Balls, balls, everywhere!

One word: balls. The downstairs has been flooded with baseballs. Unexpected, and dad's trapped. I'll bet it was the dastardly Dopplegangers! First stealing our pets, then trapping me and mom in a brick dome, then the météor incident, and now this! I hate those guys! There are some interesting side effects, too. We have to go outside through the back door (others do too), the danger of leaning over the stairs has been eliminated, and we can get closer to the trapezoidic window than ever! (From the first step of the stairs to the basement floor, there's baseballs everywhere.) We can also play baseball: there's actually also other baseball equipment.