Since re-visiting the fog-bound island of Hopeless, Maine, following an absence of several years, Mr Squash, the Sasquatch, had spent his nights assisting Winston Oldspot, the young Night-Soil Man. During daylight hours he delighted in looking up old friends and making new acquaintances. It is fair to say that Mr Squash is, and always has been, a sociable sort of fellow, despite his fearsome appearance. This is not his fault; being nine feet tall and weighing-in at eight hundred pounds is enough to make even the most belligerent aggressor feel somewhat threatened.

“It’s good to have you back on Hopeless,” said Bartholomew Middlestreet with a warm smile.

“It is only temporary,” replied Mr Squash. “In fact, if your Night-Soil Man had not got himself lost, I wouldn’t be here at all.”

“We would ask you in,” said Bartholomew’s wife, Ariadne, apologetically. “But our new home is a bit on the small side.”

“Well, it is certainly a lot smaller than The Squid and Teapot,” said Mr Squash with a laugh. “You must miss the old place, sometimes.”

“Oh, we do,” replied Bartholomew, “but it was high time that I retired. It’s a comfort to know that The Squid is in good hands, with Rhys and Philomena running it.”

“And they’ve got some very modern ideas,” added Ariadne, approvingly. “They even have baby-changing facilities.”

Mr Squash frowned, then said in puzzled tones, “Oh well, I guess that there must be some folks who aren’t happy with the one that they’ve got.”

 It was later that day that Reggie Upton suggested that the Sasquatch should go with him to meet Septimus Washwell and his wife, Mirielle. After the birth of their twin daughters at Christmas, the new family had moved into what had long been known as the Blomqvist cottage, a comfortable but quite tiny home, out at Scilly Point. In order to meet Mr Squash, it was arranged that Ariadne would look after the children, and Septimus and Mirielle go to the Dance Studio, where Mirielle’s Can-Can troupe, Les Demoiselles de Hopeless, Maine, taught, rehearsed and, in the case of the unmarried girls, lived. This establishment was formerly known as Madame Evadne’s Lodging House for Discerning Gentlemen and, like The Squid and Teapot, is one of the larger buildings on the island, and easily able to accommodate Mr Squash’s impressive bulk.

Mirielle viewed Mr Squash with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. It must be said that this was inclined to be her default position when it came to meeting anyone, but she had, over the years, heard several stories regarding the creatures generally referred to as Bigfoot, and they did not soothe her. She was glad that the children were safely at home with Ariadne.

Meanwhile, Septimus, sitting with his fingers crossed, reflected that, all things considered, the meeting was going exceptionally well and, so far, Mirielle had not said anything remotely insulting or insensitive, as she was often inclined to do.

Then things changed.

“Monsieur Squash, one thing puzzles me…”

“And what might that be, my dear?” asked Mr Squash, half suspecting what might be the cause of the dancer’s puzzlement.

She waved vaguely in the area of the Sasquatch’s groin and said, “You appear to have no… what is the word…?

No one rushed to supply her with the word that had mercifully eluded her.

You will have noticed that any pictorial depictions of a Yeti, Bigfoot, or whatever you wish to call the creature, have always appeared to be coy in this respect. When confronted by Mr Squash in the flesh (or fur, to be more correct), however, it quickly becomes obvious that coyness has played no part in the matter. Mr Squash, and presumably others of his species, appear to be completely devoid of any obvious sexual characteristics. This feature – or the lack thereof – had been the ‘Elephant in the Room’ on more than one occasion. Certainly no one on Hopeless had felt moved to mention the matter; that is, until now.

“Oh, I certainly do,” said Mr Squash, without a hint of embarrassment. “Would you like to see?”

Mirielle’s face lit up with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. “Mais oui…” she began.

“May we spare you the inconvenience,” broke in Reggie hurriedly. “I am sure everyone here is perfectly happy to take your word on this, old chap, though it is no one else’s business, of course.” He gave Mirielle his best parade-ground frown, but she disregarded him.

“But where…?”  she insisted.

“You know how a kangaroo has a pouch..?” began Mr Squash.

“What’s a kangaroo?” asked Septimus.

The others ignored him.

“Well,” continued Mr Squash, “we Sasquatches have a similar arrangement, but we don’t carry our young in our pouch. It has another function altogether, a little gift from nature, allowing us to safely convey and protect our…”

“Fascinating, fascinating,” broke-in Reggie, once more. “Thank goodness that’s cleared that puzzle up. Now, maybe we should go to…”

“A pouch is a most useful, not to say versatile, thing to possess,” reflected Mr Squash. “You humans have to wear clothes with pockets, or carry bags, whereas we Sasquatches have a built-in safe place to store all sorts of useful things. Oh, that reminds me…”

His hand disappeared into a hitherto unnoticed fold in his fur and, after a certain amount of rummaging, extracted a large slice of starry-grabby-pie. “Philomena gave me this earlier,” he explained, “I don’t really like it. Does anyone want a bite?”

Reggie, Septimus and Mirielle hurriedly thanked him, politely pointing out that they had just eaten and could not possibly manage another thing.