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...

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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...

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“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.