet something must be done.” Said Auntie Hiroshima. “Brother Windscale, you’ve been to all the major burrows, how has our suggestions been met?”

“Everybody is digging deeper, and where a burrow is likely to be in a flood plain, they’ve moved. Most are well advanced and within six months, I think every womble will have access to a deep bunker.”

Auntie Hiroshima’s eyes gleamed.

“When that day arrives, we shall initiate Operation Pull The Plug.”

One by one the others each replied with a single word…

“Agreed.”