Communicating Openly (Well...Sort Of)

“Are you sure about that?” Monitor Man asks. “Doesn’t she work?”

Both kittens look at Monitor Man with blank expressions.

“Does she dress up and go out all day long?”

“She puts on clothes that she doesn’t want us to sit on her lap too much when she’s wearing them.” Smudge Mal says.

“She puts stringy, brown things on her legs then yells at us when we chase them.” Spots Wash shares.

“She makes a serious face when she leaves and the serious face is gone when she comes home.” Smudge Mal says.

“That sounds like going to work.” Monitor Man says. “That’s how humans pay their light bill.”

“How does spending all day away from home pay the light bill?” Spots Wash asks.

“Humans go to a place every day and do something that is previously agreed upon. In return, they get money. Humans use the money to pay the light bill, buy food, cat litter.” Monitor Man explains.

“Toy mice?” Spots Wash asks. “Is that how she gets toy mice?”

“Yes. That’s how she gets toy mice too.”

“Do you work?” Spots Wash asks.

“Yes.”

“What do you do for money?” Smudge Mal asks.

“I’m an actor.” Monitor Man announces with a smile.

The kittens look at Monitor Man and wait for more information.

“I...I...um...” He looks at the kittens. “Have you ever seen Dylan and the kids play ‘Pretend’?”

“Yes.” Smudge Mal answers.

“That’s what I do. I play pretend.” Monitor Man says.

The kittens look and at each other and then back at Monitor Man.

“Is that all?”

“They give you money for that?”

“It’s a bit more complicated than a simple game of ‘Pretend’. There are cameras, you have to wear specific clothes, your hair has to be fixed in a certain way, there’s make-up...” Monitor Man says.“...you have specific things to say, there are facial expressions that you have to use...”

“You wear make-up?” Smudge Mal asks.

“Yes.” Monitor Man answers.

“Make-up is for girls.” Spots Wash announces. “Girls and candy asses.”

Smudge Mal and Monitor Man both look at Spots Wash.

“That’s what Tinkletoes says.”

“That’s not what I said.” Tinkletoes says. “What I said was that I wished I had left the barbed wire up until Pretty Boy had gotten stuck in it.”

“I asked you if catching pretty boys was better than Ninja Zombie slaying.” Dobby says.

“I said that there ain’t nothin’ better than a pretty boy that’s been tied up and gagged. I pointed to Monitor Man and said that it would be like a dream come true to see him out of the way.”

Writer Lady’s face changes slowly. The self-proclaimed mercenary and future U.S. President (or so he thinks) watches helplessly as the anger transfers from the ginger tabby to him.

“Don’t look at me.” Tinkletoes says. “I didn’t do anything.”

Writer Lady glares at Tinkletoes.

“I didn’t do this.”

“Who did?” She asks.

“Those guys.” Tinkletoes says gesturing to Dobby and someplace outside.

“Where did they get the idea? Think about it...really hard. Could it be that all of your talk about pretty boys getting stuck in barb wire fences had something to do with this?”

Tinkletoes’ expression changes from one of concentration to realization to one of horror and finally, denial. “No. It wasn’t me.” He looks at Dobby. “Dobby, did I say, “Take Monitor Man to Faerie and play target practice with him?”

Dobby shakes his head.

“There. I didn’t do anything.” Tinkletoes says. He points to the ginger tabby, looks at Writer Lady, and says, “Get him.”

“The kittens were the ones chasing him.” Dobby argues.

Writer Lady groans with exasperation and hides her head in her hands. After several moments she raises her head and says, “They’re babies,they don’t know any better.”

“Whose fault is that?” TP's voice echoes through the hut. The sound of his giggling follows.

Writer Lady makes another sound of frustration, rises from her seat, and stops at the hut’s one and only window. It is raining. Water drips from tree leaves making intricate trails. Down, over, down, along the back of one of the larger leaves, and down again. It reminds her of a Rube Goldberg machine.

“This has gone on too long.” She says. “It’s time to go home.”

Carp and Black Buck continue walking in companionable silence.

“Unicorns.” Carp says. “According to my research, unicorns help others through obstacles that are greater than their fears.” He looks at Black Buck. “Have you been a visitor to Faerie for very long?”

The antelope smiles, “I have been traveling back and forth most of my life. I wandered through an entry by accident when I was a calf.”

“How many unicorns have you encountered?”

“A dozen or so. But I have never seen them help any living creature through an obstacle greater than their own fear.”

“When have you seen them?” Carp asks.

“Let me see...the unicorns here do appear when someone is sick.” Black Buck looks at Carp. “You don’t appear sick. Have you been bitten by anything since arriving? A Contaminavit Cimex perhaps?”

Carp shrugs.

Black Buck leans in and sniffs at Carp. “No. If you had been bit you would smell of gangrene.”

The two continue walking.

“I do believe that they have also been known to help weary travelers find their way home. Are you ready to go?”

Carp stops walking and looks at his surroundings—the meadows to the left and right, the flying bubbles carrying creatures that the retired romance writer only dreamed of seeing to magical places unknown, the road ahead...the pair continue walking as the sun disappears, obscured by a canopy of leaves. A coyote calls from behind. A lion’s roar can be heard in the distance ahead. “It would be useful to know where the road that leads home is.” Carp admits. “No. I’m not ready to go. Not by a long shot.”

“That’s too bad. We are.” A voice calls from above Carp and Black Buck’s heads.