Saturday Night Silliness -- Random Musings of a Writer Lady and Her Cat.

"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

--> 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.”

--> “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 y

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

“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.

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.

--> “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..

“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

--> “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. “Ho

“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 wit

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

“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 th

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

“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 bet

“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 clo

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 u

“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.

“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? Wha