Furby has been without functioning batteries for years. During one storm lightning struck near my house and the only explanation I can give is that the energy must have some how traveled because little Furby perched where he was blinked his eyes, opened his mouth and demaned— in a purely satantic voice— that after years of neglect I must feed him. I threw him in my closet and locked him there for a week. Now he sits on my desk once more.
