The Shock Of No Chocolate

Dobby stands up on his hind legs, reaches up and touches Mom's elbow. “Come on Mom, the cup is empty, it's time to write.” Dobby sits at her feet and quietly waits.

Mom is emptying her mug in a contented manner, the moans and groans are audible. Lowering the cup on to the table Mom licks her lips with the pleasure reminiscent of a lipstick commercial or an adult movie. “That was so good. I love chocolate.”

“I know Mom.”

“Chocolate makes me happy.”

“I know that too Mom...”

“Is there any more chocolate?” Mom asks.

“No,” Dobby answers “that was it.”

“Okay fine.” Mom says with a smile. “I get it. We are out of cocoa. What else is there?”

“Nothing.”

“But what about?”

“No.” Dobby says.

“And the?” Mom asks, getting more nervous with each answer.

“There's no more, you finished that last week.”

“I KNOW!” Mom looks at Dobby with hopeful smile.

Dobby looks back at Mom and shakes his head no with seriousness.

“No more chocolate?”

Dobby stands up on his back feet, looking into Mom's eyes and says, “No more chocolate” firmly while shaking his head.

“No Chocolate? I'm a woman, without chocolate I could die!” Mom cries out in despair.

“Mom, you won't die. Women lived without chocolate for thousands of years.” Dobby points out.

“And they're okay? Have you asked one?”

“That was thousands of years ago, I can't ask them, they're all dead now.”

“See! I told you! I'm going to die without chocolate!”

“Everyone dies eventually Mom. It's okay.” Dobby says, getting in Mom's lap and rubbing his head against her chin.

Mom's breathing is labored, her eyes unfocused, she seems unaware of her surroundings.

“Tinkletoes? TP? Somebody...” Dobby calls out.

The faerie appeared first, holding a thimble of ale and looking irritated. Tinkletoes entered through the back door of the house seconds later. “Yeah. What's up Dobby?” Tinkletoes asks.

“It's Mom...” Dobby said his voice cracking a little. “It was time to do the blog. She wanted more cocoa, we were out, she asked for chocolate but there is no more.” The orange tabby's voice trailed off.

“Did you tell her that you were out of chocolate?” Tinkletoes asked.

“Yeah.”

Tinkletoes draws an open hand down his face. “Never tell a woman there is no chocolate in the house. I don't know crap about women and even I know that.”

“Silly kitty.” TP agrees, there is a light hiccup from his direction.

Mom's lips start moving and barely audible sounds come from her mouth. “Chocolate chips, chocolate bars, chocolate cake, chocolate donuts, chocolate milk, chocolate cereal, cocoa, chocolate muffins, chocolate covered pretzels, chocolate bunnies...”

“What is she saying?” Tinkletoes asks.

“It's just a list of things that are chocolate.” Dobby answers listening closely to Mom's words.

“Crap! She is going into Chocolate Shock. I've seen it before. During my tours of duty. She will list everything she can think of that is chocolate in every country of the world. We can't let her get to India.”

“Why?”

“It's too late. Once they start talking about India, they  are too deep in shock. We won't be able to bring her back.

Taking The Long Way Around

“Mom? Mooom!” Dobby calls jumping on Mom's head as she is sleeping.

“Dobby, you're standing on my hair. What is it?” Mom asks yawning.

“It's time for the blog. You can't go to bed until you write something.”

“I know that. I was just...resting my eyes for a minute.” Mom says as she stretches from her long nap.

“You slept so long I thought you would never wake up. Were you practicing?” Dobby asks.

“Practicing?”

“You know...”

“No Dobby I don't know.” Mom says.

“For when you're dead.”

“ 'Cuse me?”

“Well you have been really tired lately. You keep saying things like, “I hope I don't have to do this again anytime soon and Just kill me now why don't you?”

“Dobby, I was talking about painting the bedroom. It was a more labor intensive task than anticipated. Who knew forty year old paneling could be so dry and moisture repellent? People say things like that when they are frustrated, taking a moment to vocalize their difficulties with sarcasm before moving forward, that's all.”

“So you're not dying?” Dobby asks.

“No.”

“And you are done with the bedroom?”

“I am done painting it, barely.” Mom answers looking at her freshly painted blue hands.

“Good because we need to talk.” Dobby announces.

“Again? What now?” Mom whines.

“Really, 42 years old and you resort to whining?”

“I'm sleepy. It's all I've got right now.” Mom answers rubbing her eyes.

“It's bad enough you have been really busy lately and don't cuddle me enough. Then you didn't consult me on the new paint colors for our bedroom. I have discovered recently that you are not doing enough to promote my blog.” Dobby says.

“Me...not promote...your blog?” Mom answers in a clipped manner.

“It is our blog. It was my idea, I set up the page, I do all the typing, I interpret your words so the world can understand you...I feed you. You hate cuddling 90 percent of the time.” Mom stresses.

“What about that other 10 percent?” Dobby asks. “Just kidding. I love it all Mom, I really do. But if I am going to accumulate the fan base I need to get the endorsements not to mention the girlfriends I am looking for I really need you to step up your game.”

“What?” Mom asks in surprise.

Dobby decides she might be experiencing some hearing loss. “I REAL--LY NEED Y-O-U TO STEP UP YO-UR GAME!”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Dobby answers in a calm and patient manner. One has to remain calm and patient with those that are losing their noodles.

“Dobby. Listen to Me. I am your mother and I love you. We do this for fun. Not for personal gain. Not to accumulate admirers. For fun. This blog has always been a shared endeavor.”

“You mean like we share the bedroom? The one you never discussed paint colors with me about?”

Mom hides her head in her hands. “Okay Dobby. How do you feel about the paint colors?”

In A Snit Over A Tick

“Dobby kitty? Where are you kitty?” Mom walks through the house looking for Dobby. She finds him asleep under the bed. “You didn't come out and say 'hello'.”

Dobby opens one eye and glares. “Why would I? You didn't miss me.” He says.

“Of course I did. I miss you every time I have to leave the house.” Mom says.

“This is it, isn't it? It's over between the two of us. I'm being...replaced.” Dobby says accusingly as he crawls out from under the bed and slinks past Mom before she can pick him up. Mom follows Dobby through the house.

“Dobby, you're my kitty. My baby. You will always have a home with me. What is this really about?

I know this is scary, all of the furniture moving and everything but I told you I'm painting the bedroom. We are just changing things around a bit. Nothing more.”

“Really?” Dobby asks in a flat tone. “Why did you come home so late last Monday?”

“I was working.” Mom answers, sitting down in her big writing chair.

“Tuesday?” Dobby asks. “Were you working then too? It didn't smell like you had been working!”

“No. Umm...I got done at work a little early and I stopped by your Aunt Bridget's.” Mom responds.

“Wednesday?”

“Aunt Bridget's after work again.” Mom answers not really sure where this inquisition is going.

“Then after all the time you have spent away from home you come in and start moving furniture around. Painting rooms. Today, you not only went to the farm and played with dogs then after you let them into this house! Our home! You have been cheating on me Mom. You heartless wench!”

“Cheating on you? I can't cheat on you. This isn't a romantic relationship. I'm your mother.”

“How many mothers spend their time playing with other women's children while their child is...Home Alone.”

(TP and a crowd of faeries gasp in the background utterly horrified)

“You sleep all day. Besides you had food, water, a clean litter box and lots of places to nap comfortably. I was home before your wake up time. You are a cat. You were fine.”

“That doesn't change the fact that you left our home, patted me on the head and went to some other animals and...patted their heads too.”

(Faeries gasp again)

“What is that?” Dobby asks rubbing against Mom's pant leg.

“Just some mud. Shea Leah and I were outside playing with Tisha. We were running and I fell.”

“You and Shea Leah running together now isn't that cozy.”

“You are really exaggerating this.”

“When you lay down with dogs Mom you get fleas. Have you checked yourself yet?” Dobby asks.

“Have I checked for what?” Mom asks.

“Fleas...”

“Yes. Fleas. I don't want any of those infernal fleas on my body. You are not climbing into my bed until you are checked.”

“Don't be silly Dobby. I don't have any fleas.” Mom answers.

“What's this?” Dobby asks rubbing against her face. “There is something dark stuck to your hair.”

“It's probably a leaf. There are still a lot of dry leaves around.”

Dobby looks closely at the “leaf”. “Do leaves crawl Mom?”

“Oh shit! It's a bug.” Mom gets up from her chair and runs into the bathroom. Using the mirror on the front of the medicine chest to aid her search she finds the bug and removes it from her hair. “It's a tick! Ticks are horrible.” Mom tosses the tick into the bathroom sink and runs the water sending it down the drain. After turning the water off, Mom continues searching her hair with furious speed. When she looks down in the sink the tick she drowned had made its way back up the drain and crawling merrily up the sinks perimeter.

“It's back! The tick came back! Somebody kill it. Now!” Mom screams.

Tinkletoes stands in the bathroom doorway with flame thrower. “Fire kills these critters. Stand back Dobby's Mom I've got this.”

“Tinkletoes. I can't let you do this.” Mom says.

“ I know it seems inhumane right now. This tick will keep coming if we don't destroy it completely.”

“No. I don't want you to use this flame thrower in my house. You will burn my house down. I can't afford to re-build. Insurance doesn't cover grenades or flame throwers. I checked.”

“Silly human.” TP giggled from the hallway snapped his fingers and the renegade tick spontaneously combusted.

“Thank you TP!” Mom says.

“See, Mom, I told you.” Dobby says. “When you lie down with dogs...”

Nothing To Say

Mom is in her pajamas, laying on the couch, propped up against a pillow under a blanket and sipping a cup of coffee. Dobby makes his rounds through the living room rubbing against furniture and books watching Mom drink that first cup of coffee. Jumping on to the couch, Dobby makes another quick jump over Mom's legs and on to the back of the couch. Settling himself in a Sphinx like pose on a tan colored lap quilt folded across the back of the couch with his back to Mom. Dobby being a V.I.F. (Very Important Feline) appreciates Mom's extra special attention to the details that make his life bearable. Mom takes a moment away from the coffee to reach up with her left hand and scratch Dobby's back for him. Dobby turns his face to her, glares and slaps at the offending hand with her tail.

“Okay. I get it. Don't touch you,” Mom says pulling her hand away. “I know what you're thinking Dobby. I haven't written the blog for this week yet.”

“You haven't?” Dobby asks. Feigning surprise. “Well you should go do that Mom. My fans are waiting. I'd like the couch to myself. Do me a favor, turn on the television on your way out of the room, one of those home renovation shows is fine. Or a cooking show, as long as it's about fish.”

“I was just thinking. I am not going to write one this week. I really have nothing to say.”

“Nothing to say? Nothing?” Dobby asks.

“Nothing.”

“Mom you always have something to say. Even when you aren't saying anything useful you have something to say.”

“Not today.” Mom reiterates.

“Seriously Mom. You can talk. Some days I pretend to go to sleep just so you will go away and I can get some sleep.”

“That is so obnoxious. Thanks kitty.”

“I do what I can to make your life better Mom.”

“I'm really tired today too. Some quiet time would really be nice after yesterday.”

“Yesterday?”

“I started with exercise and finished with unplugging the drain line in the refrigerator. I was busy for twelve hours...remember?”

“You were, weren't you?”

“Why don't you go write the blog? You will feel like you did something today. Then you can have a...nap.” Dobby suggests.

“A nap. Really?” Mom asks in disbelief. “I like those.”

“I know you do Mom.”

“Just go in the kitchen get another cup of coffee, some dry cereal to munch on and hit the computer room. Remember writing equals a nap.”

“I don't have to do anything else?” Mom asks, getting up off of the couch and walking into the kitchen with her empty cup.

“No Mom nothing else.” Dobby follows her in walking past Aunt Purdy who is standing next to the laundry basket with dirty clothes in it.

“Wow. Nothing else to do all day long.” Mom says dreamily. She takes her tiny bowl of dry cereal and now full coffee cup out of the kitchen walking past Tinkletoes who is holding one of her cookie sheets. Dobby follows gesturing to Tinkletoes to hide the cookie sheet for later.

Mom walks through the living room and puts her coffee cup and snack down in the computer room next to her monitor. She turns around and heads back out of the room. Paige is sitting in the chair next to the window reading the lawn mower manual.

“Wait a second Mom. Where are you going?” Dobby asks.

“I'm cold I want to put on more clothes first.” She answers as she enters the bedroom. Mom does not see Dylan, Peter and Furnatche sitting on the unmade bed playing checkers.

Mom finally sits down in front of the monitor ready to write. “Dobby, I still don't feel like I have anything to say. Even with two cups of coffee my head is full of cobwebs.”

“Why don't you write about how much you love naps so you can take one?”

TP revs an electric sander in the background. “Silly human. No naps for you.” TP says giggling in the background.

Happy Easter Dobby!

“Happy Easter Dobby!”

Dobby looks up from his nap. “Easter?”

Great how do I explain Easter to a cat? “Dobby, do you remember Christmas?” Mom asks.

“A baby was born, so it's a birthday celebration with presents that is officiated by a jolly bearded man.”

“Not the most accurate description, but for your kitty brain, it's good enough.” Mom says. “For you a good description for Easter would be it's is end of life for that same baby after he had grown into a man. Instead of a jolly bearded man and presents there is a giant happy bunny with lots of chocolate.”

“Seriously?” Dobby asks, eyes big.

“Like I said not completely accurate but that gives you a rough idea of what to think about when I say Happy Easter.”

“So you get to eat chocolate today?” Dobby asks.

“I get to eat chocolate all day long if I want to.” Mom answers.

“I like it when you eat chocolate, it makes you happy.” Dobby says.

“I know. I could use some after the day I had yesterday.”

“I want you to eat some chocolate after the day you had yesterday.” Dobby says.

“It was your fault.”

“No. It wasn't.” Dobby says.

“YES. It was.”

Mom sits back in her big writing chair and says, “Let me think about this. I came home from shopping with Grandma, put on my work clothes and went outside. Then I trimmed the hedges. How is the silliness that resulted from it my fault?”

“You left me in the house with an open picture window, access to paper, a big black marker and a totally pixalated faerie (TP) completely unsupervised. What happened after that was inevitable.” Dobby points out.

“I leave you at home unsupervised all of the time. You have never done anything like this before.” Mom counters.

“You have never trimmed the hedges since I met TP. We have never had an open picture window at our disposal.”

“You made me a side show for the whole neighborhood and half the town. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to do yard work with cars, trucks, SUV s and motorcycles cruising by every few minutes?”

“They were doing that before we started making the signs. TP and I just decided to have a little fun with it.”

“By putting up signs above my head that said things like:

 

VAMPIRE DOING YARD WORK. AREN'T YOU GLAD SHE ISN'T WEARING SHORTS?

FREE TO GOOD HOME. SHE DOES EXCELLENT YARD WORK.

 

SHE IS GOING TO LOSE A LIMB WITH THAT THING. TAKING BETS NOW. TEXT #WHEREDIDMYARMGO TO LOCK IN YOUR BET.

And my personal favorite:

LONELY WOMAN. CRUISE BY SLOWLY IF YOU'RE HORNEY.”

“Look at how many vehicles cruised by slowly, you're a hottie mom.” Dobby points out.

“I'd rather not be a 'hottie' to little old ladies and 10 year old boys thank you very much.”

“Don't do yard work in front of an open picture window anymore Mom. Chocolate?” Dobby says holding out a chocolate bunny.

“Thanks kitty. I don't mind if I do.” Mom reaches out and takes the chocolate bunny from Dobby. It immediately wiggles in her hand.  Mom looks down at the confection, the confection looks up at Mom with wide eyes and blinks.

“Dobby, a chocolate bunny is a bunny made entirely out of chocolate. Not a bunny from the yard dipped in chocolate!”

“It has a lot less calories this way. And you have to chase it down to get the chocolate off. Good exercise too.”

“Why must you do these things to me kitty?”

“Sorry Mom. But you leave yourself wide open. I can't resist.”

Random Musings on a Wednesday Morning (No Dobby Here)

I spent last night on the phone with my mom, then my sister and visited with a friend on the Internet as well. There were the typical “Hello”, “ How are you?” and infamous “What's going on in your life?” I call it infamous because if I say “Nothing” which in my mind means things are typical and there is nothing share worthy going on. Sometimes it's something you just don't share with your family. Okay mostly nothing big is going on. It sounds like you don't have a life. I do. Nothing worth broadcasting.

   On the other hand if you share every little challenge or thought pondered people usually wonder if you are crazy or spending too much time alone.

  For example, I have a t-shirt I frequently wear to work (about once a week) it used to be white. The shirt is about five years old. I ran it through with the whites over the weekend but it's still grayish. I tried to wear it this morning. I can't get past the grayness. It is just too dingy to wear outside now. This is not a problem for most people they buy a new shirt and keep the gray one to wear while painting or doing yard work. It's a simple solution. I have a work shirt that has holes and stains all over it's dingy grayness. Chuck the shirt riddled with holes replace it with the dingy shirt. Buy a new t-shirt.

In my world, it is not so simple. You just added two variables I run the other way from. Clothes shopping and spending money. I am the type of woman that waits until elastic is so loose on a bra that raising arms results in a bra hanging around my neck. I'm not exaggerating. It really has happened before. Seriously.   

  I know I am clothes shopping challenged. I try to compensate for it. When I found myself living as a single woman again I promised myself I would keep up with this stuff. At first I did okay. Then not so much. My next attempt was the plan to get a new t-shirt a month for the first year. I really needed shirts. T-shirts can be really relaxed and fun. I had a knack for finding expensive ones. So that plan never made it to month two. Finally, I promised I would keep up with the underwear and shoes at least and buy other clothes as needed. That plan only worked once as well. 

   You know that gene woman have that gets them excited about clothes and stuff? My gene is incomplete. I like looking, I get excited, I really consider what the odds are it will look good on me then I check the price tag. I am out of there, off the website, putting down the catalog, you name it. I have champagne tastes and a misers brain. Not a fun mixture. It's probably fun to watch though.  Something like this:

General Tampon Takes Over

Tinkletoes looks at Mom. Sitting up, he slowly scoots himself across the floor putting his back against the open door and the wall.

“Isn't sitting that way uncomfortable?” Tinkletoes looks at Mom questioningly. “Half of your back is against the door, the other half is against the wall and the corner of the door's edge pressing against your spine.”

“No. I'm starting to feel better now.”

“There is a little more color to your face. You were so pale before, I thought you were going to pass out. Do you need another ice pack for your um...” Mom asks gesturing in the general direction of Tinkletoes' crotch.

“No this one is still working.” Tinkletoes answers putting the bag of frozen peas closer to his body and tightening his grip on the bag not willing to lose his new best friend so soon.

Dobby returns to the computer room standing tall and walking on his hind legs. He is wearing an army helmet and a small trumpet around his neck. He walks purposefully into the room with his head held high and narrowly misses stepping on Tinkletoes' injured scrotum. The ginger tabby stands squarely in front of Mom and blows his horn. “Atten--tion! Security Meeting March 2013 shall commence forth-with! Please rise to welcome General Tam-pon!”

TP stands in the entry way to the computer room. The faerie is wearing a vintage service field uniform in light khaki. He has a holstered gun on his left hip and a pair of binoculars around his neck. TP also has a heavy army helmet on his head. There are three stars affixed to the front of it. The faerie also happens to be floating at the top of the doorway looking down at everyone else in the room.

“General Tampon?” Mom asks looking down at Dobby.

“Don't look at me Tinkletoes came up with that one.” Dobby answers.

Mom looks at Tinkletoes. “I convinced him tampon was short for trample-on” Tinkletoes admits sheepishly.

“You have to admit tampons do withstand some crushing blows.”

“Dobby!” Mom reprimands.

“I'm just saying.”

General...umm...Tampon can be heard clearing his throat. “Thank you for the introduction Private Dobby. General Tampon has everything in order now, move along.” The general taps on the back of Dobby's legs with his baton. The general approaches Mom and takes her much larger hands in his tiny ones. “My dear Writer Lady it is an honor to be here with you today in your time of need. I want you to come over to the far side of the room with me. Yes, to your left where there is a big open space. It is important that you are an active participant in this security exercise as one of my favorite humans, George S. Patton said, "No good decision was ever made in a swivel chair." You cannot defend yourself very well if you are sitting a swivel chair either.”

“Defend myself?” Mom asks.

“Tinkletoes and I are concerned about the security breach from three weeks ago. When those horrible monsters came in and tried to take steps against you. They never should have gotten into the house. You must be able to defend yourself in case they return. Maybe something worse.”

“Is that what this is all about?” Mom asks. “Those 'monsters' you are referring to our mine. They were born from my imagination. My home is their home. They are no threat to me. So there you go, problem solved. General if you would be so kind as to adjourn this security meeting...”

“How will you protect yourself?”

“Keen wit, quick movements, a heavy flashlight and a big baseball bat among other things. I can't divulge all of my secrets. Besides, I totally kicked Tinkletoes' butt when he startled me and I did that from my swivel chair.”

“Yes she did.” Dobby and Tinkletoes agree in unison.

“That's nothing. I kick Tinkle's butt all the time.” General Tampon pointed out.

“You General are the exception not the rule.” Tinkletoes points out.

Mom looks at Tinkletoes. “The General is fast, huh?”

“Like a Yoda ninja,” is Tinkletoes' response.

I Saw A Bug -- Bonus Post

Dobby enters computer room (A.K.A. High Command). He is walking slowly and with purpose. The gas mask he is wearing is military grade circa World War II and is very heavy. Dobby stops next to the table Mom is sitting at and through short heavy breaths says, “Is it okay to come out now?”

“Yes of course it is kitty why wouldn't it be? You sound a little bit funny are you okay?” Mom turns from the monitor to glance over at her ginger tabby. “Dobby! Take that gas mask off. It didn't smell that bad.”

“Mom...it kinda did.”

“You're exaggerating.”

“If you get mad at me again just say so, don't try to kill me slowly next time okay? I didn't get any sleep today until I found this old gas mask. I think Tinkletoes left it last week.”

“I wasn't doing that to hurt you Dobby. That strong odor was bug spray. I saw that huge poisonous bug last night in the living room. Bugs do not live in this house, they belong outside. When they come inside they have to die.”

“You killed and or ran that bug off last night what was today all about?” Dobby asks.

Mom looks around the room and up at the attic above her head. Shifting her eyes from side to side suspiciously, she leans in to Dobby and whispers, “To kill the others.”

“What others? We have been here for three months if there were other bugs I would have seen them. Trust me there are no others.”

“That was what everyone who helped me move said too. 'Great place. No signs of bugs or anything, how did you find it?' But...what did I see last night? A BUG. A bug in this house must die. They all must DIE. Mwahahaha... (evil genius laugh). 
 (To the tune of Epiphany from Sweeney Todd) They all deserve to die, tell you why little Dobby tell you why...”

 

Note to the folks at PETA: Mom is not usually this blood thirsty but she is a big girl about bugs and she has had a little too much caffeine today. I hope your organization takes these circumstances into consideration before any action is taken. Sincerely Yours, Dobby.

“What if that was the one and only bug? The first bug. The scout bug?” Dobby asks. “If you hadn't have killed it he could have gone back with a message that this house was not the place to inhabit. Now the bug is dead, they will have to send another scout... This break down in communication could lead to a lot more visitors before everything gets sorted out.”

“You're right kitty. Don't worry. I can fix this. Think Honey think!” Mom's face lights up. “Dobby come with me.” Mom says grabbing the Big Red Flashlight. “We have to find that bug. Dead or alive he will carry our message back to his colony and redirect them someplace else. That Big Ass Bug is going to save his family from certain death, that scout will be famous for generations to come. Go put your headlamp on and let's get to work.”

Tinkletoes Takes Command

“So Dobby what should we talk about tonight?” Mom asks.

Silence.

“Dobby, kitty?”

“No blog tonight Mom.” Dobby says entering the computer room.

“What? What do you mean 'No Blog'? We have been writing these posts for almost a year now.”

“Not tonight.” Dobby says.

Mom looks at Dobby in confusion.

“Oh kitty...are you sick? Does Mama's baby have a hairball?”

Dobby turns his head to talk to Tinkletoes. The cat looks up. Way up. “She doesn't understand. She is already in writer's mode. We have to wake her up. Pull her back into reality.”

“I've got this.” Tinkletoes enters the room dropping a large bag on the floor and stands next to Dobby. He is completely decked out in fatigues and is wearing more weapons than a zombie hunter. Bending at the waist, Tinkletoes puts each hand on an armrest of Mom's Big Writing Chair turning it away from the monitor and facing him. Tinkletoes leans in and says, “Now ma'am, I need to you to focus on me. Stay calm and listen to what I am saying to you closely.”

Mom looks back Tinkletoes.

“THE PERIMETER HAS BEEN BREACHED! LISTEN TO ME OR YOU'RE GOING TO DIE!” Tinkletoes yells. Mom jumps in her seat at the noise. Unfortunately, Tinkletoes doesn't back out of her space in time. Mom nails Tinkletoes in the scrotum with her knees and bumps heads with him. She catches the mercenary on the bottom of his chin with the top of her head on the way up, yelling “OW.” into his left ear on the way back down. Tinkletoes falls to his knees, cradling his most valuable parts and drooling just a little.

“Oh my gosh! Tinkletoes? Are you okay? I am so sorry.” Mom says jumping out of her chair and getting down on the floor to check on the wounded soldier.

Tinkletoes does not respond. Mom looks at Dobby. “I have to do something. I'll go get some ice. Where should it go first? That's the real question.” Mom gets up and leaves the room talking to herself.

Taking advantage of the opportunity Dobby moves closer to Tinkletoes. Being a cat, he climbs up on Tinkletoes and stands on his ribcage. “Do you really think Mom needs all of this? She took you down really fast.”

“Look at how close I got before she did anything. We must continue.” Tinkletoes answers breathing through the pain. He has stopped drooling. “I have been working with TP on this. He's my second in command.”

“Second in Command? How did he get that job?” Dobby asks, insulted he was not asked to be second.

“TP kicked my ass first.” Tinkletoes answers, breathing through his pain just like a woman practicing lamaze.

“Dobby! Get down! Tinkletoes can't breathe when you stand on his ribs kitty.” Dobby jumps down and leaves the room. “I just don't know where I should put this first.” An arm reaches up and grabs the bag of frozen peas from her hand. Tinkletoes puts the bag where it still hurts.

Seeing that there is little she can do at this point Mom sits back down in her Big Writing Chair. “So what was this meeting about anyway?”

Some Decisions Are Tougher Than Others

Dobby walks through the empty sewing room, makes a pit stop at his litter box, continuing through the darkened kitchen and into the living room. The ginger tabby sees nothing but he hears Mom's voice in a far corner. It is muffled and slightly stressed.

“Mom, mo-o-o-om!” Dobby calls out continuing cautiously through the room ready pull Mom out of whatever hole she has found herself in.

“Over here kitty.” Mom calls. Her voice sounds like she is right in front of him. All he sees is a whole lot of books. “It's okay Dobby. I'm right here.” A hand finds its way out from under the book pile. Dobby approaches the hand cautiously, takes a sniff and recognizing the hand as belonging to Mom rubs his face against it. Mom scratches his chin for him then Dobby's ear when it comes within reach. Dobby quickly finds himself contemplating a nap, his own purrs of contentment starting to lull him to sleep. “What do you need kitty?”

“ 'The blog'  you are going to be late writing the blog Mom.” Dobby purrs.

“You know what? I guess it's going to be late. I'm having issues here.” Mom responds tartly.

Dobby hides his mouth with his paw. “The temperature just got colder. Talk about zero to *itch. Run...while you still can.”

“What did you just say? Who are you talking to?” Mom snaps at Dobby.

“No one.” Dobby stands on two legs looking at the readers he waves at them to leave. “Seriously. Go. Now.”

“What are you doing anyway?” Dobby asks Mom taking a step back. Just in case.

“I need a book to read.”

“Just pick something.”

“Dobby, being a cat you can't possibly understand the importance of such a decision. Reading is an important part of my life. I read a lot before bed. I don't like reading too many books by the same author in a row. It can't be too scary when you are behind on your sleep. It can't be too sexy or an intense page turner if you can't stay up late and read. Nothing too depressing in the darkest of winter. Seriously kitty, you don't just pick something!”

“Yes Mom. You do. It's a book. If you pick the wrong thing, you put it down and pick up a different one.”

“Maybe I should have had that attitude when I brought you home.”

Dobby approaches the pile of books covering Mom and sniffs closely. Okay this one smells good. Feels good too. Dobby says rubbing his face against it. Dobby pushes the book he chose with his nose towards Mom's hand. “How about this one?” Dobby asks. Mom's hand grabs the book. The book disappears into the darkness.

“I already read that one. It was a good book though.” Mom calls out from under her shelter.

The good ones smell good to me. Dobby pushes another good smeller to Mom's hand. The book disappears, “What! I told you last week this one sucked! Very funny Dobby! I'm never going to get out from under this mess.”

Dobby rolls his eyes. “Mom? Do you make every decision this hard?”

“No?” Mom answers quietly. “Yes...wait a minute...No.”

Dobby taps the end of his tail on the floor.

“Some decisions are tougher than others.”

“Mom you are spending Saturday night stuck under a pile of books so deep that I can't even see you.”

“I would like to stress my previous comment. Some decisions are tougher than others.”

Dobby finds another one that smells good. “Okay Mom, this is the last one I'm sending back. How about this one?”

Mom's hand grabs the book and pulls it into the literary abyss. “Oh...I bought this one at a garage sale a couple of years ago. I forgot I even had it! I can't wait to read it. Good job kitty.” Mom sneezes from her hole. “My eyes are burning from the dust.”

The search continues...

Taking Steps

“Yes Paige what steps?” Aunt Purdy asks. Aunt Purdy looked at her niece and nephews with her “Don't Mess With Me” face. Three pair of eyes widened.

Peter leans in close to his twin sister. “Okay Paige what steps? Hurry up...” Paige opens her notebook searching for a reference to show her brother. “The Rights and Responsibilities of the Creative Author” doesn't say anything about what kinds of steps. Just that the characters can take steps. Aunt Purdy shot down all of my ideas.” Paige whispers.

Dylan standing next to his brother and sister searches the room closely looking the for steps—any steps. “There. They are steps.” Dylan says running over to the steps that lead into the laundry room. Peter and Paige look up to see their little brother pointing to the steps. “Those steps are part of the house, we have no way to remove them.” Paige says.

“Nice try Dylan.” Peter says keeping the small boy's spirits up.

Dylan continues his search. Pointing to a step stool in a dark corner of the kitchen. “What about those steps? Let's take them. That will teach her.”

Peter looks at the step stool and looks around the kitchen. “Why not? If it doesn't work we can try something else.”

“What kind of punishment is taking her stool away going to be?” Paige whispers in frustration still studying her notebook.

Peter looks at Writer Lady, then looks around the kitchen. “The cabinets go all the way up to the ceiling and Writer Lady is of average height. She would have trouble reaching her cooking stuff. If she can't reach her stuff, she won't want to cook. She would have more time to write about us. Isn't that what we want? For her to focus on us? It shouldn't matter how we get there.” Peter explains to Paige. “It's also nicer than duct taping her to a chair in front of the computer. Aunt Purdy won't object this way. We can do it right now while Aunt Purdy and Writer Lady are talking.”

“You're right.” Paige agrees, excited that they get to take action. Paige closes her notebook and the children quickly walk towards the darkest corner of the kitchen.

“It's so dark,” Dylan says.

“Dusty too.” Peter adds.

“Don't eat anything.” Paige says looking at her brothers. All three children look over at Aunt Purdy and Furnatche who are both contentedly munching on cookies.

“Keep heading for the stool. The number of lives we save may be infinite.” Paige instructs.

They had entered the dark corner and were reaching for the stool when TP appeared wearing an apron that reads “Kitchen God” and holding a large cooking spoon. Okay...it was a teaspoon but faeries are little so the spoon looked really big. The faerie was floating above the seat of the stool looking down at the children with disapproval. TP waved his spoon and a sign appeared across the stool. “Do Not Touch. This Means You.”

“Get the stool.” Paige tells Peter.

“The sign says not to.” Peter answers.

“So.”

“So...this is a magical creature. He could probably kill us.”

Paige rolls her eyes at Peter. “Fine.” She reaches out for the stool.

“NO!” bellows loudly around the children making the floor rumble as the faeries spoon slaps her firmly on her hand.

The children back away a step and look over to see what their Aunt is going to do. Furnatche, Aunt Purdy and Writer Lady are waking up Dobby. Furnatche giving Dobby a big wet kiss with his tongue soaking the cat.

“How did they not hear that?” Paige asks.

“Magic.” Dylan says.

Tinkletoes enters the kitchen from behind the stool. “Hello TP. You need me to take your steps.”

“Yes please. Silly children. TP's steps are a 'No no.' The faerie giggles.

Tinkletoes picks up the step stool and says to the kids, “Don't mess with faeries. They can kick your butt.” Turning to leave the way he came the children could see brightly glowing boot and spoon prints all over the large soldier's back.