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.”