Stuff In Your Eye

Writer Lady calls to Dobby from her Big Writing Chair. "So what is it we're doing tonight?"

"You're writing Mom haven't you caught on to this yet?" Dobby asks in return.

"I know that. But what about?" Writer Lady asks.

Dobby sighs and rolls his eyes from his comfy spot on the couch, “I guess I have to do everything don't I?” he asks.

Dobby enters High Command, "Just pick something. Anything." He looks up at Writer Lady from his spot on the floor.
"Oh, just a minute kitty. You got stuff in your eye." Writer Lady says in an annoyingly high pitched voice. She reaches down to remove the offending goo.

"When I said 'Just pick something' I didn't mean that." Dobby says.

Writer Lady cleans her finger off with a tissue and disposes of it. "I know kitty but, there was stuff in your eye. You know I can't let icky stuff sit there like that."

“How do you explain the crap growing in the fridge then?” Dobby asks.

“That's different.” Writer Lady says, continuing her writing.

“That's stuff you eat. This is just gooey stuff in my eye.” Dobby says.

“See but, that is where you are wrong kitty. I'm not eating it.” Writer Lady says. She puts her hand over one side of her mouth as if sharing some big secret. “That's how the food gets that way.”

“Why don't you eat it?”

“Because I cook it and it isn't very good sometimes. So I shove it in the fridge. That's where inedible leftovers go to die. Besides, I'm hoping one day Tinkletoes will see it and decide not to visit anymore. Or better yet eat some of it.”

“You do know that by shoving the um...(Dobby coughs for emphasis) crappy leftovers in the fridge to die. They are co-habitating with your edible food?” Dobby asks.

“Your point?”

“The good flavors and the bad flavors are rubbing up against each other.”

“No they aren't. I tell the good food when I put it in there to stay away from the crappy stuff. Crappy friends equals crappy flavors.”

“You think the food understands?” Dobby asks.

“Of course it does.”

“Does it talk back?”

“Sometimes,” Writer Lady answers paling a bit.

“What does the food say?” Dobby asks.

“Don't eat me?” Writer Lady answers. “That's not creepy is it?”

“Yeah it is Mom. Just a little bit.”

“Oh...”

“I've been thinking. Maybe you need to get out just a little bit more often. Talk to other humans.” Dobby suggests.

“I see people all the time. I talk to people all the time.”

“Where? Who?

“At work. Grandma calls.” Writer Lady says.

“That's good. Let's mix it up just a little bit.”

“When?” Writer Lady asks. “For how long?”

“As soon as possible. Until the food in the refrigerator stops talking to you.” Dobby says.

“Really?”

“Yes Mom really.”

“But I go to the store every week there are new things to talk to all the time.”

“Mom...canned goods and oranges don't count.”

“Damn.”

***No oranges or other foods were talked to death during the writing of this blog.  No humans talk to foodstuffs of any sort in Writer Lady's home.  This is purely fictional there is no cause for alarm.  By the way, eat more produce because if you don't plants are sacrificing their offspring in vain.  Wait a sec...that was the apples.  The oranges say eat more cheese puffs because nothing dies to make that. This is just confusing.  (Sighs)  I'm done putting up messages for you!  Go back to the fridge!  It's past your bedtime.

Man Down

Tinkletoes is down. From his position, on his back in the middle of the living room floor, the odor stifling. Tinkletoes tries breathing through his mouth but that just makes it worse.

Dobby takes this opportunity to make himself scarce.
“Breathe Dragon pee stink through your nose...down you go. Breathe Dragon pee stink through your mouth you're gonna pass out.” TP giggles.

“Dylan, get that pee outside, Quick!” Peter instructs. “Don't spill. Furnatche stay with me.” Furnatche whimpers looking up at Peter, the dragon takes a seat by his side. Both look down at Tinkletoes. “Things seem to be a little better.” Peter says after sniffing at the air, lightly.  

 Dylan comes back in the house. “Did you spill?” Peter asks.

The four year old shakes his head.

“Go wash your hands.” Peter instructs. “Now what do we do about this?”

“Give him mouth to mouth.” TP giggles.

Peter glares at the faerie, then hears a loud slurping noise coming from the his right side. He looks at Furnatche in time to see the baby dragon's big wet tongue return to it's mouth. Peter looks down at Tinkletoes whose head is dripping with dragon slobber.

“Mom?” Tinkletoes calls out.

Furnatche smiles. His tail swishes joyfully.

Peter looks up at TP. Both work hard to contain their laughter.

“Furnatche licked you. You passed out. He thought he was helping.”

Tinkletoes reaches out wiping his face. Opening his eyes, he looks at the slobber covering his hand. “The dragon pisses and I pass out. The dragon licks me and I wake up.”

Looking at Furnatche, “You got me from both ends didn't you?” Tinkletoes asks.

The baby dragon nods with enthusiasm, tongue dangling.

“What happened?" Tinkletoes asks Peter, "Two tours of duty in desert terrain, things rotting everywhere and I have never smelled anything like that before."

“Furnatche's a dragon silly.” TP says.

“Furnatche's waste is special. If it doesn't touch anything organic it has no smell and disappears in seconds. If it makes contact with something organic then it smells.”

“A LOT! More than anybody else's. Even Daddy.” Dylan says returning from the bathroom.

“That took a while.” Peter said looking at his little brother. “You weren't playing in the water were you?”

“I'm four. It's what I do.” Dylan answers.

Turning his attention back to the mercenary, “Because Furnatche is from a different world his waste decays at an alarming rate once it gets the smell.  The more organic surfaces it touches the stronger the smell becomes. The smell becomes so strong it seems like it takes forever to fade. That's what Paige says anyway.” Peter explains.

Tinkletoes looks at Peter. “You know you'll do a lot better in life if you didn't listen to everything girls tell you. They're driven by their emotions. There are some situations emotions don't belong in.”

“Says the man whose feelings are hurt.” TP finishes.

Tinkletoes glares at TP.  “Just remember kid. Women are the enemy.” Tinkletoes says looking Peter in the eyes. He stands, carefully. “I don't let myself care about such things."

Tinkletoes looks at TP, “My idea didn't work, Peter's and Dylan's ideas didn't work either. What's next?” he asks.

“TP gets a turn.” Dylan smiles.

“Okay. TP fix this.” Tinkletoes says as he folds his arms across his chest.

“I will fix this and I will fix things for you too. I will need your bag silly man. As well as your helpers.”

Tinkletoes gives Peter a quick nod. Peter picks up the artillery bag. The two boys and the baby dragon make their way to the far side of the living room. There is a huddle. Lots of whispering and pointing. They get to work. Peter and Dylan use small pieces of aluminum foil and wrap them around the tips of the branches. The pieces were small and the work goes quickly. In the less than an hour the tree is covered in foil.

When they are nearly finished Dylan wakes Tinkletoes from the nap he's stealing on the couch. “What?!”

“Mr. T.  Wake up. It's done.” Dylan says smiling in the mercenary's face.

Looking over the small boy's head Tinkletoes studies their work.  “I can see that. Writer Lady is going to love that. It looks like a bright, shiny boat.”

“Or a tin hat.” Peter points out.

An evil laugh escaped Tinkletoes' throat. “That it does kid. That it does. I guess we won, didn't we?”

“TP's not finished yet.”

TP floats over to the shiny tree, using some dance moves that are probably way cool in the land of faerie, he coats the foil with a generous layer of faerie dust. The faerie snaps his fingers when the pyrotechnical boom goes off behind him and the dust lights up. The living room is filled with rich, luminous color. Everyone is transported from Writer Lady's living room to an outside ball room inside the two remaining walls of an old castle in TP's home world. “I used to play here when I was little.”

“Where is this?” Peter asked.

“My backyard.” TP says.

“Woooow!” Dylan exclaims breathlessly. Furnatche lets out a yip of excitement bouncing through the tall buttercups that litter the field around the ballroom.

“I want to play tag! You're it Peter! You got to find me.” Dylan calls running away.

“Is it done?” Writer Lady asks walking into the incredible sight that used to be the living room. She is followed closely by Aunt Purdy and Paige.

"Yes. It is. Brilliant isn't it?"  Tinkletoes asks.  "We didn't move a single ornament either."  

 TP glares at Tinkletoes. Peter too. Dylan and Furnatche hear the words and stop playing to look up at the group standing in the remains of the ballroom. 

 "The shimmering is beautiful.  Which I know has to be TP's work.  Thank you TP.  But the tree looks so different.  It reminds me of something.  Something that's just annoying.  I can't think of what exactly.  This is going to drive me crazy until I think of it.  But when I do..."

 "A simple 'Thank You' will do."  Tinkletoes says.

 Writer Lady responds, "Thank you."  

"Say, 'Thank you for doing it without moving the ornaments.'" Tinkletoes presses on.

"Thank you, for doing it without removing the ornaments." Writer Lady says speaking more softly and quietly with every syllable.

"You're welcome.  You can go do girly things in the kitchen now if you like.  Everyone is hungry."  

Writer Lady's face reddens, "'Excuse me?!"  

"I'm sure they are starving!  Let me show you that new recipe I was talking about."  Aunt Purdy says guiding Writer Lady into the kitchen.  

"He sent me to my own kitchen.  No man sends me into my kitchen!  If it weren't for Dobby."  She looks at Aunt Purdy, "Someday...his ass is out of here."  Writer Lady mutters, glaring back at Tinkletoes who is proudly reclining on the couch.  

"But not today." He finishes.

The Men Are On A Mission

Dylan's face grows red. Peter moves in between Tinkletoes and Dylan.

“What my brother was trying to say is let's each of us come up with a solution. Put them in a hat pull them out and decide what will work the best.” Peter says.

“No. No. That takes too long. Let's say what we think. Try it or decide not to. If it doesn't work go on to the next one.” Tinkletoes counters. “Besides. I brought my bag. I'm sure we can fix this in no time.”

“With a flamethrower?” Peter asks.

“Not the flamethrower, that would just burn the whole tree down. I don't have just the flamethrower in here. We'll find something else.” Tinkletoes reaches into the bag and pulls out a grenade. Holding it up he says, “How about this?”

No one answers.

“Okay no grenades.” Tinkletoes says, rifling through his bag.

“Sir?   Do you have anything that's um...not combustible?” Peter asks.

“Flare guns don't count, do they?”

Peter shakes his head.

“I didn't think so.” Tinkletoes says pulling MREs out of the bag. “TP can you make a crumbled MRE glow in the dark?” The faerie shakes his head. “Matches don't help either. Okay that's it. I've got nothing.”

“What if we just turned the lights up? Made it brighter?” Peter asks. “Of course. Turn up the lights.” TP says going through a series of elaborate steps including slowly turning around.

“You do the Hokey Pokey and you turn yourself around.” Dylan starts to sing and dance.  “That's what it's all about!” Dylan  finishes the song.

“What's with the dance?” Tinkletoes asks TP. It never takes you so long to do anything.

“The Hokey Pokey is my favorite—silly.” TP giggles.

With that, the lights turn themselves up, a lot.

“Wow.” Dylan says.

“That didn't help much at all.” Tinkletoes says.

“The dark spots are so...”

“obvious.” Dylan finishes.

“Wait a minute, you're four. How do you know how to use that word?” Tinkletoes asks.

“Paige!” Dylan answers with an eye roll.

“Dylan's right, our sister is smarter than most kids.” Peter answers.

Tinkletoes makes his way over to TP. “These kids just don't listen. I said no girls.”

TP mutters.

“So, TP.   Turn down the lights.” TP makes a sweeping motion with his butt. The lights go back to normal.

“What's next?” Tinkletoes asks. There is an eerie silence in the living room. After a moment, Tinkletoes feels something tugging at the leg of his pants. The mercenary looks down to see Dylan and Furnatche in front of him.

“Did you know my dragon pees?” Dylan asks.

“We all do kid.”

“My dragon has special pee.  It glows.  He has to go right now too.” Dylan says.

“Is it bright?” Tinkletoes asks.

“You can read by it.” Peter answers.

Tinkletoes studies the older boy for a minute. “I'm not going to ask how you know that. Let's give it a shot. Don't let this dragon pee until I tell you. Understand?” Tinkletoes says looking down at Dylan. The tow headed boy and the baby dragon both nod. “Peter you come with me.” Tinkletoes and Peter head into the kitchen to find an appropriate receptacle. Tinkletoes is opening cabinets and peering inside. “She uses that, that too. She'd notice this one missing.” Peter walks over to a cabinet at the opposite end of the room and pulls a stainless steel bowl off of the bottom shelf. “Use this one. Writer Lady only touches these to move them out of her way when she is looking for something else.”

“She won't notice something missing?” Tinkletoes asks.

“How many bowls are there?” Peter asks.

“Three.”

“There used to be eight. She won't notice.”

Tinkletoes and Peter make it back into the living room as Furnatche is whimpering in discomfort.

“Here you go kid. Furnatche can fill this up.” Tinkletoes says handing the bowl to Dylan.

“Make sure he only pees in the bowl, Dylan. If he pees anywhere else it could be like last time.” Peter instructs his younger brother.

“What happened last time?” Tinkletoes asks.

“Silly human. Asks silly questions.” TP giggles.

Everyone watches as Furnatche lines himself up to the metal bowl. Whizzing commences.

“What a way to spend a Saturday night, watching a baby dragon pee.” Tinkletoes says, waiting for everyone to agree. As the bowl fills up and the magical energy accumulates the room begins to glow. “It's glowing.” Tinkletoes says, studying the urine. “Is it sparkling too?”

“Yup. 'Glow and sparkles. Sparkles and glow. Dragons have been peeing and that's how we know'. We had training rhymes about dragons when I was little.” TP says.

Furnatche finishes his business and everyone studies their loaded weapon.

“I think if we set this under the tree the glow will bounce off of the lit bulbs and the glass ornaments. Let's see if it works.” Tinkletoes says.

Peter picks up the bowl gently setting it under the Christmas tree. The glow from the urine illuminates everything. The tree looks amazing.

“Gentlemen. Mission Accomplished.” Tinkletoes says looking around the room at the rest of the technical team. TP is gracious. Peter smiling. Dylan and Furnatche excited to have helped. Dobby is bored and scratching at something. “This was a mission for men, as men we were successful!”

Dobby is still scratching. He is shedding fur. One tiny strand, floats across the room landing in the bowl of dragon urine. Tinkletoes takes a deep breath in to make his final proclamation and leave the house a conquering hero when the previously invisible scent of dragon urine hits him full force.

It's Just Not Right

                                                  

“Oh dear me. Whatever is wrong with this tree?” Writer Lady exclaims looking at the Christmas Tree.

“You've been playing with the picture books again Mom, haven't you?” Dobby asks as he enters the living room. Writer Lady is standing across the room from her work scrutinizing.

“Well sweet kitty, Dylan needed to hear a story. There was nothing else for it.” She answers.

Dobby looks over at the young boy and the baby dragon sitting on the couch. There is a large stack of picture books piled up where Writer Lady had been sitting.

“They did help with the decorations. Where's your Christmas spirit?” Writer Lady looks at the ginger tabby smiling.

“For it and spirit? The effects are wearing off, at least. Where did I put that?” Dobby asks, pretending to look around. He pulls an empty box out of his pocket and opens it. “Sorry Mom, all gone, the box is completely empty. No Christmas Spirit.”

“Let me see that.” Writer Lady says, reaching to take the box from Dobby. Looking at the lid, it reads, Christmas Spirit The Hap Hap Happiest Catnip Ever. If this catnip can't make you happy, there's no hope. “Dobby. I'm disappointed in you. You act like life is all about you. Getting things.”

Dobby's eyes swell and fill with tears. “I can't believe it. After all of this time. You're finally getting it. I'm so proud of you Mom.”

“It's not all about you. Right now it's about this Christmas tree. Something about it doesn't look right. I can't tell you what the problem is. Tell me kitty, what do you see?”

“I don't see anything. Maybe if you turned on the lights.” Dobby suggests.

“The lights are on.” Writer Lady says.

Everyone exchanges glances, then looks back at the tree.

“Okay.” Writer Lady says. “We know what the problem is. That's good. It needs more lights. Let's get the ornaments off of it.”

Furnatche and Dylan get up off of the couch to help remove ornaments.

“Wait.” Dobby says.

“For what?” Writer Lady asks.

“Isn't there an easier way to do this?” Dobby asks.

“Let me see...” Writer Lady says putting her hand to her temple and concentrating. “No, there isn't.”

“You didn't even try to find a new way to do this.” Dobby says.

“That's because I know. I have learned this lesson already. There is no shortcut when adding more lights to the Christmas tree.”

“Did you ever have me before? Or Tinkletoes, Furnatche or TP?” Dobby asks.

“No.”

“Then you can't be sure there isn't a short cut.”

“Yes I can.” Writer Lady argues.

“No you can't.” Dobby counters. Walking to the far corner of the living room. Dobby picks up the Big Red Flashlight and shines it out the window. He turns it on. A bright message lights up the sky. It says: USTINK.

“What are you doing?” Writer Lady asks.

“Calling for the rest of my technical team. We are like those science guys. We are going to prove that you can light up a Christmas tree without taking off the ornaments.”

“You are going to disprove a fact with a team of guys who respond to a light up sign in the night sky?”

“They rock. You know like Batman.” Dobby points out.

“According to that sign they just stink.” Writer Lady says.

“No they don't.”

“Yes, they do.” Writer Lady argues.

“No Mom they don't.”

“That's what the sign says. I'm standing right here reading the sign.”

“That's not what is it says. It says: U Silly Tink.”

“This is signal is for Tinkletoes?” Writer Lady asks.“So what's with the signal? Why not do something simple like make his lightsabers glow at random intervals, send a message on his TV screen or put faerie dust in all of his underwear and make it set his butt on fire when you want Tinkletoes' attention. Something that would get his attention. You know something that works.”

“Mom you underestimate Tinkletoes.” Dobby says shaking his head.

“Really? He spends long evenings looking up into the darkness and pondering deep thoughts?”

“No but he spends many nights monitoring the night sky for UFOs. To keep us safe from all the Aliens.”

“Okay. One question. Does he buy the aluminum foil for his hats retail or does he get whole sale prices?”

“It's me. I always get my foil whole sale.” Tinkletoes answers walking in the living room.

At that moment, a flaming arrow flies past the picture window landing in the snow at the far edge of the yard and extinguishes itself. @#$%. A muffled cursing is heard from Writer Lady's driveway.

“Just a sec.” Tinkletoes says opening the front door and yelling “It's okay Carp. I'm here already.”

Turning around and coming back in the house with TP fluttering at his shoulder Tinkletoes closes the door behind him sheltering the living room from the cold. “That was Carp. I asked him to signal I was on my way. I got here first.”

“He isn't part of your “technical team?” Writer Lady asks.

“No. He is still fine tuning his core skills. No time for anything else right now.”

“Ooh. A specialist. In what?” Writer Lady asks, imitating a young girl ready to dish on some gossip.

“Undetectable Assassination Implementation.” Tinkletoes answers.

“That guy's a sniper?” Writer Lady asks.

“No. A bow and arrow are his preferred weapon. He is a Silent Killer. He will be anyway.” Tinkletoes answers looking at Writer Lady markedly. “What's the problem? I'm supposed to be on duty.”

“Look at the tree my friend and you will understand.” TP says.

“Yes. Of course. It needs more lights.”

“Mom says we can't light this tree up more without taking off the ornaments first.” Dobby says.

“That's because you can't. Everyone knows that you can't.” Writer Lady argues.

“Has she been like this long?” TP asks.

“All day.” Dobby answers.

Squatting down, Tinkletoes whispers in Dobby's ear. “It's a girl thing. Get her out of here and we'll fix it.”

Dobby nods at Tinkletoes who stands up and quietly stares down the tree.

“You look tired Mom.   I have an idea.  Why don't you send Peter in? You, Paige and Aunt Purdy sit at the computer and look at girly stuff. Let us men handle this.” Dobby says.

Writer Lady's face reddens slightly. She stifles a laugh, almost rolls her eyes into the back of her head biting her tongue. “Okay, kitty” she says heading into High Command. Giggling can be heard from the room and whispering lots of whispering.

“What's all that giggling about?” Peter asks entering the living room.

“Giggling it's a girl thing. It means nothing.” Tinkletoes says. “Come on over here kid. Let me teach you something.” All of the males in the house are standing in front of the Christmas tree in a half circle. Dobby, TP, Dylan, Furnatche, Tinkletoes and Peter.

“So what's all this about?” Peter asks.

“This tree needs more lights.” Dobby announces.

“Great so let's take off the ornaments...” Peter says, reaching out for an ornament that is hanging nearby.

“No. There's another way to do this.” Dobby says.

“We will add more lights.” TP adds.

“Without moving a single ornament.” Tinkletoes finishes. “Like a man would.”

Furnatche whimpers slightly looking up at Dylan. Dylan looks down and shakes his head to reassure the baby dragon that this mission should not be dangerous.

“How are you going to add the lights?” Dylan asks.

“I don't know...”

“Hell if I know.”

“We're screwed,” came out all at the same time.

“Sometimes when we have a problem that seems overwhelming Aunt Purdy” Peter offers.

“No don' go there.”

“I don't want to hear it.”

“Females are the enemy,” comes out this time.

“But Aunt Purdy!” Dylan exclaims.

“No Girls!” Tinkletoes stresses irately.

Bed Time

“Meow. Me-ow!” Dobby calls.

“Yes Dobby. What is it Kitty?” Writer Lady asks.

“Time for bed.” Dobby says.

“No it's not.”

“Yes it is.”

“No. It's not.” Writer Lady argues.

“Yes it is! Yeow! Now! Let's go.” Dobby orders.

“I'm the human, I'm the grown-up, I'm the mama and you can't make me.” Writer Lady says sticking her tongue out.

“Yes I can.” Dobby says.

“No you can't. I haven't written the new post for the blog yet.”

“Okay fine.” Dobby says pacing across the floor in High Command. “Just get your work done it's time to sleep.”

“It's writing kitty. Creative writing. I can't just crank it out. This isn't fast food.  I need to be in a comfortable space. There needs to be positive energy. You are not being positive. I can smell your breath from here. Go use some mouthwash. Please.”

Dobby leaves the room. He waits twenty minutes and peeks into the room to see what's going on. Writer Lady is sashaying around the room in her robe singing into a hairbrush and dancing to “Girl on Fire” by Alicia Keys. TP is running the laser show.

“So...Mom. How's it going?” Dobby asks.

The lights come up and Writer Lady is sitting back in the Big Writing Chair.

“Just fine Sweet Pea.” Writer Lady answers typing away. “I'm almost done.”

“You know Mom, you might get more done if you didn't dance around so much.”

“Probably, it's good exercise though.”

“It's not time to exercise. It's time to sleep. I know your schedule.”

“How can staying up be a bad thing? I'm having so much fun.”

“Just wait.” Dobby says, curling up on the floor and settling himself in for a long wait.

Writer Lady writes and dances. Dances and writes. She sings badly. So very badly.

Just as Dobby's internal alarm is about to drive him completely crazy Writer Lady says, “Okay Kitty. That's it. I'm done.”

“Would you just look at that clock? It's ten-thirty! I just don't know what I'm going to do with you. Get ready for bed. Never mind. TP will fix this."

“Silly cat.” TP's giggling is heard in the back ground. Writer Lady is suddenly in her nightgown, teeth brushed, flossed, and ready for bed. She climbs into bed and makes herself comfortable as she picks up a book. Dobby waits a moment and curls up in the crook of her right arm.

“Okay now where were we?” Dobby asks.

Writer Lady starts reading aloud.

Where's The Gravy?

It's early morning and Writer Lady stands over Dobby in the kitchen in her nightgown, pouring fresh kibble in his food dish and giving him fresh water. Dobby looks at the bowl without eating.

“There you go sweet pea.” Writer Lady bends over to pet Dobby.

“Forget something?” Dobby asks.

“Do you want a belly rub this morning?” Dobby glares. “I didn't forget anything. Sorry kitty. It's breakfast.” Writer Lady answers standing up to full height and proceeding to walk away.

“It's Thanksgiving!” Dobby call after her.

Stopping in her tracks, Writer Lady rubs her hands over her eyes to wake up more. Turning around she says “Of course, Dobby. What was I thinking? Happy Thanksgiving.” Writer Lady says and leaves the kitchen.

Dobby finds her in bedroom putting on her exercise clothes. “It's Thanksgiving. I'm your kitty, your sweet pea, your baby. Where's the gravy?”

“What?”

“Where's the gravy?” Dobby repeats.

Writer Lady stares at him with a blank expression.

“I'm the cat. I love you. I snuggle you. I have to smell your farts all year long. I deserve special food too. So...what do I get?” Dobby says.

Writer Lady pets him thoroughly, rubs her head against his and says, “Thanks so much. I am grateful and lucky to have you in my life.”

“That's it?” Dobby asks.

“Dobby you get too much people food. You are still healthy now but you beg way too much. You have to learn healthier habits just like I do.” Writer Lady answers taking her weights out.

Dobby pouts.

“Seriously kitty, every time I have something in a bowl you beg. You beg for anything now.”

“Dairy and meat. Ice cream, yogurt, Parmesan cheese. Just the essentials.”

“Popcorn, scrambled eggs.” Writer Lady continues the list, stopping what she is doing to say. “Vegetable soup. Last night you begged for vegetable soup.”

“I like to play with the pasta shapes?” Dobby offers. The ginger tabby thinks for a minute and says. “I was feeling constipated. Yeah that's it. I'm irregular, Mom.”

“People food is not for kitties it's for people.”

“I think you are developing an addiction. I won't have you addicted to anything else. Catnip is enough. Let me finish exercising, please. I want to be at Grandma and Grandpa's by ten-thirty.”

Several hours pass while Writer Lady gets cleaned up and ready to go.

“Okay Dobby. I'm going.” Writer Lady walks over to Dobby who is laying on the back of the couch. She reaches out to pet him and he moves away. “No pet. No purr, no nuzzle?” Dobby glares back at her.

“She leaves me alone on Thanksgiving without any goodies and she wants love?” Dobby mutters to himself.

Writer Lady grabs her stuff and locking the door behind her leaves the house. Two minutes later she comes back in cussing under her breath. Taking a plastic container out of the kitchen cabinet she says, “This is for gravy. GRA-VY! Happy?”

Dobby blinks contentedly as Writer Lady stomps out of the house.

That my fellow felines is how you train your human.

Technical Difficulties

Dobby enters High Command finding Writer Lady in the Big Writing Chair. But not writing.

“Mom? Mooom?” Dobby says rubbing his head against Writer Lady's arm. “What's wrong? You aren't writing anything.”

“I know kitty.”

“Are you sad?”

“No.” Writer Lady says.

“Then what's wrong?” Dobby asks.

“Nothing. I have nothing on my mind.”

“You aren't thinking about anything?” Dobby asks.

“Not a thing.”

“There isn't a passing thought?” He continues.

“Nope.” Writer Lady answers.

“Are you sure?” Dobby asks.

“You can check if you like.” Writer Lady says.

Snapping his fingers Dobby produces a magical brain opener. A wee bit of a can opener if you will. As the opener makes a line around the circumference of Writer Lady's head, a sparkling line appears twinkling and glittering around her.

Dobby puts away the brain opener. “I hope no one tries this at home.”

Writer Lady makes a querying noise.

“It only works for me. To open up your head.” Dobby says.

“Okay.” Writer Lady says. “Wait. So you've done this before?”

“Just a bit of rewiring.”

“You're a cat. How do you know what you're doing?”

“Trial and error.” Dobby says, lifting the lid and taking a peek.

“Great.” Writer Lady says. “How many times have you done this anyway?”

“Um...three.” Dobby answers.

“Three other times?” Writer Lady exclaims.

“No, two other times. This is number three.” Dobby corrects.

“Are you sure? I feel like we may have done this before.”

“Nope this is the first time.” Dobby says. “I have found the problem.”

“What?”

“I didn't know the human brain could do this.”

Writer Lady pales, swallowing in fear.

“Oh...how is it you're still breathing?”

“Oh dear...” Writer Lady exclaims her heart rate rising. “Dobby kitty I love you. Stop beating around the bush and tell me straight.” Writer Lady's speech is slow and labored as she works to steady herself and keep from hyperventilating. “What's happened?”

“Half of your processing neurons have blown out. Overstimulated somehow.” Dobby leans in with the Big Red Flashlight and takes a look. “I'm not sure what could have caused this. Wait a minute...” Dobby reaches in with a set of tweezers and pulls out a moth. “Here's the problem.”

Dobby shows Writer Lady the moth that is trapped in the tweezers. “Hold onto this Mom. So I can close up.” Dobby sets Writer Lady's head back into place and runs his paw along the opening to cauterize it back shut.

“How can a moth overload half of my brain like that?” Writer Lady holds the moth up close to study it.

Dobby reaches to carefully take the tweezers from her. “Well you know all the fluttering. Those wings move really fast. All that monitor man business and then if the moth was in the same spot at the same time...blow out.”

Writer Lady has blank look on her face, she is trying to absorb this um...explanation. “Really? That doesn't sound right to me.”

“Try this then. Think about hot cocoa and only hot cocoa until I say stop. When I say stop I bet you'll feel like your old self. Have all kinds of thoughts lighting that brain right up. “You have to close your eyes...start...NOW.” Dobby reaches for a book, releases the moth and smashes the moth on the word “NOW”. Picking up the dead moth Dobby inspects the circuit board inside to make sure nothing is lighting up on it. He takes it and puts it in the trash.

“How do you feel now Mom?”

“Wonderful. It almost like someone flipped a switch on.”

“Or maybe even off.” TP bellows in the background.

“So do you think you can write now?” Dobby asks. His answer is the familiar tap, tap, tap on the keyboard.

Appearing next to Dobby's ear TP says, “You got lucky that time. I told you not to abuse that remote control.”

“I got treats. Every time I pressed the button she smiled and gave me a treat. I kept trying to get catnip. Every time I asked for catnip I also got a treat. I don't know why.”

“Because she thinks it's wrong to contribute to your catnip addiction. Those remotes don't work against someone's moral compass. You had to try to manipulate her anyway. You abused it and you nearly fried her brain. I never should have helped you.”

“TP it's been through a lot worse. Seriously. I have been poking around in her head a lot. Her brain is like brand new play-doh. So soft. It's hard to leave alone. And the smell...”

“I should have made friends with the dog down the street. Dogs don't do these things.” TP says in frustration.

“Dogs aren't nearly as interesting either.”

Out Of Their Gourds

“Mom. Mooom!” Dobby calls out walking in to the kitchen.

“Yes kitty.” Writer Lady answers, she is standing in front of the island studying the two bright green and yellow gourds she bought in October for Fall decoration.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm trying to figure out what to do with these gourds now that Halloween is over.  I picked these up because they looked so alien to me.  Like something was going spring forth without warning and destroy us all.” Writer Lady says picking one of the gourds up and displaying it in her hand. Bending over she held it close to Dobby so he could get a better look. “See it almost appears to have strange claw like tendrils. There are these wart like growths on it too.”

Dobby sniffs at it for a minute. A strange pulsating is coming off of the gourd. “That's interesting. Maybe you should put that down now.”

Writer Lady returns the gourd to the top of the kitchen island. Dobby rubs his head against her ankle in approval. “I still don't know what to do with it now,” Writer Lady says chewing on a nail.

“Taking your hand that was touching that thing out of your mouth is a good start.”

“Oh yeah. It's time for supper anyway,” she says turning her attention away from the gourds and to heating up some leftovers. Supper is spent at the computer, getting started with the new post. Writer Lady eats, read, clicks, eats, reads and clicks.

“Watch it kitty.” Writer Lady says reminding Dobby to keep his head out of her food. The ginger tabby sniffs at the contents of Writer Lady's plate, pulling his head away quickly. “What have I told you about getting between me and my food?”

“Don't worry Mom. Not a problem.” Dobby says. Studying the pasty orange blobs on Writer Lady's dinner plate. “I'm not sure you should eat those.”

“It's fine Dobby. Those are sweet potatoes.”

“No they aren't.” Dobby says.

“Yes they are.” Writer Lady says eating a chunk of the creepy concoction.

“No they aren't. Not anymore.”

“What do you mean not anymore?” Writer Lady asks.

“Those gourds of yours contaminated them.”

“Did not,” Writer Lady says.

“Did too.”

“Did not!” She counters.

“When you showed me the gourd it was pulsating. Your sweet potatoes look disgusting. Where are you storing your sweet potatoes?”

Studying Dobby's face for a moment, Writer Lady jumps out of Big Writing Chair turning it over and runs in to the kitchen. Dobby follows. “There are the gourds on the island. The sweet potatoes aren't on the island. They are sitting on the cabinet. See it's fine kitty.”

“The sweet potatoes may be sitting on another cabinet but look at what level they are at.”

“The same one?” Writer Lady asks.

“Those gourds are pulsating. The alien energy coming from those gourds could travel right over to your uncooked potatoes. Contaminating them!”

“The bread machine is in the way. So there.” Writer Lady argues.

“Mom...Alien energy? All that alien stuff can travel in any direction it wants to.”

“Okay fine. I'm tired. Whatever you say. Aliens have destroyed my dinner. Can I go now?”

“Okay...you're not going to be feeling very well when that alien spawn explodes from your girl parts.”

“What?” Writer Lady asks turning around.

“Classic story Mom. Aliens, alien disease or alien technology disguises itself as something harmless or lovable and then finds some subtle way to reproduce itself. Springing forth from some poor unsuspecting human in the most disgusting way possible.”

“It's not going to work right now. It's that time.” Writer Lady announces grinning. “I'll just toss out the gourds, the bread machine and all the potatoes. Problem solved.”

“For you maybe. What about all of those other unsuspecting humans?”

“I'm sure they will love their new alien gourds as much as any baby?”

“ What will you do next year? When the gourds are in the produce aisle again?” Dobby asks.

Writer Lady goes to the dry erase board on the refrigerator and writes. “NO FRESH PRODUCE IN OCTOBER” in big bold letters. “Done.” She says.

Dobby shakes his head in shame and disappointment.

“Dobby, what's wrong?” Tinkletoes asks entering the kitchen after letting himself in.

“Mom will never learn.”

Tinkletoes looks at Writer Lady. Writer Lady shrugs. “Dobby thinks these decorative gourds I bought are pulsating. They must be aliens. The aliens contaminated my sweet potatoes which I cooked, ate and now I'm impregnated with some alien because of the food. I don't know where he gets this stuff.”

Tinkletoes shrugs as well.

Clearing her throat, Writer Lady asks Tinkletoes “Do you have something for me?”

“Um...yeah.” He mutters, handing her a paper bag. “I don't know what the big deal is.”

Writer Lady peers into the bag. “Excuse me, first this isn't my brand. Second, you forgot the Supers and third you did this to yourself. Never touch a woman's feminine products. Sanitary napkins are never toys. Possibly first aid for covering wounds in an apocalypse but never toys.”

Tinkletoes looks down at the floor. “Yes ma'am. Don't worry. I never want to see that aisle again.”

“I hope you never have to just as soon as you take these back and get me what I asked for.” Writer Lady says.

“You won't budge will you?” Tinkletoes asks.

“You play you pay soldier boy.”

“I'll give you everything I have in my wallet just don't send me back there. Please.”

“If I don't send you back how can I be sure you learned anything?” Writer Lady asks.

Tinkletoes leans in and lowers his voice. “I kind of had trouble at the pharmacy. I got confused and scared in that aisle. I'm not allowed back at that store unaccompanied by a responsible adult.”

Writer Lady smiles. Stepping away from Tinkletoes, “Well then, it sounds like you learned your lesson. Give me fifty dollars and you're off the hook.”

“What's in the bag only cost twenty.”

“Inflation?”

“More like extortion.”

“If you'd like to go back to the store yourself...”

“Fifty's fine. Here you go.”

“Got things worked out?” Dobby asks impatiently.

“Yes. You two can go play now.”

Tinkletoes heads into the living room in search of video games. As Tinkletoes settles in to save the world so does Dobby.

“So...um. How do we save Mom?”

“From what?” Tinkletoes asks not looking away from the TV.

“Alien insemination.”

Tinkletoes pauses the game and takes a closer look at Writer Lady.

“No self respecting alien would get that close. Too much work. Aliens have a limited window of time. A woman like that takes way too long.” Tinkletoes continues with his game. “Besides gourds don't impregnate humans they look for lower life forms preferably other plant life to mate with or a less advanced animal species. I wouldn't worry about your mom. I'd keep the gourds away from these other house plants. Don't sit too close to that big aloe vera behind us. You just never know.”

Finding Trouble (Orig. Posted on Twitter Nov. 11, 2013)

“Once upon a time...Okay Dobby now what?” Writer Lady asks.
“Now what, what?”
“What comes next?”
“I don't know. I thought you knew.”
“If I knew a story I wanted to tell I wouldn't have asked you to tell me a story.” Writer Lady answers.
“You are the Writer Lady. It's your job to have a story.”
"Not every day."

"Yeah! It kind of is." Dobby answers.
"Okay so refresh my memory. I do this, why?"
Dobby lets out a sigh and wanders over to big dark closet in the far corner of High Command.
Rustling sounds can be heard and fairly soon objects come flying out of the closet, many of them bouncing off of Writer Lady's head.
Throw pillows, linens, empty mesh hampers, winter socks. Papers, oh the papers.
Dobby comes out of the closet holding a beat up Memo book. Writer Lady scribbles in those, just so you know...she has one all of the time so if you have a conversation and then she scrambles away to scribble...u may become part of a character just sayin'.
Dobby comes out of the closet (WL giggles) clearing his throat and reading.
"Sept. 2010 -- I may have stumbled on one of the main reasons I write. My mind seems to always be overflowing with all of this stuff. Creative, funny, colorful stuff.  If I don't write this crap down I'll never get any sleep ever again. It keeps me out of the bars too."Dobby clears his throat. "So Mom it would appear that you write so you don't sleep in bars anymore."
"Wait a minute...that statement would indicate that I used to sleep in bars at one time. I think I would remember that.  I don't think they really make bars big enough for a person to climb in and go to sleep."

 "Isn't there an expression about climbing in the bottle?"  Dobby asks.
"Yes, Dobby but that's just an expression. I don't fall asleep inside giant bars. I love you kitty but I'm just not buying it.  I was saying I write because I have to. I can't let this stuff just keep flying around inside my head. It also is fun, entertaining...keeps me out of trouble...most of the time."
"Which reminds me..."  Dobby brings Writer Lady the mail.
"Another letter from PETA? Seriously? This says that I am not providing a stable home for you because of all the characters that have moved in with us. The letter also says that Tinkletoes is a bad influence on you. I should never have let him in the house." She looks at Dobby. "Did you tell them that I never let him in the house? He's your friend. I still haven't figured out how you learned to unlock the door."
"I didn't Mom. Tinkletoes knows how to pick locks."
"He picks locks? What else can he do that I don't know about?"
"Do you know about the light sabers?" Dobby asks.
"Yes."
"Do you know about the lock picking?"  Dobby asks.
"Now I do."
"Do you know about the guns, knives and ammo?"
"Yes. I don't like it but yes I know about that stuff."
"Do you know he's been taking your clean feminine napkins and making paper animals with them?"  Dobby asks.
"Really?"  Writer Lady asks crossing her eyes and biting her bottom lip hard to keep from laughing.
Dobby nods.
"You're sure of this?"
"We played "Wild Country Safari" last week while you were at work." Dobby answers.
Writer Lady goes into the bathroom and turns on the light. Opens the bathroom cabinet. "Are you sure? Nothing looks different kitty. Wait a sec. There is writing on this bag." Writer Lady says pulling a bag out of the vanity.
Wild Kuntree Safaree Don't Touch.  Is written on the bag of pads in permanent marker.
Writer Lady reaches in to the bag and pulls out...everything. All the animals are stuck to her hand. "Dobby kitty what is this?" Dobby walks over to Writer Lady's hand to get a good look.
"Giraffe, elephant, lion and a gazelle. You could probably still use the giraffe and elephant on light days. The gazelle too?"
Writer Lady shakes her head. "Nope too horney."  Writer Lady reaches into the cabinet for another bag of feminine napkins.  Buggy Science Stuf the bag reads.
"Look before you touch that one Mom."  Dobby warns.
Writer Lady peers into the bag.  "Gross! What is that?"
"We were bug specialists that day. So we used the sticky side of the pads like fly paper."  Dobby says.
Writer Lady starts reaching into the cabinet and pulls out all the bags of feminine napkins.
"What were you doing that day?" she asks.
"Making hats."
"This day?" She asks, holding up another bag. "This one stinks."
"Feeding the dragon different things and seeing how it changed his poop. Don't get too close to the chips and salsa one. I'm still having nightmares." 

 Writer Lady holds up one last bag. 

 "More dragon poop."  Dobby answers.  "Once you give them beans, it's just over."

Dobby's Bored

“Dobby! Dobby kitty come here!” Writer Lady calls.

The ginger tabby opens one eye, raises his head, slowly standing and stretching out his entire body. After a couple of licks to his body Dobby jumps off the bed and makes his way into High Command.

“Whaaaaat?” Dobby yowls entering the room.

“Guess what?”

“What?” Dobby asks.

“This is so exciting. You'll never guess. I know you'll never guess.”

“WHAT?” Dobby asks again.

“Our blog has 80 posts! We started this a little over a year ago and we are almost to 100. Isn't that great?” Writer Lady asks.

“Sure Mom. Great.” Dobby answers returning to his bath.

“You don't sound very happy.” Writer Lady says.

“Of course I'm happy.” slurp

“You don't look very happy.” Writer Lady says.

“I'm totally happy Mom.” sluuuurp “We kick blogging ass. It's just...”

“It's just what?”

“I just thought that after all that work I went through to get endorsed at the con in the Land of Rising Bird, you know, more would be happening.”

“You went through?”

“Sorry Mom. You went through.”

“Patience dear kitty. Everything comes in it's own good time.”

“You do realize that 80 posts means 80 nights you didn't have a date?” Writer Lady pales and reddens at the embarrassment.

“Eighty nights you sat here alone in the house at the computer with nothing to do but talk to your cat and various other characters.”

Writer Lady stiffens a bit. “Everything comes in it's own good time. Besides, I have been having fun.” she answers smiling.

Cutting his bath short Dobby walks over to the Big Writing Chair and jumps in Writer Lady's lap. “Surfing the internet reading about everyone else's fun,” he says rubbing his face against hers.

“It's so nice to see that everyone is happy.” Writer Lady counters.

“Everyone's having fun except you. Millions of people all over the world—fun. You. Not so much.”

“Everything comes in it's own good time.” Writer says slowly in a very deep voice. “Don't push me kitty.” Writer Lady says, pulling up a new screen for Pinterest searching furiously for positive affirmations to fit the situation. Everything is going to be okay. Love yourself and you are never truly alone.

Dobby turns around to look at the screen, “Are those um...help-ing?”

“Bend over and I'll put one where the sun doesn't shine, I'm sure I'll feel lots better.” Writer Lady says through clenched teeth.

“Now see this is why you can't get a date.” Dobby points out.

Writer Lady growls.

“I told you it doesn't bother me. It only bothers you.”

“Actually what bothers me is that neither one of us is getting the love that we deserve.” Dobby says.

“You mean you aren't getting the admiration you are craving. Which is precisely why you aren't a big deal yet. You want it too badly.”

“Mom. It doesn't matter how badly I want it. I say it's time for the admiring to start. It needs to start already.” Dobby says.

“It's not gonna start until you forget about it.” Writer Lady sings.

“Mom please don't sing. It hurts everyone's ears.” Dobby sings back.

“At least I don't have butt breath.”

“Touch e Mom. Touch e.”

Dobby returns his attention back from the screen to Writer Lady. Rubbing his head against her forehead. “I was thinking. We need to change the blog a little bit.”

“How?”

“I'm thinking, some way cool stunts. Maybe some pyro technics?”

“Fireworks? Kitty those won't translate well with in the written word.” Writer Lady says. “I need more practice writing descriptions for that. Besides this is meant to be funny.”

“Way cool stunts then.” Dobby says.

“I don't think so.”

“Okay Mom so here's the problem. You aren't seeing anyone and you say it doesn't bother you. As long as this is true, we're running out of jokes.”

“No we aren't” Writer Lady says.

“Yes we are.”

Writer Lady shakes her head.

“Yes we are.” Dobby repeats.

“We need new characters, new surroundings, new problems, random men stopping by...something. Because frankly nothing much happens around here these days.”

“Speak for yourself. I have to say I see some pretty amazing stuff going on.”

“Like?”

“Well the alien that showed up suddenly last week disappeared.”

“Dead spider on wall. It fell off the wall a couple of days ago.”

“Not an alien?”

“No, Mom”

“Good now I can get back to sleep. Those night watches were killing me. I was out of aluminum foil too. No tin hat.”

“Okay Mom so what else?”

“Another alien left a strange slimy fungus in the shower. Every time I shower I risk my very life. Every day I have to decide...stink or die. Stink. Or Die.”

“Mom that was mold. You keep forgetting to scrub the tub.”

“Okay...I hate that job so much. That's why you know.”

Dobby sits on the computer table glaring at Mom. “Things are just bor-ing.”

“What about TP?” Writer Lady asks.

“What about TP” Dobby says.

“He has been making improvements around here. Beautiful work.”

Dobby looks closely around the room. Just below the pink lightsaber Writer Lady received for her birthday from Tinkletoes was a shelf. On that shelf, was a picture of a forest. Dobby walks over to the shelf and peers in.

“It's a picture of a forest.” Dobby says. Boring.

“That's not a picture kitty. That is an enchanted forest from Faerie. Take a closer look.”

Dobby stands up and leaning against the shelf peers in. The songs of frogs and crickets sound in his ears. Fireflies blink in and out of the cat's range of sight.

“Pretty isn't it?” Writer Lady says her back turned to it.

“Meh, kind of interesting.” Dobby says. A faint sound of running water can be heard in the background. Dobby sticks his head in as far as he can. The ginger cat spies TP climbing into a jacuzzi tub-- naked. Pixies are already cavorting in the tub giggling and chattering amongst themselves.

TP feels himself being watched and turns around. “Do you mind Dobby? Pixies only.”

The ginger cat's face reddens. “Sorry,” he says backing out as quickly as he can.

“Nice guy. A bit overly enthusiastic for a neutered male if you ask me.” TP can be heard commenting to the pixies.

“So kitty? Do you still think things are boring?” Writer Lady asks.

NAMASTE

                                              

“Mom?”

“In the living room kitty.” Writer Lady is in her exercise clothes sitting cross legged on a yoga mat, arms to her sides, hands resting on her thighs. Faint instructions can be heard coming from the television. Writer Lady lays down on her back with her knees bent. She raises her torso keeping her head on the floor. Dobby walks over to where Writer Lady's head is and climbs up on to her chest with his back to her.

“Dobby...move please.” Writer Lady says. Dobby turns around slowly to face her.

“What?”

“Get down kitty. You're on my chest. Can't breathe.”

“Mom, I love you so much.” Dobby says, rubbing his head against hers.

“I said, Move your ass.” Writer Lady reaches up and pushes the cat off of her boobs.

“Well. That was rude.” Dobby comments as Writer Lady collapses panting.

“Sorry kitty. But that was also painful. All twenty pounds of you was on my chest. I couldn't breathe. By the way, just so you know, boobs can't be moved around like they're your own personal pillows either.

“Well, not yours.”

“So. What is it you want?” Writer Lady asks.

“It's time to write.”

Looking at the clock Writer Lady says, “It's still early. We've got plenty of time. Let me finish stretching. I need to relax.”

Dobby walks around Writer Lady as she gets back into her pose and closes her eyes. She opens her eyes after feeling Dobby climb back on to her chest. Walking along her body to stand on her knees. Writer Lady collapses again.

“Dobby!”

“What?”

“I like this. I can see a lot from here. What do you call this?” Dobby asks.

“Bridge pose.”

“I like it.” Dobby says.

“If you like it. Why don't you try it?” Writer Lady asks.

“Are you going to be much longer?”

“If you let me finish it won't be long at all.”

“O—kay.” Dobby says. Backtracking up Writer Lady's body, sticking the end of his tail up her nose as he leaves.

Writer Lady is standing up when Dobby cat returns in a catsuit and a piece of an old blanket. Writer Lady does a double take when she sees the ginger tabby. “Dobby, what are you wearing?” she asks.

“Work out clothes.”

“That's a catsuit.” Writer Lady points out.

“It's really tight. Just like your clothes.”

“These are work out clothes, they're supposed to fit tight.” Writer Lady says.

“That's kind of what I just said Mom.” Dobby points out.

“Okay kitty. As long as you're comfortable.”

Writer Lady is standing tall. Feet hip width apart. Arms raised and parallel. She is stretching up.

Dobby imitates her. “So um...what's this called?”

“Mountain pose.”

Writer Lady hears giggling behind her to the left. “Looks nothing like a mountain. Silly humans.” Whispering commences.

“Now this is a mountain. Mom. Mom...look!”

Writer Lady turns to her left to find Dobby sitting on the floor with his legs crossed. The cat's arms are hanging down to the floor at an angle he appears wider at the bottom than at the top. TP is hovering a foot above the cat's head mirroring him.

“Yes. That's a mountain.” Writer Lady smiles and gets back to her stretching.

Now let's get into chair pose. The television says. Writer Lady complies. Dobby and TP look at Writer Lady in astonishment. Both cat and faerie attempt it. Neither like it.

Stand up out of chair pose and stretch.

Cat and faerie smile at each other glad it's over.

Let's do one more chair pose.

TP snaps his fingers and a chair appears between them. Each strike a pose next to their side of the chair. Sunglasses and pearly white teeth gleaming.

Excellent job everyone. Let's relax for a moment. Go to Downward Facing Dog pose.

Dobby and TP look at each other. Each lay down with their bellies on the floor and their feet sprawled out behind them in the back.

Writer Lady stands on her hands and tip toes. Bent in the middle with her head facing down.

Doesn't that feel wonderful?

Feeling happy and relaxed TP and Dobby pant like dogs.

Good. Stand up and move into Warrior 1.

Writer Lady demonstrates for them. The cat and the faerie like this pose. The phone rings and Writer Lady pauses the DVD. The moment she leaves the room. “En Garde” both yell simultaneously and start fighting with swords that appeared at the faerie's bidding along with musketeer hats.

Back to Downward Facing Dog. Let's try a yoga push-up.

Writer Lady straightens from Downward Facing Dog and moves to a Yoga push up. TP and Dobby just wait.

Downward Facing Dog.

Let's just sit down on your mat cross legged, close your eyes. Relax. Focus on your breathing.

“Slurp. Slurp. Sluuurp!” can be heard in the background. Writer Lady turns around to see Dobby and TP licking ice cream.

“What are you two doing?” Writer Lady asks.

“Yogurt Push-ups! Silly Lady.” TP giggles.

“This part is really boring Mom.” Dobby says with a slurp.

“That's because you aren't doing it. Meditation is very relaxing. Come over here and sit next to me. Try it for a minute. You'll see.”

Everyone settles down into a nice relaxing meditation.

Put your hands together in front of the heart. Na-mas-te.

“Now I'm Gonna Stay.” Dobby and TP respond.

The Saturday Night Before Halloween

“Mom what are you doing?” Dobby asks walking to High Command and stopping at a tall white boot.

“I'm working on the blog kitty. What else?” Writer Lady answers.

“Why are you dressed like that?” Dobby asks.

“Dressed like what?” Writer Lady looks at her clothes. “Oh that. Thursday is Halloween. It is going to be too cold to wear this while I'm handing out candy. I'm wearing it now. It's inspiring.”

“A British flag dress is inspiring?”

“It inspires me to keep having fun. Also, I have been trying really hard to stay this size all summer. Just for Halloween. I'm wearing it a second time.”

“What if someone finds out?”

“Who's going to find out?”

“What if someone comes to the door and sees you like that?”

“Who's going to come to the door?” Writer Lady asks. “Are you expecting anyone?”

Dobby shakes his head.

“I'm not expecting anyone either. So it's fine. You know what I need kitty. I need lipstick.” Writer Lady gets up and goes to the bathroom. Returning to the computer, “Besides I need a picture for the book cover.”

“You're going to look like that in public?” Dobby asks.

“Not in public. There will be a picture. It will be public.” Writer Lady answers and keeps typing.

“Are you sure that's a...” Dobby asks.

“What should we do tonight kitty? A poem. A song. We can call it “The Saturday Night Before Halloween”.

Dobby reaches out and gently places a paw on the top of her booted foot. “Mom. You can't sing. Please don't write a song.”

“To the tune of another song maybe. Bohemian Rhapsody?”

Dobby takes his paw and covers his eyes.

Writer Lady looks at Dobby, “No?”

“No.”

“Well crap. Now I don't know what to do.” Writer Lady gets up from the Big Writing Chair. She goes into the living room and sits down on the floor in meditation pose.

Dobby follows her.

“Mom.” Nothing. “Mom. MOM!”

“What kitty?” Writer Lady asks.

“You're sitting in the floor.”

“Yes I know. I'm trying to meditate. I'm blocked.”

“Aren't there pills for that?”

“No kitty. My creativity is blocked.”

“Mom. I hate to tell you this. But sitting like that isn't going to help.”

“Sometimes a writer has to suffer for their art.”

“Trust me Mom. You're not the one who is suffering.”

“No one is here except us. The skirt covers all of the private stuff. If you have a problem with it go to another room.”

Dobby leaves, the room falls silent and Writer Lady is free to meditate. She is beginning to relax when she feels something being pushed against her. Between her legs is a pillow.

“Dobby what are you doing?”

“Covering you up. Sitting cross legged in that dress isn't right Mom.”

“Dobby no one is here. It's okay.” Writer Lady grabs the pillow and thrusts it across the room nearly taking out a potted plant. Dobby ducks and runs away.

A few moments later a piece of foam board is leaning against her crossed legs. Opening her eyes, Writer Lady reads the sign which says:

Do Not Disterb

This woman is suffering for her art.

She is kind, caring and modest (most of the time).

She is not a SLUT.

I know how she's dressed and how she's sitting.

Seriously.

Not A SLUT.

Thank you for not disturbing her.

SIN-cerely Sister Margaret Mary Magdalin Katherine of the Cherch.

“Dobby please! I told you there is no one here. Let it go.”
 

“Okay. Fine. I'm letting it go. You're on your own.” Dobby leaves the living room muttering under his breath. “She calls me high maintenance.”

 

“Trick or Treats!” TP, a large group of faeries and assorted pixies all appear on the floor in front of Writer Lady. All staring where the sign used to be. A sharp intake of breath is heard by all.

“This isn't a very nice trick not at all,” one of the pixies say.

“Hehehe...Writer Lady is such a silly human.” TP says running up to the offending site, snapping his fingers using a faerie size billboard with a screaming zombie on it to hide everything.

“Did you see that?” Another pixie said. “Her panties did not match that dress at all.”

“What was that stretchy stuff over her panties?” she continued.

“Panty hose.” A faerie answers giggling. “Control top.”

“Everything is under control here!” Another faerie chimes in.

“I thought it was a human chastity belt.” A pixie whispers.

“No you have to be seeing someone to need one of those,” a faerie giggles.

“Oh!” Lots of giggling.

“Let's just move on to the next room. Lots of fun to come.”

“You said it TP we didn't.” Giggling all around.

“I'm wearing Control Top because it was all the store had. Not because I need it.” Writer Lady yells as the group leaves the living room.

TP looks at Writer Lady with disappointment. “Halloween is good clean fun you said. It's for the whole family to get together and have fun you said. I brought everyone here so they could see what a good human looks like. Why we shouldn't pick on you anymore.”

Writer Lady looks at the floor in embarrassment. “I'm sorry TP.”

“We'll talk about this in the morning. Go put on some clothes.” TP says.

“Okay.” Writer Lady stands up and pulls down her skirt as far as it will go. The bra pops out of the neckline. At least the girls are covered. She quickly and quietly heads into her bedroom to change.

TP snaps his fingers. The living room is back to normal. The faerie flies into High Command to meet up with Dobby and the rest of his group.

Dobby watches TP enter. “Did it work?”

“Silly kitty. Of course it worked.” TP turns to his friends. TP snaps again. The room is empty except for the faerie and the cat.