Demons and Dragons

“I knew conjuring up a demon was a bad idea.”  Peter says.

Dylan looks up at Peter, nodding in agreement.

Tinkletoes squats down speaking quietly with the two boys as Carp watches. “We didn't have a choice.  That dragon in the bathroom is huge.  He almost reaches the ceiling.  We agreed as the men of this house that conjuring a demon was the best defense.  We can't back down on this now.  Majority rules.  Men are better at war than women.  This has to be a unified front.”

The boys look at Tinkletoes uncertainly.

“We're the men.  We know what's best.  We have to stick together on this, protect the females, they are fragile.”

Carp looks everywhere but at Tinkletoes when he makes this last comment.

“Duuude.  You rock.”  Ray calls across the room, giving Writer Lady a Rock hand.  Ray turns to Tinkletoes, Carp and the kids.   “Writer Lady is totally kicking demon butt.  It looks like TP's having a bad day too.”

Looking up Tinkletoes, Carp, Peter and Dylan see Dobby, Writer Lady and TP all gathered around cauldron which is no longer glowing.

Writer Lady is saying a lot.  Really fast.  Waving the Big Red Flashlight around for emphasis; Dobby, TP and the demon all take turns ducking to avoid being conked on the head.  TP looks a little pale and Dobby is looking for someplace to hide.  The demon is getting goosebumps while it sits in stunned silence.

Tinkletoes stands up.   Leaning over he asks Carp, “She should be raising the roof.   Why can't we hear anything?”

“Profanity sac.”

“What?”

“Profanity sac.  It surrounds the angry person and the sources of the anger so that little ears don't hear the grown-up saying all the bad words.  TP messaged me before he put it up.”

“When does it come down?”  Tinkletoes asks.

“TP is monitoring her thoughts.   When all the bad words stop piling up in Writer Lady's mind waiting for their turn to be spewed out her anger will have dissolved to the point he can remove the sac.”

“How bad is it?”

“I can see the words as she says them.   We don't have enough soap in the house for such language.”

“Can we charge her for them?  Something like, I don't know, a dollar a word.”  Tinkletoes asks.

Carp shakes his head.  “She doesn't make enough money for that.”   Carp answers studying the display.  “My goodness.”   Carp says.

“Why can't I see the words?”  Tinkletoes asks.

“You don't read silently.”  He answers not turning away from watching the sac. “Uh oh.”   Carp says.  “Whatever you do, don't make eye contact.”

TP points to Tinkletoes, Carp and the two boys.   Writer Lady turns her head. Carp turns his head away just in time.

“She saw me...looked right at me.”  Tinkletoes says.

“Duuuude.  You're toast.”  Ray says.

“Scatter, quickly.  Quick-ly.”  Carp says.

“I'm gonna miss you man.”  Ray says looking at Tinkletoes.   “Before you die, can I have your X box?”

Writer Lady walks across the room, her eyes boring holes into Tinkletoes' head.  Tinkletoes guides Peter and Dylan over to Ray.  The self-proclaimed mercenary stands tall, bracing himself for a grueling battle, armed with only his defensive skills and sharp (cough) wit Tinkletoes prepares to...?  Writer Lady crosses the room aimed and ready to fire, she slows down, looks sternly at the group of men and says, “Don't move,” walking past them and into the bathroom.  She closes the door behind her.

Feeling a tug on his pant leg Tinkletoes looks down.

“Aren't you gonna help her?”  Dylan asks.  “Females are fragile.  Remember?”

Carp comes over to see what's going on.  He mouths the words 'Be nice' to Tinkletoes.

Tinkletoes kneels down and says, “Yes females are fragile, most of the time.”

“Females are also special; every month they become stealth ninjas powered by chocolate.” Carp explains.

Dylan processes this.  “Like a superhero?”  He asks.

“Yes.  Just like a superhero.”  Carp says.  “Except they are a special kind of superhero and when they are in full stealth mode you have to stay out of their way.”

“Why?”  Dylan asks.

“Because at their full power they cannot always tell the difference between the good guys and the bad guys.”  Tinkletoes explains, he looks at the closed bathroom door wondering why there is no yelling, banging or other sounds of destruction.  “They just destroy everything.”  He says wondering if another profanity sac was put up.

“Like Hulk?”  Dylan asks.

“Yeah.  Just like a Hulk.”  Carp answers.

“Will she get big?”

“She doesn't need to the anger is big enough.”   Tinkletoes says.

“Why didn't we just tell Writer Lady about the dragon to begin with and ask her to let out her superpowers?”

“Because they don't work that way.”   Tinkletoes says.

“Why not?”  Dylan asks.

“We aren't that lucky.”  He answers.

“What happens now?”  Dylan asks.

“We wait.”

“What's gonna happen to the dragon?”  Dylan asks.

“We have to wait and see.”  Carp says.

“Home.   The dragon will go home.”  Tinkletoes answers.

Dylan processes this looking around the room.  “What about the demon?”  He asks.  “Did he go home?”

Tinkletoes, Carp, Peter and Ray all look up to see the empty cauldron at the same time.

Cats and Cauldrons

She rises slowly from her seat taking a first step.   There is no noise.  Her slippered foot lowers to the floor without anything impeding it.   She takes another step, then another.  The skirt of her gown flutters against her ankles. Unsure of her direction she keeps walking looking for a source, any source of light.  In the endless darkness the only light she can find comes from a cauldron. Flames burst from the top flickering and spitting at the air above it.  The flames burn so brightly she wonders how they are being contained by the cauldron at all.  The light emitted within the fire makes the cauldron itself glow warmly.  The sides seem to be thinning and she wonders how much longer it can burn before a stray spark ignites her...carpet?   Alighted by the flames is the familiar face of a dear loved one managing all.

“Dobby what's going on here?”  Writer Lady asks.

“Shh!”

“There's a strange fire burning in a cauldron in the middle of my living room and you're shushing me?”

“Shh!” This shush is stronger, louder, and more emphatic.

Writer Lady notices the room is warm. Not just from the cauldron's fire.  There is another warmth.  The warmth of several people in a small space, crowded together.  Writer Lady closes her eyes for a moment, opening them, she refocuses, this time using the light from the fire to find the shapes of others in the room.  Seeing nothing besides Dobby and the flaming cauldron she wonders if she is dreaming. On the other hand, Dobby is wearing a robe covered with shooting stars and a pointed hat. Writer Lady knows her kitty would never wear a get up like that without a good reason. What would make her dream about him wearing such a thing?

Dobby says a lot of strange words Writer Lady doesn't recognize while he waves his paws over the flames. It is a dramatic sight. Writer Lady can't help but wonder what Dobby and TP have been talking about while she's at work.   She continues to peruse the room looking for a source of information.

“I don't think she can see us.” A voice whispers from her right and just above her knee.

“That's because we're right behind her.” A deeper voice whispers behind her left ear.  “This is fun.”

“Duuuude. We're totally behind you.” Another voice whispers. Writer Lady smells a strong odor of taco chips and guacamole. If she didn't know Ray when she heard him, there was no mistaking his breath. Writer Lady turns her head to the right to find Ray standing right behind her.

“Thanks.” She says.

“No problem Dude.”

“So what's Dobby doing?” Writer Lady asks.

“It's a long story.”

She looks at Ray raising an eyebrow, undeterred.

Ray lets out a quiet sigh and says, “Dobby's calling forth a demon.”

“What?”

“A demon. Big scary thing with massive, long horns. They're kind of slimy. Demons come from the underworld which is really hot so I guess it's not their fault.  They can't help but, like, sweat and stuff.”

“What the...?”

“Shh!”

“Excuse me.”  Writer Lady says, turning around to face the group.  “EXCUSE ME.”  She repeats loudly when the group returns to watching Dobby.  “There is a massive fire in my living room and my cat is calling forth a demon.  I am not shushing until I get some answers.  Look over here.”  She says gesturing to her face.  “Spill.”

No one speaks.

“Whoa...” Ray says. “I guess since I started talking I get to finish. Dobby's calling forth a demon to get rid of the dragon.”

Writer Lady scans the area looking for Furnatche, wondering if he has had a growth spurt or something.  The silver white baby dragon lay on the floor next to her feet. Furnatche's neck is stretched out, eyes closed in slumber, his body glowing intermittently with his strange purrs.  “This dragon?” Writer Lady asks pointing down.

“No.” Ray says.

She looks at Ray waiting for more information.

“There's another dragon.”

“Another dragon?”

“Kind of.”  Ray says.

Rolling her eyes heavenward and bringing them back to Ray, “How can there “kind of” be another dragon?” she asks.

“That's kind of a long story too.  You don't use your bathroom much, do you?  It's okay.” Ray says gesturing with a nod of his head.  “Demon's coming.”

Looking back at the cauldron, Writer Lady watches as a sharp horn begins to emerge from its depths. Dobby begins to back away from the edge so the creature can come forward.  “Rise Malignant Spirit Rise.”

This has to be a nightmare.  Writer Lady stands stunned for a moment wondering where her sweet kitty went.  She begins to protest, quietly at first then growing much louder.  “Dobby Cat, you stop this now!”  She says marching to the cauldron, as close as she can venture without getting burned at least.

“Mo—om.” Dobby protests.

“Now!”

Dobby puts his paws down to their sides and stops chanting.  The demon keeps rising.  One horn becomes a pair of horns.  The top of its head continues rising from the flames of cauldron.

“It's still coming.” Writer Lady says.

“TP taught me how to pull but he had to go to the underworld to...”

“To...?”  She asks.

“Push.   A lot of demons have to be pushed.”

“What about all the demons in books and movies?  They're big, mean and murderous.  They force their way into our world.  They don't get pushed.”

“Those are the ones with anger issues Mom.”

The demon continues rising.  Its horns and head are now fully exposed.  The creature screeches making a sound that rattles the walls. The flesh on Writer Lady's arms prickle.

“Oh no!  I'm not having this in my house.” Grabbing the Big Red Flashlight, Writer Lady bangs on the outside of the cauldron like someone bangs on a wall to get the attention of the room directly below them. “TP.  TP!   Can you hear me down there?  Stop pushing!  Drop the demon.   I repeat, Drop The Demon!”

The demon turns it's head and screeches in Writer Lady's ear.

The demon stops rising.  It screeches in her ear again.

“I have had just about enough of that.  You just sit there and be quiet.”  She says to the demon looking in its eyes.

The demon's mouth opens again but no sound comes out.

Telling Stories

“Ugh.” Writer Lady groans letting her head fall to the table.

Dobby looks up from his bathing spot on the floor nearby, tongue sticking out. The room remains quiet.  The ginger tabby resumes his bath.

Writer Lady watches her sweet kitty as he slurps his way to a clean tail without a second look in her direction.  Sitting back up, she lets her head drop to the table again this time groaning louder.  “Ugh!” She repeats, sighing after, she turns her gaze to meet Dobby's eye.

“Is something wrong Mom?”  He asks.

“Oh...nothing.”  She says.

Dobby returns to his bath.

Seeing this, Writer Lady groans-sighs-groans again.

“You're groaning.”  Dobby says.

“Am I?”  Writer Lady asks.

“Yeah.  So what's wrong?”

“It's just that, I don't know what to say.”

“Blocked again?”  He asks.

Writer Lady nods, her head rubbing against the table top.   “I'm afraid it's over.  I have no more interesting thoughts, new ideas, no more stories.”

“Come on.  You always pull something together.  Just relax.”

“Not this time kitty.”

“Brush me.”  Dobby says rubbing against her ankle.  “You always feel better when you brush me.”

“Actually kitty, you always feel better when I brush you.”

“Same thing.”

Writer Lady looks at the blank screen in front of her.   The cursor blinking at her defiantly. “Why not.  It's not like I'm doing anything here.”

“Feel better?”   She asks when the brushing session is over.

“Yeah Mom.   Lots better.  I hope you feel better too.” Dobby says rubbing himself against her side.

“Thank you kitty.  That's so sweet.”  She says reaching out to pet Dobby.

“Mom.  Brushing is over.   Don't touch me.”

“Sorry kitty.”  Settling back down in the Big Writing Chair Writer Lady reaches back to scratch an itch just below her bra strap.   When her hand returns to its resting place at the keyboard it's covered with fur.  She looks down.  “Dobby I'm covered with cat hair.”

“Yeah, well, so am I.”

“I'm not supposed to be.”

“It can't be that bad.”   He says.

“My boob looks like it belongs to an orangutan.”

“Hairy boobs are sexy?”  Dobby offers.

“No kitty.  Not on me they aren't.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes I'm sure.” Writer Lady says glaring at the ginger tabby.

“Should't you be writing or something?”  He asks.

“Yeah. If I knew what to write about.”  Writer Lady says.

“Why not write about...”  Dobby begins.

“See it's not as easy as it looks is it?”

“I'm thinking.”  Dobby says.  “I know, write about your hairy boob.”

“Are you telling me I should write about the hair that is all over the outside of my blouse?”

“Well, um...yeah.”

“No one wants to read about cat hair being stuck someone's clothes.”

“Maybe not a whole post but you know a sonnet.”

Writer Lady shakes her head.

“A regular poem.”

She shakes her head again.

“Haiku?”

“No kitty.”

“How about me? You could write about me.”

“I already do that.”   Writer Lady says.

“You didn't stop writing about me?”  Dobby asks.

“No kitty.”

“Where is the story where I save the world?”

“I haven't written that one yet?”

“The one where I'm a superhero?”

Writer Lady shakes her head.

“The one where I get the girl?”

There is no response.

“Mom? I didn't hear you.  Why is it I haven't gotten the girl yet?”

“I don't know kitty.”  Writer Lady sighs and puts her head back down on the table letting out a sigh.

“Pssst. Pssst, Dobby.”  Tinkletoes calls from the doorway to High Command.

Dobby looks up.

“Halo Face Off. Ready?”   Tinkletoes asks.

“Just a second.”  Dobby says.

Tinkletoes looks at Writer Lady slumped over at the table.  “What's up with her?” He asks.  “Girl stuff?”   Tinkletoes mouths the final words.  You know, just in case.

Dobby shakes his head.

“Dobby kitty go play with Tinkletoes.  Don't worry, Mommy will be fine.”

“Are you sure Mom?”

“Of course.”  She says sniffling a little.

Tinkletoes rolls his eyes.

“He'll be right there.”  She says without looking up.

“What's going on?   I thought it was Halo night?”  Carp says to Tinkletoes stopping in the doorway.

Tinkletoes gestures to Writer Lady with his head.  “Being a girl about...I don't know what and totally milking it,” he whispers.

“Did you learn anything last summer?”   Carp asks.

“I think the important question is do I remember anything from last summer?”

“Do you?”

“I used what I had to when I had to then I buried that crap deep.  Like a man.”

“So what you're telling me is?”

“I just came over for Halo.  You need to take care of this girlie shit.”

Carp glares at Tinkletoes.   “Just because she's upset doesn't means it's hormones.”

“Mom's blocked.”

“There are prunes in the cabinet.”  Tinkletoes points out.

“Not that kind of blocked.”  Carp says.  “You're right this is no place for you.  Go play the game.”

“See Dobby.  Make yourself look useless and you never have to do anything you don't want to.   That is central to being a guy.”  Tinkletoes says leaving the room.

Dobby looks at Carp.

“It's central to being a guy who's alone.”  Carp says.  “Go ahead Dobby and keep him out of the way.”

Carp enters High Command, kneeling down next to Writer Lady.  “Hi.”  He says gently.  “It looks like you're having a bad day.  Want to talk about it?”

Looking at Carp Writer Lady nods.  “The words aren't coming...(sniffles)...no more stories...(sniffling) I suck at this...(sniffling). Dobby says I have hairy boobs and I should write about them.”  The crying starts.

“So you're having trouble coming up with an idea this time?”  Carp asks.

Writer Lady nods.

And they called me “high maintenance”, oy vey.  Carp mutters.

“Do you know what I used to do for a living before I became an assassin?”  Carp asks handing her a tissue.

Writer Lady shakes her head.

“I used to write romance novels.   Have you ever heard of Jenny Love?”

“Yeah.”  She says. "Every single book was a best seller.  For years.”

“Jenny Love was a star too.  Do you remember the gossip?”

She nods half heartedly.

“I was pretty high strung then.  The world owed me for bringing those books to it.   I expected it to pay up too.  The demands I made on people.  I drove many a publishing intern to quit, one running home in tears.   I think she ran all the way back to Kansas.   Wait a minute, she wasn't an intern, she was an editor.  An executive editor.  I wrote every one of those novels out long hand.  When I got carpal tunnel my agent, publisher and all of the people I worked with so closely dumped me as fast as they could.  I couldn't get a job writing copy for laxative ads even if I wanted to.”

“That wasn't very nice.”  Writer Lady says.

“Jenny Love was impossible.  A hellion.   It was the best thing that ever happened to me.   The worst too.  Isn't it funny how change happens?  It comes on like a tsunami sometimes.  It is rarely ever all bad or all good.  They get mixed in together.   When the smoke clears things are just different.”

Writer Lady nods.   “I don't want to be rude but what has this got to with my current problem?”

“Nothing directly.  But if you get too worked up about it, you won't tell the story you want to tell and you won't enjoy the journey either.  Readers can't identify with your work if you're sitting in a chair at your computer crying with your head on a table.”

“You're not going to tell me to open a vein and bleed all over the page too are you?”   She asks.

“I am an assassin.  I know where all the runniest ones are.”

“No thanks.  But thanks for the talk Carp.”

“You're welcome.”  Carp says standing up.

“One more question.”  Writer Lady says.  “What made you decide to become an assassin?”

“I had already killed Jenny Love it seemed like a natural progression.”

Seeing The Future

Writer Lady sits at her computer perusing well...everything.  Stopping to check her horoscope, it's late afternoon so it's fairly safe.  Predictions aren't allowed to come to pass after four p.m.  It's the law.

T.P. pops into the room flying over to hover above her left shoulder.

“Hi T.P.  How are you doing?” Writer Lady says without looking away from the monitor.

“What is Writer Lady doing?   She's not writing.” T.P. says giggling.

“I was just puttering.  Checking stuff out.  Right now I'm looking at my horoscope.”

“T.P. can tell you what is going to happen.  T.P. sees everything.” The faerie giggles.

“Thanks, but I think I'll wait.”  Writer Lady says.

Flying across the desk T.P. blocks the screen where the prediction is showing.

“T.P. will you please move?   I can't read the screen.”

“Writer Lady doesn't want to know.   Remember?  Make your actions and your words match.  Silly woman.”

“I thought T.P. sees all.”  She says.

“T.P. does.”

“So is this prediction accurate?”
 The faerie pales slightly.

Maybe you should turn around and read it before you keep me from it.

T.P. turns around in midair and starts reading.   The longer the faerie reads the more he laughs.

“So?”  Writer Lady asks.

“No, this is not for you.  Whoever it is for must be having a really bad day.  Show me another one.”   T.P. orders.

“Can I read mine first?”   Writer Lady asks.

“Show T.P. another.”  The faerie repeats.

Writer Lady pulls up another sign's prediction for the day, reading it T.P. laughs harder than he did the first time letting out a brief snort at the end.

This time it's Writer Lady's turn to giggle.   T.P. turns around to face her with a questioning gaze.

“You snorted.  I didn't mean to laugh but I didn't know faeries snorted when they laughed.”

“Yes we can laugh so hard we snort.  Some tinkle too.”

Dobby calls from the living room.  “Dobby kitty, I'm writing.”  Writer Lady calls back.  Dobby continues crying.
“Time out T.P.   I have to go see what Dobby wants.”  Writer Lady rises from the Big Writing Chair and heads into the living room leaving T.P. alone with the computer.   The faerie sits down on the edge of the keyboard starts surfing the Internet.   Lifting a finger he points to Search and the cursor is redirected. T.P. wiggles his fingers in a typing movement and enters the word “psychics” within seconds the screen is filled with listings for various psychics.  T.P. chooses one sight, then another.  Waving his hand to scroll down. Faeries don't play with mice.  Too primitive.  The faerie looks at the clock. Several minutes have passed and Writer Lady still has not returned to the room.  When T.P. gets to the next site a small box pops up showing a person waiting.  A caption above the box says to talk to the psychic click here.   T.P. giggles briefly and clicks on the appropriate spot.  The site asks for a credit card and with a little magic T.P. is able to bypass it.

“Good evening.  Do you have a question for the psychic?”  A voice asks.

“Yes.”  T.P. says.

“What's your question?”

“Answer please.”  T.P. says.

“I can't answer until you ask a question.”  The psychic says.

“A psychic knows all, sees all.  Answer the question.”   T.P. says giggling.

“I can't see your question tonight.  There's a meteor shower, it's mucking up my lines of communication.  So could you just do me a favor and tell me your question?”

“Answer please.”   T.P. repeats.

“Will you tell me your name?”  The psychic asks.

“T.P.”   The faerie says.

“That is an interesting name T.P.  I like you T.P. so I'm going to be honest with you.  I have a bad cold (the psychic coughs unconvincingly) tonight and I'm just not getting information like I usually do.  Can you just ask me the question out loud?”

T.P. puts his face to the camera mounted on Writer's Lady monitor and says, “Answer Please.”

“Hi T.P.   I can see you there.   Does your mommy know you're on her computer?”

“Using only your eyes to look keeps you from really seeing.” T.P. says.   Bending over the faerie politely moons the psychic.  “Look, it's the dark side of my moon.”   T.P. giggles.

“I can see you, you little shit.  If you don't ask the question I'm going to rack up your bill so high you'll never make it to college.”

“Begone with you.  Charlatan.”  T.P. says lifting a finger and closing the box.

T.P. looks around High Command.  He flies to the doorway and looks out.  Writer Lady is brushing Dobby while the ginger tabby purrs.  Letting out a giggle T.P. returns to the computer and his fun.   The faerie finds another psychic website and using the same magic to bypass charges he prepares to meet another victim um...psychic for advice.

“Hiya shug.  Welcome to your own personal psychic reading.  What can I help you with tonight?”  The psychic asks.

“What's my name?”  T.P. asks.

“I'm sorry hon.  I did forget to ask didn't I?  What's your name sugar?”

“Psychic knows all, sees all.  What's my name?”  T.P. continues.

“Honey I don't know.  Why don't you tell me what your name is so I can get a reading of your future?”

“If you can't tell me my name how can you see my future?”  T.P. asks.

“Do you have a camera?   Why don't you sit in front of the camera so I can see you?  I'm sure that will tell me everything I need to know.”  The psychic suggests.

“Okay”  T.P. says.  “Wanna see the dark side of a moon?”

Christmas Tree Blues

 Saturday morning comes early pulling Writer Lady from a long night's slumber and happy dreams. Rising, she brews coffee and prepares to make herself comfortable planning on watching the sunrise as she enjoys that first cup of coffee sitting in the living room. Writer Lady opens the shutters and realizing she's still in her robe, closes the shutters instead imagining the beauty of the sunrise because if she wants to actually see the sunrise she has to get dressed first and that's just not happening now. She sits on the couch enjoying the serenity of the day. Dobby lays on the far side of the room camouflaged by the Christmas tree alternately napping and gazing at her adoringly.

“It's so quiet.” Writer Lady says. “Kind of nice isn't it kitty?”

Dobby looks at her and blinks contentedly.

“The holidays went well too except for the whole candy overdose thing last week. I was so sick.”

Dobby ignores her and goes back to his nap.

“So it's January 3^rd. Here we are at January 3^rd already. You know what that means don't you?”

The ginger tabby continues to sleep choosing to remain oblivious to her thoughts.

“Today the Christmas tree gets taken down.”

Dobby's eyes open and widen.

“Don't look at me like that kitty. Today is the day. It's time.”

Rising from his spot Dobby makes his way over to the couch. Jumping up he settles himself on Writer Lady's lap. Reaching up he rubs his head against hers and licks her face.

“That's sweet kitty. You can try buttering me up all you want but today is the day, the Christmas tree comes down.”

Dobby responds letting out a pitiful cry.

“It's really not that bad.” Writer Lady says.

Dobby bites Writer Lady on the end of the nose and jumps down off of the couch.

“Ouch!” She says.

“Ouch? It's really not that bad Mom. It's only your nose. It's not like you use it or anything.”

Writer Lady glares at Dobby for a moment. “Dobby kitty I know how much you love the tree and how much it means to you. I do, but it has to be put away.”

“Why?” He asks.

“Why?” She parrots.

“Yes Mom, why.”

“Because it's big. It takes up too much space in the living room and if we leave it out it will just collect dust.”

“I need the Christmas tree. It makes me feel safe and loved. I can lay under it and watch everything that goes on but no one sees me unless I want them to.”

“You have places all over the house that allow you to do that.” Writer Lady says.

“But Tree is different. He's my friend.” Dobby says.

“Dobby kitty you have lots of friends.”

“How long will it be before you fold them up into boxes too?” He asks pouting.

“Dobby are you pouting?”

“No. Yeah. No.” He looks up at Writer Lady. “Which answer will get me what I want?”

“Neither.”

“How about this, it's Saturday morning and it's the first bit of time we've had alone in the house for quite a while. I'll just sip my coffee, have some breakfast and take my own sweet time getting dressed. You and your tree will have plenty of time alone together.”

Dobby blinks contentedly and things are resolved, for the moment.

Four hours later...

“Back you heathenish wench! I said BACK!” Dobby stands between Writer Lady and the Christmas tree holding a large cross in one paw and a bottle of holy water in the other.

“Dobby, I'm not possessed. I'm your mother. It's time to take down this tree. You need to move kitty.”

“You have more Christmas day trinkets to dispose of go forth and occupy your fiendish self with them.”

“I have already put the other decorations away.” Writer Lady points out calmly. “The tree is all that's left.”

The ginger tabby bows his head in defeat and gestures for her to continue her work. Writer Lady proceeds to remove the ornaments from the Christmas tree. He grins slyly and disappears into the bedroom.

“What are you doing?” A deep voice calls from behind Writer Lady.

“I told you Dobby it's time to take down the tree.” She answers without turning around.

“You are wrong. Those are not your instructions.” The voice says. “Your instructions are too to teach a bee how to bend it's knee.”

“What?”

“Your instructions are to go to Saturn and pick some tea.”

Writer Lady continues to remove ornaments.

“You must have dinner with a flea. Go NOW.” The voice says.

“Who's saying this stuff?” Writer Lady asks turning around she looks down to see Dobby in an old Skeletor costume that completely swallows him.

“It is I. Skeletor.”

“Nice try Skeletor. You might want to go with someone more intimidating next time.”

Writer Lady hears heavy labored breathing behind her.

“Do not question me,” it says.

Writer Lady turns around to see a large Darth Vader helmet with four orange paws and a long orange tail sticking out underneath. “Darth Vader huh? That's a little better.” She says turning back to the half naked tree.

“You are really committed to doing this, aren't you Mom?” Darth Vader's voice asks.

“You know it's time kitty.”

Dobby crawls out from under the helmet and lays down on the floor head stretched away from his body. The martyr resigned to his fate. After a time, Writer Lady removes the tree's top from its plastic base.

“I can't watch this.” Dobby says painfully and retreats under the bed.

“Dobby, kitty, kitty, kitty.” Writer Lady calls. “Dob-by!”

Dobby opens one eye to find Writer Lady peering at him.

“There you are.”

“Is it, over?” He asks.

“Yes. It's over you can come out now.” She answers.

“I'll come out. Eventually.”

“Dobby, I know that the Christmas tree is very important to you.”

“He's my friend.” Dobby says.

“I know. Some friends we can't see all the time. Some friends only get to visit once in a while. It makes time spent together all the more special.”

Dobby glares at Writer Lady.

“Have I ever told you the story of a snowman named 'Frosty'?” She asks.

Dobby shakes his head.

Writer Lady tells him the story.

“So he is only around when it's snowing out?” Dobby asks.

“When Spring comes Frosty goes home until next year. That is what Christmas tree did, he went home until next year. Do you understand?” Writer Lady asks.

“Yeah. I guess so.” Dobby says coming out from under the bed.

“Let me just put these boxes away in the attic and we'll play a game or something.”

Dobby leaves Writer Lady to her work and goes to inspect the living room. Halfway through his inspection the ginger tabby's attention is drawn to the window. The sky looks different. Bright but there is no sun. Something is falling from the sky but he doesn't hear the dripping sound like when it's raining. He climbs into a chair and leans against the sill for a better look. “Mom.” Dobby calls. “Mom!”

“Coming!” She calls from above his head. A few minutes later she finds Dobby in the living room. He starts pawing at the window the moment she stops at his side.

“Do you see the snow kitty? I didn't know it was going to snow today. Pretty, huh?” She asks.

“It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” Dobby says.

They stand at the window watching the snow until...

Dobby coughs.

Writer Lady doesn't say anything.

Dobby coughs again.

Still nothing.

More coughing.

“Dobby, kitty are you sick?”

“No. Isn't it time for you to get going?” He asks.

“Going where?”

“Up to the attic. It's snowing. If Frosty lives so does my tree.”