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.”

  

A Dragon in the Den

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"Mom?"  Dobby asks.

 "Just a minute sweetie. I'm really making progress on this fan fiction piece. Can you believe it? It has been like pulling teeth getting a word out all day. And now?" Mom types away making the happiest little sounds with the keyboard. "A-mazing! "  Mom smiles really big. "Okay. I can stop here."

Dobby makes his way across the den closer to Mom. “I think we need to talk about what has really been going on lately. All the time I spend in the basement.”

“You have been really lonely haven't you? I think we should move soon. Maybe we can get another pet for you to play with. I was thinking, a female cat.”

Thinking about all of his new friends in the basement, Dobby says, “You know Mom I think it's nice here the way it is.”

“Just you and me, huh?”

A faint scream comes traveling up through the floor. “Did you hear something?” Mom asks.

“No. I didn't hear a thing.”

Dobby looks around the den desperately looking for a new subject. Panning the room, his gaze stops in the doorway. A wide eyed dragon of nearly his size slowly materializes. The dragon's eyes are looking around memorizing the room and his nose is sniffing the air. Out of the corner of his eye Dobby sees Mom starting to turn her head to see what he is looking at.

“So you are doing really well with the fan fiction huh?”

“It is moving right along. It is almost as good as some episodes of “Castle” we have seen on TV.   I think so anyway.”

“Really?”

Hearing the cheerful tone of her voice Furnatche becomes interested in seeing Writer Lady again and starts slowly making his way across the den.

“Yes. Really. You know me. I don't say that often. It does lack the proper flow and polish of a finished television script. I do feel better about what I am capable of.”

Dobby sits down to listen. He knows the excitement in Mom's voice. This is gonna take a while. Furnatche keeps coming closer to Mom's chair, as he approaches the mood in the room changes. Mom's typing slows and she keeps looking down at Dobby.

“Did you see that?”

“See what?” Dobby asks, his leg is out in front of him, paw up, like a cop holding back traffic. Furnatche pushes back, using some of his energy that keeps him invisible. The dragon fades in and out. During the struggle, the spear shaped end of Furnatche's tail starts to come out and slaps against the base of Mom's chair.

“Did you hear that?” Mom asks looking down at Dobby.

Dropping his paw and letting Furnatche run past at full throttle, Dobby returns to his sitting position and plays dumb (as Dobby calls it: how I would act if I was a dog). Furnatche disappears just before he jumps up onto the blanket chest that sits to Mom's left.

“This is such a strange night. I keep hearing things. But it must be my imagination because if you heard anything Dobby you would be hiding. Dobby?”

Just out of Mom's sight, Dobby is quickly and efficiently luring Furnatche out of the den with mini chocolate sandwich cremes. He just gets into the hall when Mom calls out a second time, “Dobby?” Dobby dumps half the bag of cookies out for the dragon, sticks a paw in the litter box and begins scratching.

“You going potty kitty? I'm sorry for calling. Mom didn't know.”

Dobby grins knowing he's bought some time. Turning back to the dragon, Furnatche picks up another cookie in his mouth makes an unhappy face and spits it back out. Approaching the dragon, Dobby says, “I know they are not homemade but it's all I've got. Mom hasn't baked cookies in ages.”

Furnatche dissapates...Dobby runs back to the doorway of the den hoping to head the dragon off before Mom sees him.

“You know Dobby. I noticed today that our reader numbers have dropped by half. I quit posting the cheezy romance because I didn't think anyone was enjoying that part of the blog. Maybe a few people did. I am going to continue with it. I miss it anyway. I really want to finish either that or the “Castle” piece so I can get back to “Furnatche”. I am really missing them.

A strong wall of air knocks Dobby over. His world goes dark.

The Visitors In The Basement

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“Great news. The jumpsuit worked. Mom has forgotten about me spending so much time in the basement.” Dobby enters the basement purring.

“I'm getting tired of all this waiting. I say we take a stand now!” Paige stood up and said while looking at everyone one else in the Writer Lady's basement. Everyone at the table tensed noticeably at her pronouncement. Furnatche hid under the table. Dobby was anxiously looking all around trying to figure out where to go if Paige kept it up.

Aunt Purdy walked around the table and put an arm around her niece. “Paige. Relax. Dobby explained how Writer Lady works to us last week. She has three stories she is currently working on and they are like her “babies”. It is hard to keep up with all of us.

“That's the whole problem if you ask me. She is NOT keeping up with US. Sure she writes the cheezy romance and the story for the the television show but not for us. This is SO boring.”

Peter walks around the far side of the table and stands behind his sister's left shoulder pantomiming her speech starting with an exaggerated, “This is SO boring”, complete with eye roll. Dylan, Furnatche and Dobby all started to relax. Peter's antics were hard to ignore.

“Does anyone else know how long we have been waiting?” It has been over a year since she looked at the first book. She has only written snippets about us ever since. We haven't had anything to do but wait. We haven't eaten, slept, enjoyed any of Aunt Purdy's wonderful cookies, had pillow or water balloon fights, no adventures. None at all!” Paige yelled.

Dylan's giggle could be heard from across the room as he silently mocked both his sister and brother to Furnatche's delight. Furnatche had come out from under the table to a much safer spot across the room and next to Dylan.  The dragon was nervous and rarely relaxed so much around the three year old.

  “Mom doesn't work like other writers. She does things in “sips” or smaller intervals of time."  Dobby pointed out.  "Finishing stories takes a bit longer. She learns more every day.”

“Great,not only are we characters born from the imagination of a slow working writer but she's a beginner too?” Paige wailed. “Can't we just buy her a Big Gulp? Tie her to the chair?”

“Just a minute, Paige. She writes almost every day now, doesn't she Dobby?” Aunt Purdy asked.

“She does.”

“That is wonderful. It used to take weeks for her just to write a couple of pages.”

“Paige you need to spend less time complaining and more time talking to Dobby. If you did you would know that Writer Lady is not a beginner she is a moderate intermediate at least.” Aunt Purdy reproved. Furnatche and Dylan listened closely nodding their heads in agreement along with Peter and Aunt Purdy.

“Would taking a stand really help the situation Aunt Purdy?” Peter asked.

“Considering the fact that we are characters created out of Writer Lady's imagination?  Probably not. In fact, if we did the wrong thing she may decide that we aren't suitable characters for a children's book and destroy us forever.”

“I watch and listen to her all of the time.” Dobby said. “I think the best thing to do is to come up with ideas for the next book. That way she will start thinking about you more than the cheezy romance and that ridiculous fan fiction story. The show will be off the air by the time she finishes with that thing.” Gesturing to everyone in the room. “You get started with the ideas and I'll start working on moving Mom's attention back in your direction.” Dobby leaves to go back upstairs.