The End of Mom's World

"Mom," Dobby asks as he enters the den. "What are you doing?"

"It's Saturday, I'm writing the blog."

"You can't."

"Yes. I can."

"No. You can't, Dobby counters.

"Why not?" Mom asks.

"It isn't even 10 a.m. The blog is called Saturday Night Silliness. It's not Saturday night yet.

Mom... No internet," Dobby finishes.

"What?"

"NO in-ter-net," Dobby says.

"But I can still..."

Dobby shakes his head.

"What about?"

Dobby shakes his head.

"What if...?" Mom asks.

Dobby shakes his head no again.

Mom takes her hands away from the keyboard. Mom looks at Dobby, looks at the monitor, looks at Dobby, looks at the monitor, looks back at Dobby. She starts to say something.

Dobby puts a paw up indicating – Don't even go there.

"There is no internet?" Mom asks.

Dobby shakes his head.

Mom jumps up out of her chair, runs through the house screaming, “OMG... It happened... The Mayans were right the world has come to an end. NO INTERNET!! HELP!! WHAT DO WE DO NOW? HOW WILL THE HUMAN RACE SURVIVE?”

Dobby sits quietly and waits while Mom runs through the house.

After about ten minutes, Mom sits back down in her chair. Her tin hat is askew, she is perspiring under the edge of the hat, and breathing heavily. When her breathing slows, Mom turns her attention back to the monitor, puts her fingers back on the keyboard and starts typing.

"Mom what are you doing?" Dobby asks.

"Writing an Ode to the Internet.

I am going to make sure it knows how it has changed my life.

I am going to make flyers too.

If enough people write Odes to the Internet maybe we can bring it back.”

“How about if we just wait until the internet technician shows up to get us.... oops... back on line,” Dobby asks.

"They do that? But we moved. How do they know where we live now?”

"They just know, Mom. It's kind of like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. And you have me, Mom. I'm A VERY IMPORTANT FELINE WITH A BIG MEAN FRIEND. No one says no to Tinkletoes.”

Catnip Roasting On An Open Fire...

-->

Unfortunately, tonight Dobby could not be with me for Saturday Night Silliness. His sleep patterns have been disrupted too much lately. He knows you'll understand. I wrote down a conversation Dobby and I had earlier today.

“Catnip roasting on an open fire...tuna fish nipping at my nose...” Dobby sings.

“Dobby what are you doing in here? What is that smell?” Dobby waves his paw over Mom's best skillet and sends even more of the odor her way. “Ah, I love the smell of tuna steak sautéed in catnip sauce on a cold winter's evening.” Dobby says. He is sitting on the kitchen counter, TP (the fairie) is standing on the step stool and a very tall stack of books. T P is holding a fairie size spatula that controls the movement of the food in the skillet. The food appears to be moving by itself.

“I'm making supper for you?” Dobby answers.

“No you are not.”

“Yes. I am.” Dobby says.

“I don't eat fish. Try another one kitty.”

“It's my Christmas gift to you. I want to share my love of fish.” Dobby sends more tuna smell over in Mom's direction. Mom makes a face. TP looks up from his work and nods his head for emphasis.

Mom sees a movement in her peripheral vision. Glances behind the faerie and says, “TP has his fingers crossed. Try again.”

Dobby looks down. “Okay, you caught me. You keep talking about how great a gas stove is for cooking. I wanted to taste the difference.”

“Dobby you haven't had much cooked food, only cat food. How are you going to tell the difference?” Mom asks.

“It's a cat thing Mom. I'll know.”

“You'll know?” Mom asks.

“Yep.”

Mom yawns and rolls her eyes. Gesturing at the stove and the mess in the kitchen. “Clean up the mess. You're not to do this again.”

“Mom, you have my most solemn promise. TP and I will never cook in your kitchen together again.” Dobby bows deeply in respect and TP nods with great seriousness.

“Okay. I think I'll go take a shower now. Please have this finished when I come back for coffee.” Dobby and TP wink at each other as Mom leaves the kitchen.

Tinkletoes comes in the kitchen through the opposite door. “Hey Dobby, when does the baking class start?”

Singers...

-->

“If it ain't obvious what has set me off to-day.” Mom screeches into the pen. “It's all over the yard and the trunk of the car.”

Dobby comes into the den. His face is scrunched into an unhappy expression. “Mom? Mom? Mom...”

Mom turns to Dobby and continues to sing. “It's all over the yard and the trunk of the car. I'm packing it in. So come and get it!”

Dobby nip at Mom's elbow, the sensitive and pointy end.

“Ouch, that hurts.” Mom says.

“Now you know how it feels.”

“What?”

“The pain in my ears when you sing.” Dobby says.

“It's not that bad.” Mom says.

“It's that bad.”

“You are a cat. It doesn't sound very good to you. I'm just projecting too loud.”

“Noises are coming out of your mouth, that's the problem.”

“It's not like I'm auditioning for a Broadway show. I'm just singing for fun. It's good for you.”

Dobby looks up from his cricket. “Trust me Mom, those noises you are making are not good for me.”

“I didn't say they were good for you.” Mom answers. “They are good for me. Singing helps a person's mood lighten. Reduces stress, lowers blood pressure.”

“I don't know how creating those noises is doing anything but tearing the crap out of your insides.”

“Okay I got the message I can't sing. I acknowledged that over twenty years ago. Recently I established a new goal for myself.”

Dobby asks, “What is that?”

“To be the world's worst singer.” Mom answers with a big grin.

Dobby closes his eyes and thinks for a minute.

"I really feel like I'm on my way to something big.  That man I was talking to today said my voice was unbelievable."

 "Mom,  he was trying to sell you Internet service.  I've seen him around the neighborhood.  Did he ask if you had ever considered modeling too?" 

 "Yes.  It's always nice to hear something like that especially on a bad hair day."

 "He told the woman next door that.  The sparkling, happy man across the street that and the old lady down the street."

 Mom lets out a brief sigh of disappointment.  She thinks about the tidbit of reality Dobby has introduced to her, processes it and adapts.  "So, if I know I can't sing, you are the only one saying my singing is horrifying  I know exactly what I need to do."

 "You do?"  Dobby asks.

"Yes.  Keep practicing until the world recognizes my complete lack of talent.  What should I sing next?  I feel like some...Gretchen Wilson."

"I'm a redneck woman...ain't no high class broad...just a product of my raisin' I say 'hey y’all and yeehaw'..." Mom belts out, screeching through several keys.
 Dobby leaves the den quickly, shaking his head on his way out of the room.  "Where did I go wrong?"  he mutters as goes to find some ear plugs.

 

The Christmas Tree...Dobby Style

A week later...

“Dobby, kitty. Aren't you done decorating the tree yet?” Mom calls from the den. For the last week Mom has been keeping to Dobby's strict guidelines and avoided the sewing room as well as part of the living room.

Dobby sits on the end of the couch closest to the Christmas tree remote control for the tv in hand, watching things Mom hates. “Crap. I forgot all about Mom.” Dobby looks over at the finished tree finding a cricket sleeping on a branch nearby. He flicks the cricket upside it's head to wake it. The cricket immediately stands at attention and starts to sing. One by one the other crickets spread out all over the tree rise and start to sing. Dobby turns off the television and puts the remote back on Mom's end of the couch. The ginger tabby quickly licks his paw to wet his fur here and there so he appears disheveled.

“Okay. Mom, you can come in now.”

Dobby turns on the CD player with the tip of his tail, “Santa Baby” starts playing. This song was my inspiration for the tree. The crickets song fades into the background and the sound of Eartha Kitt's voice fills the room. Mom sees Dobby's toys spread all over the tree. His Turbo Track is set up underneath the tree. His eye balls (balls that look like eyes –not real ones) are nestled in a compartment of an egg carton that had been cut apart making an individual nest for each “eye”. Mom takes a closer look at one of the ornaments. “Santa Clause is watching you...” Dobby points out.

Mom grins for a brief moment and says, “Well, I can see that.”

Catnip mice are hanging from the various branches from their tails. There is a long garland made of oat rings.

Dobby rubs against Mom's leg to get her attention. “There's one more thing. 'Lights' Dobby called. One at a time from the top to the bottom of the tree a small bright green and blue lights appeared.

“Aren't the electrical lights dangerous for the crickets?” Mom asked.

“Those are the crickets. They each have a cotton swab with Glo in the Dark Silly Putty on them. They have put together a show for you too, juggling and stuff but that's later.”

“How did you get the crickets to help you?” Mom asks.

Dobby sits in his pretty pose with great pride. “If you chase one down and tear it's leg off, the rest just fall into line.”

Mom pales considerably and looks at the crickets studying them. “These crickets look happy. Why are they happy?”

Dobby says, “It's the cotton swab lights. Now that they have those the crickets think they are very important performers.” Dobby holds a paw up to his face so the crickets don't see him talking. “I think it's the fumes from the Silly Putty. Enough of that. I have a surprise for you.” Dobby guides Mom further into the sewing room. His white Elvis scarves (Thank You, Thank You Very Much) are tied together to make a garland around the doorway leading into the kitchen.

“Look.” Dobby says pointing to the top of the doorway. Hanging in the center of it is a long narrow, pale colored thing.

“Is that? A flesh colored tampon?” Mom asks.

“No!” Dobby says, rolling his eyes. “It's missiletoe. A toy missile and I had TP paint it to look like a big toe. Just like the tradition says.”

“You are referring to the kissing under the mistletoe tradition?”

Dobby nods.

“Mistletoe is a particular plant. So it would be a piece of that plant or something symbolic of that greenery hanging from the doorway. But since mistletoe is poisonous to animals I think you made a wonderfully creative adjustment.” Dobby looks up at Mom adoringly.

“I'm glad you like it. This is my gift for you. A romantic kiss under the missiletoe.”

Mom pales, “Who is it that is going to kiss me?”

“Tinkletoes!” Tinkletoes appears out of the kitchen with chocolate frosting all over his mouth.

“The best part is. He's been eating chocolate, so his kiss should taste REALLY good.”

Tinkletoes stands at attention. He swallows nervously, prepared to do his duty for a friend.

Mom thinks very fast and gives him a kiss on the cheek where some chocolate is residing. Tinkle's face is covered in chocolate so it's not much of a challenge.

“That was a lovely kiss Tinkletoes. Thank you.” Mom says and gets far away from the missletoe.

Tinkletoes smiles relieved to be done and returns to his baked goods.

Dobby follows. “What's wrong Mom? Not your type?” Mom shakes her head.

“It's okay. I have plenty of time before Christmas! I'll find your type!”

“This is going to be a very long holiday season.” Mom sighs.

Dobby and the Christmas Tree

“Mom! It's time! (Dobby's voice elevates to a screech and waivers out).

Mom can be heard from across the house. “Okay Dobby just a minute. Let me just move this table over...” Mom enters the den. “See kitty here I am.”

Dobby sits on the left of the big chair on a small kitty condo with a stale dead cricket in front of him he appears to be shivering.

“You don't sound right tonight.” Mom says as she arranges herself in front of the computer. “I brought you some warm milk substitute (cat safe milk) to go with your stale half eaten cricket? Since when do you eat the stale ones? You're shivering too. What's wrong?”

Dobby picks up the cat size mug of milk substitute, “What's wrong? You have been in the sewing room this week doing noisy things with boxes and tape. You are packing us up and unceremoniously dumping me in some strange place again aren't you?” Dobby's left paw shakes and some milk sloshes out of his mug.

“No I'm not.”

Dobby's right eye twitches. “I think you are.”

“Dobby, kitty, this is the holiday season. I can honestly tell you when the last day of Hanukkah arrives you will still be living in this house.”

Dobby listens to Mom closely. Thinks about her words and takes two long steps away from her position. Just in case.

“Lightning is not going to strike.”

“That's what you said the last time.” Dobby reminds her.

“That reminds me. I think I have just enough voltage left in this finger...” Mom holds up her left pinky.

Dobby takes another step away.

“I was just going to warm your milk for you.” Looking down at the slosh of liquid on the kitty condo. “What's left of your warm milk for you.”

Dobby stands back with his empty paw out in front of him, “Sorry Mom. I just don't trust you since you fixed my hair with that “pinky” of yours.” Dobby says.

“But that little Mohawk was so sweet. If you had just let me put some blue paint in the tips... You would have looked so cool. Seriously.”

“Mom. It wasn't funny. I was the oddity of the neighborhood. I don't know if you've noticed this little detail, this house has lots of windows.

“It wasn't that bad, kitty.”

Dobby crosses his eyes in frustration. “The squirrels were laughing. Have you ever had a squirrel laugh at you Mom?”

A high pitched giggle escapes from behind the Magic Door. “Hee hee hee...”

“No one takes you seriously when the squirrels have been laughing at you.” Dobby says turning around. Jumping from the short condo up to the top of the blanket chest Dobby shows Mom his butt and settles down on the chest with his back to her.

“That's fine kitty. You can be mad at me. At least you aren't shivering in fear anymore.” Mom starts typing at the keyboard.

“Mom?”

“H mm??”

“So, what have you been doing in the sewing room?”

“I'm moving things around. I thought we would try having the Christmas tree in there this year.”

“Christmas Tree?”

Mom stops typing, looks upward choosing her words, “Big green tree that I never watered and had funny things hanging off of it.”

“I remember that.” Dobby purrs. “No one has ever given me a tree before.”

“Christmas trees are a holiday decoration.”

“Oh. I really like it.”

"I know.  I had to keep you from destroying my Christmas decorations."

"Why did you do that?"

"They weren't for playing with."

"Mom?  They kind of were."

"No.  They weren't."

"Sorry Mom but they were.  I don't know if you have noticed this about me but,  I'm a cat.  If something is hanging down from a string...I'm gonna play with it.  Yep.  That's what cats do."

 "Dobby, honey, when it comes to the Christmas Tree you are just going to have to learn to restrain yourself."

Dobby sits quietly and looks around the room.  He considers closely Mom's statement.  "I've thought about and I have to say 'no'.  The idea of restraining  my natural urge to hunt is just not working for me. What else have you got?"

"That's it."

Dobby thinks for a minute.

 "Well how about if you put the tree in front of the sewing room window, the one that gets all of the sun.  I promise not to play with the funny things hanging off it if I can climb the tree instead."

"Nope.  You are much heavier than a few Christmas ornaments.  You would break the tree."

 "Let's decorate with stuff I can play with then."

 Mom stops typing and thinks about this.  "That would be encouraging you to play with the tree.  I don't want you to play with the tree."

 "It's training.  I will be learning restraint.  The toys are just insurance.  That way if I do slip up.  I am playing with a cat toy and not one of your pretty decorations."

  "I don't know about this kitty."

  "I have plenty of stuff.  The tree is up and ready for decorating?"

  "Yes..."  Mom answers slowly.

  "Let me decorate the tree so you can see what I'm talking about.  Just stay here.  Tweet, shop online, pretend to be writing, you know the usual.  I'll get you when I'm done."

  Mom stays in the den.  Dobby goes into the sewing room.  Mom's Elvis Christmas album can be heard throughout the house.

 Mom waits....

 Hours pass and still waiting...

A thump is heard from the other side of the house something breaks..."It's okay,  I'm not hurt."  Dobby exclaims.

There are a series of high pitched squeals heard from the basement.   "It's okay.  Everything's fine."  Dobby calls out. 

 

This could take a while...maybe he will be finished by next week.

Invasion! Part II

Dobby steps into the doorway and looks into the hall. “Okay Mom, it's clear. Let's go.” Dobby instructs, looking up at Mom. Dobby is still wearing the communicator on his left ear, but now there is a strange device over Dobby's right eye. His eye is no longer green. It has grown to become a big and bright red laser surrounded by shiny metal. He is also wearing two ammo belts crisscrossed over his torso and a hip holster with a Really Big Gun on one side and a whip on the other.

“Dobby, what's with all the weaponry?” Mom asks.

“Tinkletoes says a good soldier is prepared for all possible scenarios.”

“An eye laser?” Mom asks.

“When you are fighting aliens you use alien technology, Mom. What else?”

“Where did you get it?” Mom asks.

Dobby stands up on his back legs, grabs the Artistic License from Mom's hand and holds it up to her face. The ginger tabby then quickly folds his license and and tucks it into his holster belt. “Mom. Please. Fo-cus.” Dobby returns to all fours, leaving the bedroom first. He gestures for Mom to follow. They make the twenty foot trek into the kitchen safely. Mom and Dobby find Tinkletoes standing lookout in front of the refrigerator that is pulled out into the middle of the room.

“Here it is Mom. This is what they are after.”

“The refrigerator? Aliens are invading the planet for this refrigerator?” Mom starts laughing.

“I don't thinks she believes us Sir.” Tinkletoes says. “She may be in shock. Having a fit. Should I slap her?” he asks.

“No,” Dobby answers. “She is the only family I've got. I can handle this. Mom. Let me explain what happened, so we can figure out what to do next.” Mom starts laughing harder. She has to sit down on the floor. Dobby rubs his cheek against her knee to reassure Mom it will be okay.

Mom stops laughing long enough to speak. “Let me guess, two men came into the house this morning. They stood in the kitchen looking at and talking about the refrigerator. They talked about taking it away. The strange men will be back on Monday.”

Dobby looks at Mom with shock. “How did you know?” he asks.

“Dobby, sweetie, that was the landlord and his handyman. The refrigerator is broken and they will be replacing it on Monday. That is why they will be back.”

Dobby studies Mom's face closely. “No aliens?” he asks.

“No aliens kitty.”

“Oh.”

Dobby looks up at Tinkletoes. “No aliens.”

“I always wanted to save the planet from alien invasion. That's one of the reasons I took this job.” Tinkletoes says, bowing his head in disappointment. “Well, at least there's cupcakes. If you don't mind Sir, I would like to take my cupcakes and go. I'll be back in a few days for the next payment.”

“Of course.” Dobby says. Dobby walks over to the counter on the far side of the kitchen and picks up a large bag full of Mom's homemade goodies.

“It was a pleasure protecting you Ma'am.” Tinkletoes says giving Mom a hand to get to her feet.

“Thank you for the...thank you for taking the job.” Mom says.

Tinkletoes walks over to Dobby, “Remember what I taught you, Sir. You are one remarkable feline. Keep Flying.”

“Keep flying, Tinkletoes.”

Tinkletoes accepts the bag of goodies and leaves.

Dobby walks over to Mom, artillery gone, a housecat again.

“Dobby were those the goodies that were in my freezer?”

“Uh huh.”

“All the goodies? Cakes, pies, cookies, cupcakes?”

“Yep.”

“How did you find a mercenary that worked for baked goods?”

“Mom, remember how I used the internet before?”

“Your magic only works if I look in your files, I can still surf the net. I figured that out before I stopped glowing (see Secret Agent Cat). I have been using the internet lots. Role playing games are really good for passing the time. I made lots of friends including Tinkletoes. He's a soldier. Retired last year. This was his first mercenary job. Tinkletoes just does it to keep in shape. He has been teaching me about science fiction. His favorite show mostly, “Firefly?” Anyway he's really into it. Been to cons for years knows everyone that worked on the show.

“Your point?”

“We talked about the invasion, he wanted to help for a price. I invited him over to negotiate and I gave him some of the sweet potato pie you made. He loved it. So, I offered to keep him and his soldier friends in baked goods for a while as payment for helping us.”

Mom starts laughing. “You seduced a soldier with baked goods?” Dobby's eyebrows went up in shock. “Ok, not seduced, hired him with baked goods. That is too funny. I love you kitty. You make life interesting.”

“Mom?”

“Yes sweetie?”

“The payment isn't baked goods exactly. It's your baked goods.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I'm supposed to bake for him and his friends? That is a big man. He probably eats a lot.”

“You have no idea.”

Mom sits back down on the kitchen floor as reality sets in.

“Mom? He likes fancy cupcakes. The little ones.”

Invasion!

-->

“Mom!” Dobby calls to Mom from behind the bedroom door.

“Dobby? Where are you?”

“In here. The bedroom.”

“Dobby kitty, what's wrong? Are those ear mites bothering you again?” Mom asks walking toward the bedroom door.

“Get in here! Now!” A hand reaches out and pulls Mom into the bedroom and behind the door. Another hand covers her mouth. Dobby's face comes into sight through her peripheral vision. “Mom...It's okay he's with me. Promise to not to scream? Talk in a whisper?” Mom nods her head.

“Dobby, who is this? What is going on?”

“Did you give my cat money? Did you!?” Mom demands.

“No Mom. This is Tinkletoes. He's a soldier.” Mom looks at Tinkletoes. Tinkletoes is about 6 ft. 2 inches tall with lots of muscles. Military hair cut and wearing an odd array of camouflage. Desert camo pants, white wife beater with a bullet proof vest and a green camo jacket. Tinkle is also wearing belts laden with guns and ammo. So much...guns and ammo. “It's okay Mom. I hired him.”

“For what? What did you use for money?”

“To teach me how to protect us from the invaders.”

“Invaders?”

“From outer space. They are taking over the planet.”

“Really?” Mom asks doing her best to hide her smile.

“Yes.” Dobby answered deadly serious. Tinkletoes nods in agreement in the background.

“Aliens are invading and out of all the places they could invade they are starting in a town with a few hundred people?”

“No.” Dobby answered.

“Of course they aren't sweetie. Tell your 'friend' to go home. Play time is over.”

“They are starting with us.”

-->

“With us?” Mom asks. Taking a moment to absorb this information. “What do we have that aliens want?”

“It's here. In the kitchen.” Dobby looks out into the hall. “Tinkle, you know what to do.”

Tinkletoes eases past Mom and Dobby heads out into the hall. Mom listens to the floor creak as Tinkletoes enters the kitchen. Mom hears static near the floor next to her and what must be Tinkletoes' voice says, “Okay clear.”

Mom looks down to see Dobby with a communicator taped on to his ear with medical tape. “Copy that.” Dobby answers.

“Okay Mom let's go.”

“Wait a minute...where did you get that thing on your ear? It wasn't there before.”

Dobby rolls his eyes and pulls out an official looking piece of paper then hands it to Mom.

Mom reads,

This Artistic License authorizes Dobby the cat to do whatever is necessary to be his lovable, endearing and entertaining self.

Duly signed by the one and only most endearing and lovable entertainer ever.

P.S. If you don't automatically know who I am you really don't get out much.

Many More

 

-->

“Sir. Sir?? I can only guarantee security of the area for brief intervals of time. Tinkletoes' voice comes over the radio again.

“We'll be right there.” Dobby answers. “This is really important Mom. It could save your life.”

“Well let's see what these aliens are after then.”

                                                (Part I of II)

When A Cat Reads...

“Mom, what are you doing?” Dobby asks after entering the den.

“Listening to music. I am thinking.”

“What is that crap anyway?” Dobby asks.

“Excuse me?”

“This is country music.”

Dobby sits quietly and listens for a moment. “Sorry Mom. I'm just not feeling it.”

“I didn't turn on the music for your benefit.”

Dobby looks at Mom. Correction, Dobby glares at Mom. Clears his throat. “I thought we established years ago that you do everything for my benefit. I am, after all, the CAT.”

Mom looks at Dobby, raising an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

Dobby blinks. “Seriously,” he says, stating the most basic of universal truths.

“Dobby, sweetie...I do a lot for you because I love you not because the world revolves around you.”

“Your world revolves around me.”

“No it doesn't”

“Yes. It does.”

“Nope. Sorry it doesn't.”

Dobby jumps up on Mom's lap. Looks into her eyes. “I know you are waaay older than I am. You're alone. It's only natural that you live to take care of me.” Dobby puts a paw on Mom's back to pat her when she starts to cry in admission that everything Dobby said is true. She's not crying...Dobby waits...still no crying.. “Mom? Don't you need to cry or something?”

Mom looks at Dobby. “No. I don't need to cry. Do you need me to cry?” Mom asks.

“No.”

“That's good. I think we need to have a talk.”

“Did you find trouble again? Did you at least try to negotiate for community service?”

“No.”

“Mom, you are never going to learn to behave yourself if you keep paying a fine every time you disturb the peace, expose something indecently. You just don't miss the money like other people do.”

“Dobby. Just let me talk, okay?”

Dobby jumps down on to the floor and waits for Mom.

“You can read can't you?” Mom asks.

Holy crap! When did she find that out? I can't lie to Mom, I just gave her a speech about lying the other day. Dobby looks down at the floor, looking up at Mom he says. “Yes. I can read.”

“When did this happen? How long have you been reading? How did you learn?” Mom asks, smiling.

I can't tell her. I can't look at her and say, “Mom I traded all the characters you created including your dragon so I could learn to read.” There is no way this can end well. What would Secret Agent Cat do? I'm waaay smarter than Mom is, it just might work.

“It's a 'special project' I have been working on. So I can't really share the details. It's classified.”

“It's classified? Uh huh.” Mom says in her 'it's hard for me not to get mad now' tone.

Why did she have to ask? I can't tell her what really happened. EVER.

** High pitched giggling is heard coming from behind the Magic Door**

Mom looks at the Magic Door then at Dobby. “Dobby, what did you do?”

Dobby looks away before Mom catches his eye.

Slippery Slopes

-->

“Are you writing yet Mom? Because you should be writing?” Dobby walks around Mom's chair and looks at her in expectation.

“Umm...yes...of course.”

“Let me see.” Dobby jumps in Mom's lap and leans on the table to get a better look at the computer screen.

“Did I mention how much better you look these days since you relaxed. The faerie dust is being absorbed into the atmosphere nicely. You aren't pink anymore. Your fur isn't lit up and pulsating. There is just a really faint shimmer. It's quite attractive. Really.”

“Mom. This isn't your writing.”

“What do you mean it isn't? Of course it is.”

“If it is your writing you need to practice more. This stuff is all over the place. First it's about tweets then boots then a horoscope then a movie. It's really short and under six different names. Some of these aren't even girl names.” Dobby turns around, leans up against Mom's chest and looks into her eyes. “How many of you are in there anyway? Steve? Steve Martin? Where are you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“A couple of these are listed under the name Steve Martin. If you are Steve Martin, you must have multiple personalities. Before we continue living under the same roof; Mom-- well, I need to meet everybody.”

Mom laughs for a minute. “Okay, kitty. You caught me. I'm not really writing yet. I was looking at Twitter. You have nothing to worry about, I only have this one personality and you have met her.”

Dobby pulls his head away from Mom's and then comes in close to look in Mom's eyes once again. “No Steve Martin?” He asks.

“No Steve Martin.” Mom answers smiling.

“You lied about working when you were on Twitter?” Dobby asks.

“I lied. I'm sorry.”'

Dobby jumps down from Mom's lap landing on the floor. Standing up on his hind legs, with a swift flick of his wrist the 'I'm Incredibly Intelligent' glasses materialize. Dobby puts them on. Pacing back and forth in front of her the interrogation begins.

“How do I know you aren't lying about having multiple personalities then? You've already lied once.” Dobby holds up a tape recorder and hits the play button. Mom's voice repeats, 'I lied. I'm sorry.'

“What is it Grandma says, 'heading down a slippery slope'?”

“Not exactly. But that's close enough.”

“What else have you lied about Mom?” Mom looks down at her feet.

“Is coffee really bad for me?”

“Yes.” Mom looks right at Dobby.

“Do I have such honed hunting skills that I never need to hunt another cricket again?”

“No it just creeps me out when you tear the cricket's leg off.”

“Is a soap and water bath really better than the baths I give myself?”

Mom looks down to the floor. “Your breath is less disgusting.”

“Is the funny white thing in the bathroom really a litter box for people?”

“Yes.”

“Well. I'm not drinking out of that anymore.” Dobby says making a thoroughly disgusted face.

“That's a relief. I really am sorry I lied to you kitty. Are we good now?”

Dobby stops pacing for a moment and looks at Mom. “Okay Mom. We're good. Now...if you would just relax for a moment, close your eyes and open your mind. Go ahead and mentally line all those personalities you have in there up so I can ask the rest of my questions. Let's start with Steve Martin.”

The Trouble with Faerie Dust

“Mom? So when does this Faerie dust wear off anyway?” Dobby asks, entering the den. Looking down at the orange tabby, Mom notices that not only is Dobby still glowing but a pulsating has added itself to the glow.

“Well that's up to you kitty.”

“Huh?” Dobby sits in front of Mom with his tail sweeping back and forth in an agitated manner.

“Faerie dust is a unique ingredient when it comes to magic. The power of the dust can be increased with certain emotions, usually negative ones. That goes back to Ancient Faerie when as TP says 'we were waaaay meaner.' With more positive emotions, the magic evens out and becomes a positive energy that can easily be absorbed into the environment. Because your glow has not gotten softer but gained brightness and started pulsating a bit, is that you, kitty, are not accepting that what you did was wrong, but are angry with me for suspecting the possibility and planning ahead. You are probably irritated with yourself for getting caught and are trying to plan it again for success because once you find out you aren't successful you tend to work that much harder to gain that success.”

“You wouldn't want me to be a quitter would you?” Dobby asks.

“You are your Mom's cat and it be impossible for you to quit after the first try. Besides you usually learn your lesson the second time not the first.”

“Did I learn that from you too?”

Mom leans over and looks at Dobby closely. “Looks at my knees from where you are sitting kitty? There is one faint scar on each knee.”

“How did you do that?”

“The first one I was running in the house when I six and cut my knee on something sharp when I fell.

The second one I happened when I was seven and a half. I was running the same path, through the same house when I fell and cut the other knee in the same way. I'm 42 years old and I still run in the house. What does that tell you?”

“You are a very slow learner.” Dobby says with great seriousness. “I'm just a wee bit smarter, Mom.”

“You shouldn't have any problems getting it to stop then.”

“Getting what to stop?”

“You are glowing, pulsating and now you are changing colors. Did you know that you look awfully cute as a neon pink tabby? It brings out your eyes.”

Secret Agent Cat

Writer Lady walks through the house checking the bathroom, computer and coffee pot.  Thermostat.  Will the temperature be okay for Dobby while she is gone? She picks up her purse, tote and keys.   Makes another walk through the house just in case she missed something.

“Okay Dobby, Mom's going to work now.  You be a good boy.” Writer Lady walks past Dobby as he lays in the patch of sun on the living room floor on her way to make yet another round. She is very careful about these things.

“I'm leaving now Bubby.  You're in charge!   Take care of the house.”   Dobby pretends to nap in his sunny patch until he hears her lock the door, get in the car, start the engine and leave. He listens for the engine's humming to fade as she drives away.

“Finally!  I thought she'd never leave.  I'm the man.   This is my house.  Oh yeah!” Dobby circles the house with his big strong tomcat strut making sure Writer Lady didn't forget anything. Bathroom : curling iron—unplugged, water off, toilet seat—down. Thermostat: fine (because cats don't read thermostats). Kitchen : Stove—off. Coffee pot—unplugged. Den: Computer—on! I hear the computer running sound and the blue light is on too. Dobby jumps up into the big chair and looks at the flat thing Writer Lady is always looking at.  Nothing is happening. What if I move that weird thing she is always playing with?  Dobby sits on the arm of the chair, leans over carefully and pushes on it with his nose.   The flat thing lights up.   There's writing.  All kinds of writing but it's not all Writer Lady's.   He sees some pretty colors too.   Nothing is moving.  Dobby thinks, Mom has been acting funny lately. She does things that aren't writing. She mutters a lot too. Says it's a special project. Inquiring felines want to know what is afoot?

“A foot is twelve inches.”  A high voice answers and giggles behind the chair.

Dobby jumps down and sees a tiny human the size of a mouse grinning up at him.
“What did you say?” Dobby asks.

“A foot is twelve inches.  You were wondering what was a foot.   So I told you.”

“I was thinking to myself that I was curious what was afoot.  Not what a foot was.”

“Of course not, silly we all have feet.  We stand on those.  Curiosity killed the cat, so you might want to keep your ample pink nose out of things that don't concern you.”

“Afoot a-f-o-o-t is a fancy word humans use for saying “in progress” or “going on”.   How is it you don't recognize afoot but you use the word ample correctly?”

“I recognize my foot.” The tiny person holds up a booted foot to Dobby as he smiles. “I look at it every day.” TP (which stands for Totally Pixilated or in other words he played with the pixies so long it made him silly) looks at Dobby's feet. "I don't recognize your feet though they're weird."

“That's because they are paws. I am a cat.   My name is Dobby.”

“Dobby?  I'm TP!   Member of the Faerie council.   We helped you with the Magic Door?”   TP gestures with his arm to the door behind him (see the post titled—The Magic Door).

“You were the deep bellowing voice that helped me build the door?”

“Um hum.” TP answers with a grin. “We use the big voice to intimidate and protect us from potential enemies. The historical records of Faerie depicted our ancestors as manipulative, dangerous and cruel.  WE WERE.   As we evolved and got tired of killing each other, we kind of got well...bored.  Faeries knew that if they were going to interact with the mortal world again we would have to be kinder, gentler.  The ancient people of the mortal world weren't too bright.  It was kind of like shooting fish in a barrel.  Unfortunately, we had some meanies that really liked shooting fish in barrels.   But they died.   So there's no problem now.”

“O-kay.” Dobby looks at the ceiling and crosses his eyes momentarily.

“It was nice meeting you.  I just wanted to point out that looking into your mom's computer is an invasion of privacy.  She will find out if you do.”

“Thanks.”

“No...problem? I think that's the expression. I'm still learning the language.  Bye.” With an elaborate flourish and puff of smoke the faerie is gone.

 “Now...it's my turn." 

 "Secret Agent Man" by Johnny Rivers can be heard in the background.

Dobby walks behind the base of the easel.  He disappears a cat and reappears a Secret Agent Cat wearing a brown trenchcoat, black fedora, and cool sunglasses.  He struts to theme song a little then he jumps on to the table and starts to search Mom's computer files.  He sings while he searches. “Secret Agent CAT. Secret Agent CAT.....(you know the rest)”

“No. No. Nope.” Dobby starts reading rough drafts of the earlier blogs. I am so glad I let the faeries try out their “learn to read English” spell on me.  Laughing. “I am so funny...smart too.  I should be famous, seriously.   Why can't I find anything?” I'm thinking like a cat and not like a mom. “I looked under Special Project, Confidential, Top Secret, Don't Open and Dobby This Means You. Could it be under something else? Oh Personal...” The window on the screen closes and the computer starts to shut itself down. “Ooops.”

A car drives up and doesn't pass by.  It's Mom!  Jumping out of the big chair Dobby runs to the cool side of the easel base so he can come back the other way and turn into just a plain cat again. Slipping on the trenchcoat his butt hits the wall as he slides to a stop. Dobby runs through and jumps back into the big chair curling up into a favorite sleeping position. Laying still the only evidence of the adventure is his furiously pounding heart. “Mom won't know what I was doing. Mom won't know what I was doing,” Dobby repeats to himself in an effort to calm down more quickly.

Writer Lady walks into the den. “Hey there handsome. Mom's home.”

Dobby looks up groggily or so he thinks.

“Short day at work.” She says and smiles.

She doesn't know anything!

Dobby hears a giggle in the direction of the Magic Door, then he feels Writer Lady's breath close to his ear. “I know exactly what you've been doing. There is faerie dust all over you and you are lit up like a neon sign. Stay off the computer.”

“How? Was it the Faeries? Did they help you too?”

She smiles really big. "A little lesson for you sweetie. Every woman has a little bit of magic all her own."

Dr. Dobby

“Mom! Mom! MOOOOM! You are supposed to be typing Mom.”

“Yes, Dobby. I'm here. What should I be typing?” Dobby runs over to the chair to be petted. Mom pets him, he leaves. Mom muttering: Why don't you write this one? I don't know what to say tonight.

Dobby runs back into the den and gets in Mom's face. “What?! What's wrong?”

“Nothing.” Mom answers.

Dobby runs out of the den for the first aid kit and the big red flashlight. “Oh no this is not good at all.” Dobby rolls the big red flashlight on to its side. “Mom now get up out of the chair and lay down in the floor. Mom come on I really need you to do this.”

Mom looks at Dobby with suspicion. Dobby makes that sweet kitty face. “Please...?!”

Mom gets up out of the chair and lays down on the den floor.

“Okay Mom. Angle your head so the light shines in your mouth. Open your mouth first. Just so you know.”

Mom positions herself on the floor next to the flashlight and starts to open her mouth. Glaring at Dobby she closes her mouth, then she says, “There is no other reason for the flashlight to be on near my mouth unless you want me to open my mouth. Just so you know.” Mom counters in a snippy manner.

“Cranky too.” Dobby curls his tail around a pencil and writes on Mom's pad that is laying within reach on the floor.

Seeing what Dobby is doing Mom says, “Don't write anywhere there is already writing. Those are story notes.”

Donning his “I'm seriously intelligent” glasses Dobby peers into Mom's mouth. “Say ah.”

“Ahh...” Mom answers.

“Ah. Don't worry I took that page off already.” Dobby gestures towards the far corner of the den with his head.

“Ahhhhhh....” Mom starts to turn towards his gaze to verify her notes are safe.

Dobby gently guides her face back to his with his paw.

Mom makes the “Ah” noise louder.

“You can close your mouth now Mom.” Dobby gently brushes his paw over her nose as he backs away from her face.

After Mom sits up, Dobby starts pacing back and forth in front of her. “You said, you don't know what to write. Which made me concerned for your health Mom. You are always talking. To me, to yourself, to the monitor. You have a lot to say. When you feel like you have nothing to say something is clearly wrong. Your nose is not hot but it is...DRY. I think it is a sign that you are not well. Then I looked in your mouth and it doesn't look like you've eaten a spider, flower, dental floss or anything else that would make you sick. That's the bad news. I have no idea what's wrong. If I don't know what's wrong, clearly I cannot cure you. You may be sick—forever.

Mom looks at Dobby and pretends to be “strong” after hearing his “distressing” news. “Really?” Mom asks.

“Yes. I'm so sorry.”

“I'll be strong kitty. For you.” Mom gets up and sits down at the computer.

“Was that so hard?” Mom smiles big.

“You're okay?”

“I'm okay.” Mom answers.

“It was about time you helped with this blog that's making you---Famous.”

Colds And Other Things

Dobby comes into the den to see what Mom has for lunch. It's in a bowl. There might be milk or cheese in his future.

“Hi handsome. How's my kitty?” Mom greets Dobby from her seat at the computer. Dobby casually walks under the table to get a sniff of what's in the bowl. Mom watches Dobby attempt to figure out what's in the bowl.

“It's nothing special Dobby. Just some vegetable soup. Mom has a cold.”

Dobby looks closely at Mom. “You're sick? That's why you have spent so much time at home? I thought you missed me.” Dobby glares at Mom. “You have been running around kissing strange men again haven't you?”

“No I haven't.”

“Yes you have.”

“No, I haven't”

“Are you sure?”

Mom looks at the ceiling, holds up both hands and starts moving her fingers like she is trying to count. “Of course I'm sure! Trust me I've learned my lessons. I showed my interest in one and if he even knew I existed, then he kept hiding behind rocks and things until I left. I haven't put myself out there again. I'm not planning on it either.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, why.”

“I have some shopping I'd like to do.”

“What? You run through my credit card already?”

Dobby looks down at the floor.

“No...”

Dobby doesn't move a muscle.

“Dobby, how could you?”

“See you get on the Internet, and go to a store see something you like and tap one button that says, “Put in Basket” they send you way cool stuff.”

“There was no limit on that card.”

Dobby looks up thinking, “The email said that in your case they were making a special exception. Because no one buys that much catnip unless they are up to something. There was something about the stores putting your name on a list so you can't buy anymore catnip.”

“Why are you buying so much catnip?”

“You see Mom, on those nights you work late...I have been having parties. So I can meet girls. I discovered quite accidentally that female cats love catnip.”

“Really? How much do they love catnip?”

Dobby leaves the den and returns wearing a lab coat, glasses and holding a graph. He sets the graph down on the blanket chest in front of Mom. “ (Cough...cough) My observations have shown that the female cat of the feline species will do just about anything for some um...catnip.”

Mom leans forward to look at the chart. Mom's mouth opens in shock, closes and opens again. “They will even wrestle? But I thought cats hated water.”

“Mom, according to the ladies, Jell-o is not water.”

Mom sits back in shock and covers her face with her hands.

Dobby climbs up on the chair and rubs her shoulder with his head, gently purring.

“It's okay Mom. I finished my project. All you have to do now is pay the credit card bill.”

Mom starts crying.

Thursday

“I'm in the den. Come in the den. It's time for the blog.” Mom calls out to Dobby.

Dobby comes running into the den. “You are still doing this tonight. Seriously?”

“Yes I am. I have been busy all day and I have been unable to write.”

Dobby sits in the floor bedside Mom's feet and looks up with a serious expression. “What do you call all the crap you did today anyway?”

“Thursday. I call it Thursday.”

“I don't like Thursday. You can keep it. I think we need to talk about something Mom.”

“What exactly?”

“You have been doing too much lately.”

“Doing too much?”

“Like today.”

“It was steadily busy.”

“Couldn't you have done...a little bit less?”

“Okay. Which thing?”

“Well that funny looking stuff you did in front of the TV this morning.”

“Yoga?”

“Yeah the yogurt stuff.”

“Yo-ga.”

“Yo-gur.”

“No yoga is good exercise. It only took a very limited period of time.”

“Why bother?”

“It's good for me. I feel better when I at least wave at good health by spending a little time moving around. The stretches help me feel more energetic.”

“Playing in the water, thing.”

“Dobby that was a shower. So I don't stink.”

“Laundry.”

“If you go outside without any clothes on many...bad things happen.”

“Wash the dishes.”

“Yet another healthy thing to do.”

“All the crap on the computer.”

“This morning I was working on a special project.”

“You didn't start another story did you? Because if any more dragons show up I'm out of here.”

“No not a story. But it's a surprise. I promise to tell you later.”

“As long as no more dragons will be dropping in.”

“Sometimes I just don't know what you are talking about kitty.”

Dobby blushes in embarrassment, turns away and covers his mouth with his paw. “Never mind” Dobby says. “How about this whole”work” thing. Why don't you stop doing that?”

“Going to work?”

“Yep.”

“If I don't go to work we have no income, place to live, car, electricity or phone service.”

“No more HGTV?”

“Nope.”

“You're right. You have to keep working.”

“Thanks for the news flash kitty.”

“I'm a talented observer, what can I say?”

“What about the way you came home, fed me and left again?”

“I went to see my nephew, Jimmy, it was his birthday today. “

“Do you have to do that?”

Mom thinks about this, she and Dobby have had a long conversation. Mom's eyes shift from side to side and a devious grin spreads across her face. “Sweetie. You are right. I don't have to keep doing that. I promise not to take Jimmy another birthday present for at least a year. Feel better?”

“Yes.  Now about my litter box...”

It's Night Night Time

“Shhh!” Dobby points above his head. “Mom's sleeping. You'll wake her.”

Dylan looks up at Writer Lady in bed.

“She's sleeping.”

“Duh.” Dobby says. “She needs to stay asleep. What do you want Dylan?”

“Furnatche.”

“I'm not him.”

“I know that.” Dylan answered starting to laugh then covering his mouth to stifle the sound. Dylan pulls the bed skirt up some more so he can crawl under the bed to share a big secret. “Furnatche is not in the basement. Have you seen him?”

“No. Get back in the basement. Go to sleep. It's night night time.” Dobby was glad for the company when they first showed up. This was starting to get annoying.

Dylan looked at Dobby with an empty stare. Dobby hoped the child was thinking about what he said. “Okay.” The little boy said quietly and crawled out from under the bed.

Dobby watched closely and waited until the pitter patter of little feet could be heard by the door leading down to the basement to close his eyes. Suddenly the patter returned. Moving quickly from inside the door and around the bed.

“Hey, lady. Writer Lady. Wake up. Lady?” Dylan said.

Poking his head out from under the bed Dobby nips Dylan's big toe.

“Ouch!” Dylan looks down.

“Don't wake her. We will find the dragon. Just don't wake her she isn't ready for you yet. We have to let her finish one of the other stories at least.”

“Why doesn't she wake up?” Dylan asked.

“She's sleeping. Just like you should be. I will come and get you when it's time for her to see you I promise.” Dobby reassures the boy.

Dylan's eyes start to fill with tears. “Furnatche?”

Feeling bad for his snippiness with the toddler, Dobby says, “He really is okay. He probably just heard Mom say “baking” and “cookies” he got a little bit excited.

Furnatche's head came out from under the bed skirt at the far end of the bed, eyes wide, nose sniffing wildly. The dragon was in full search mode.

“Furnatche!” Dylan squealed sitting down to hug the baby dragon.

“See you found him. Let him go, Dylan you're choking the poor animal.” Dobby says.

Dylan releases Furnatche. “He's a creature of Faerie. Auntie said.” Dylan corrected.

“You two get down to the basement and tuck yourselves into bed. You and Auntie can tell me all about it tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.” Dylan states emphatically with his index finger in the air, mimicking his older sister Paige. “Come on Furnatche. Night, night time.” Dylan heads out of the bedroom with Furnatche following.

Dobby climbs up on the bed next to Mom. He sleeps like a Sphinx facing the bedroom's open doorway. No one else is going to try waking up Mom tonight. Not on his watch. As the hours pass, Dobby relaxes and even changes position curling up on the bed closer to Mom's warmth settling in for some deep dreams of cheese, milk and all things dairy.

Let's Bake Some Cookies

Finally, a quiet evening. Dobby snuggles down into his favorite living room chair. He purrs to himself gently as the murmurings of the television lull him to sleep. Mom walks through the living room quickly, disturbing the quiet of the room. I know that walk. She's on a mission. Mom comes back through the room wearing an apron. He opens one eye and glares.

Mom senses the movement and looking at the orange tabby says, “It's chilly tonight and I'm kind of bored. I think I'll bake some cookies.”

I just got that dragon calmed back down. Now she thinks she's making cookies. Uh uh. No way. 

 “Cookies? No Mom. You don't really want cookies do you?”

“Yep. I sure do. I think the smell of fresh cookies will be just the thing to take the chill out of such a cool night.”

“It's going to be a mess. You hate doing dishes.” Dobby reminds her.

“It's not even eight o'clock. It never takes long to clean up.”

“You look so nice, these days. Do you really want to risk putting on weight again?”

Mom looks at Dobby suspiciously but answers anyway. “I'm not going to eat all of them tonight. I'll just mix up a batch of dough; bake one pan of cookies and freeze the rest of the dough. I only eat one or two while the cookies are still hot.   You know I hate it when someone stops by and there aren't any treats around the house.    Besides, I plan on exercising when I get up in the morning.”

“But didn't you come home earlier today with a Mocha Latte in your hand?”

“It was a small one with no whipped cream or anything.” Mom's patience is beginning to wear just a little thin.

“Weren't you just snacking on some chocolate chips?”

“A handful...” Mom's irritation is creeping into her voice.

Dobby thinks for a minute. “What day of the week is this?”

“Saturday.” Mom answers.

“Don't you have to be up early tomorrow?”

“Look. Cat. I'm bored. I want something to do. There are no cookies in the house. We need some. Unless there is an incredibly attractive man standing on the other side of the front door waiting to hang on my every word, I'm going into the kitchen and baking cookies. Capish?”

Dobby looks up at Mom knowing she means business and not to push her any further. He holds out his front leg, gesturing her to go ahead into the kitchen. Dobby follows closely. What can he do now? He contemplates weaving through her feet but knows she might just push him out of the way with her foot (note to PETA—with complete gentility and love of course). Come on, Dobby, you're the cat. Think of something. Anything. This is an emergency. Dobby never thought he would have to do something like this but...Mom needs more time to finish the other two stories. Dobby quickly glides into the kitchen between her feet, stopping directly in front of Mom, hunches down close to floor and empties his belly in the most gruesomely loud way possible.

The anger immediately leaves Mom's face. “Is my sweet kitty feeling sick? It's okay baby. Just cough it up. Mommy will clean it. Good boy. There you go.” Mom reaches out to reassure Dobby that she's not mad. Quick what did I used to do? Hide! Hide and cough. Dobby runs into the bedroom and under the bed pretending to fear anger from Mom. He can hear Mom get some paper towels off the roll and clean up the mess he left on the floor.

“See, it's all clean. You're not in trouble baby.” Mom calls out with reassurance.

“Cough...Cough”

Mom pokes her head under the bed skirt from the side opposite so she can see Dobby's face. “It's okay kitty. Mom's not mad. I'm going to put my apron away and turn everything off in the kitchen. How about if Mom sits in here with you and reads until you feel better?”

“Cough.....Cough.”

Mom leaves and Dobby watches from underneath the bed skirt as Mom moves around the kitchen putting things away and turning out the light. He coughs periodically to remind her he is in dire straights. Mom goes into the bathroom, toothbrush buzzes, a few minutes later water runs. After the water stops running, the door opens and Mom turns off the bathroom light.

“Cough, cough...COUGH”

“It's okay sweetie. Mom is coming.”

Dobby feels the clearance above his head shorten a little as Mom's comforting weight settles on to the mattress above. Crisis averted. The room quiets around him as Dobby finally relaxes again. Eventually, the lights go out gently purring himself to sleep the cat realizes he can't keep doing this indefinitely. Next time I'll just let her bake the damn cookies.

Dobby wakes to hear a noise on the steps coming from the basement into the kitchen. Tiptoeing along the kitchen floor. Quickly headed this way. Quick! Hide! Under the bed! Crap! I am under the bed. Dylan's voice can be heard in the doorway of the bedroom. “Furnatche. Furnatche, where are you?” Dobby opens one eye just as the toddler's face appears from under the bed skirt. “There you are kitty.”

Lazy Cat

“Dobby. You played for like, two seconds.” Mom tosses the toy again. Dobby chases it across the room. Corners the feathered toy, picks it up in his mouth and runs out of the den with it.

“Now try and make me chase this stupid thing again.”

“Come on, kitty. You need more exercise.”

“I believe in low impact exercise.” Dobby says laying down on the floor.

Mom gets up and goes into the bathroom. She comes back into the den holding a small mirror and holds it below Dobby's nose. “Oh. Good.”

“What?” Dobby asks.

“You're still breathing. You must be alive. It's hard to tell. With the lack of movement and all.”

“I'm still recovering.”

“Recovering?”

“It's hard work keeping...” Dobby remembers Furnatche the baby dragon and his human family's presence in the basement is supposed to be a secret from Mom.

“Keeping...” Mom encourages him to finish his thought.

“Keeping you on task. Seriously Mom a toddler is more focused.”

“Excuse me?”

Putting paw to face so Mom can't see. “Mom has trouble accepting the truth about herself, sometimes.”

“Okay. Fine. Give me an example.”

“Yesterday. It was time to put up the Halloween decorations. You came home, changed clothes, checked on Grandma and Grandpa, checked e-mail, asked me if I was ready to help decorate for Halloween, then you sat at the computer. And sat. I had to keep calling you just to get you out of the den.”

“I was...busy.”

“You were tweeting.”

“I was practicing my um...typing skills.”

“Tweeting is a skill?”

“Of course. Not everyone can say something interesting, witty or profound in 140 characters or less. Besides that's not the point.”

“What's the point?”

“Give me a minute. I'm thinking.” Mom stares into space for a minute. Checks Twitter. Chews a nail. Looks down at Dobby laying on the den floor. “You're lazy. That's the point. I came out of the den, yesterday and pulled out the Halloween decorations myself. You howled at me the whole time I was doing it. Then, when I needed the help. When I needed to know if what I did was looking good, I found you curled up in the living room chair sleeping. Lazy.”

“I can't inspect your work when you're watching Mom. That's not how I do things.”

“You wait until my back is turned and slink around the house in a suspicious manner?”

“Seriously Mom, the way you look at things. How can you be a writer and have no ability to see things from a different perspective? What I do is, wait until you have gone to sleep. Then after I secure the perimeter, make sure there are no dogs, zombies, monsters under the bed; that's when I take another walk around the house. The second time it is an inspection.”

“Inspection?!” Mom asks with anger on her voice.

Softening his gaze and his voice, Dobby says, “Yes. An inspection. I am inspecting the house for changes compared to earlier in the day. That way when I am roaming the house late into the night I recognize what is supposed to be there. Sometimes I rub my face on something in a new place so that later in the night I can sniff it and know it's okay where it is at if I don't recognize it right away. If I see something that is not quite in it's best spot. I push it gently into a better place. A little fine tuning if you will.”

Mom thinks about this.  Checks Twitter.  Looks at Dobby. “I guess you do take care of some things around here.” Mom admits grudgingly. 

Mom puts a hand to her face. “Don't let him fool you he only looks for monsters under the bed because he sleeps there.”

Fade In, Fade Out

“Dobby are you okay? Kitty?”

Hearing Mom's voice Dobby slowly opens his eyes. Dobby looks up into Mom's face.

“Good. You scared me sweetie. What happened? It was like...a huge object just ran right over you.”

“I do feel like I've been hit by a freight train.”

“It looks like it too Dobby.”

“Thanks. Mom it's always good to know you are there with supportive things to say.”

“I'm here for you always but I'm not going to sugarcoat a pile of crap just so you'll better about stepping in it.”

Dobby hears sniffing behind him. Turning his head he sees Furnatche's face peering over the back of Mom's chair. The dragon is sniffing the air in the den closely. Dobby decides he must be looking for the pile of crap Mom was referring to. Furnatche sees Dobby glaring at him, stops sniffing and lowers his head. All that is visible are his eyes. The dragon blinks once and fades away.

“Dobby! Aren't you listening to me? What are you looking at anyway?” Mom turns her head to look at the chair behind her. Reaching for the back of the chair she spins it around. The seat is empty.

“See kitty. There is nothing in here with us.” Mom gets up and sits down in her chair. Sitting down on Dobby's paw. “Dobby! Wait until I sit down before you climb into the chair. Did you want to sit with me.” Mom gets a puzzled look on her face. “You're sick aren't you? Come on up. Sit with Mom.” Mom pats her lap in invitation.

Looking up at Mom, the chair and her lap; Dobby decides it has been a crazy day and a warm lap might be just the thing. Jumping up in Mom's lap Dobby purrs as she scratches his ear for him, rubbing his head against her face. Making himself comfortable, Dobby takes one last look at the table Mom's computer, notes, etc...are on before closing his eyes for a rest. Furnatche is sitting on the table in front of the computer monitor. Mom can't see Furnatche until she starts thinking about him again. Mom just types away like nothing is happening at all.

Furnatche on the other hand is sticking his head in Mom's coffee mug as she types. The dragon samples the concoction. Furnatche's eyes grow to twice their size. The dragon spits the coffee back out with such force he flies off the table and lands on the blanket chest two feet away. Dobby watches closely as Furnatche shakes his head for a minute then takes off across the den running straight for the basement.

Dobby makes a mental note: When you need to get a dragon to leave the room just offer him some coffee. Closing his eyes Dobby takes a well earned nap.

 **A little more cheese too**

Kevin made his way through the crowded backyard surprised at how many people were braving the stickiness and the heat for a simple bar-b-q. It took quite some time to find Beau, longer to work his way through the crowds. Kevin made sure to stop and say “Hello” to people he recognized. Recognizable people were safety rafts he could rest at between meeting all the people introducing themselves to him. Apparently many of his new neighbors were still curious about him.

Hannah's friends watched Kevin very closely waiting for their turn to introduce themselves. Kevin knew he would never get by the group without speaking with the ladies first. Being introduced to the “cougars”, as Hannah called them, and moving on his way after only twenty minutes was quite an accomplishment. Kevin found himself no worse for the wear there was one lingering arm caress and two butt pinches. He was pretty sure one of those pinches would be bruising... soon.

Kevin finally made it over to Beau who was standing next to a pretty woman he had seen around town.

“Hey there, City Boy. I see you survived the Cougar's Den. How many pinches?”

“Two.”

“Is that all? Six for me.” Beau announced. “You'd think those women would find men less attractive if they cleaned their scraped knees and wiped their runny noses 20 or so years before. Not that group.”

“I have to admit those ladies have spunk.” Kevin said.

“If a woman has to get older doesn't she have a right to be more outgoing? Those “cougars” have already been loving wives, caring mothers and now grandmothers. They've earned it.”

“In that case, I shall move my bruised ass with pride until it fades from my posterior.”