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.”