dinner.
“Just shut up and stroke my forehead, you moronic two-legged, eyelashed freak,” Lucy said, purring.
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” I told her.
But it did. It was the father who reached down and rubbed Lucy.
“Ugh, he’s touching my belly!” she yelled. “I hate that! Get your paws off me, you clothes-wearing, furless skinhead! Now I’ll have to groom myself for an hour to get rid of the disgusting man smell.”
“Speaking of smells,” I said. “I smell food.”
“You’re right!” said Lucy. “They got takeout! Oh, I hope it’s Chinese! I hope it’s Chinese! Yes! It’s shrimp! Oh baby!”
“You think they have any funnel cake?” I asked.
“Funnel cake? What is your problem?”
The humans gathered in the kitchen and started putting plates on the table.
“Maybe I’ll sit on one of the kitchen chairs and see if anyone notices that I’m not human,” Lucy said.
“Good plan,” I told her, just before the mother swatted her off the chair.
“Oh, come on! Don’t make me beg!” Lucy said. “How come you get to eat real food while I get congealed glop in a can? It isn’t even hot. What’s up with that? Wait till you see what we serve you once we take over.”
I never did find out if she ever got a piece of shrimp. As soon as they all sat down at the table, I felt that sudden and overwhelming need to sleep. I curled myself up into a ball. My eyelids got heavy. I felt myself drifting off into dreamland.
I was at peace.
Chapter 10
Fantasy
The Quest for the Gold-Plated Knick-Knack
I was at peace. When I awoke from my deep and long-overdue slumber, darkness seeped from every opening on that cold fretful afternoon as ice formed on the dell like the sound of invisible feet bathing delicately in the shaded depths and ancient whispers of twilight’s soft darkness. The cloudless sky howled indistinctly while creatures of the evening writhed and roiled to the onset of autumn’s further glory, until, finally, silence reigned once more.
But it doesn’t matter, because none of that crap makes any sense.
When I forced open my eyes, I realized right away that I was no longer a cat. What a relief!
An old man loomed over me. His wrinkled, weathered face betrayed years of neglecting to use sunscreen.
“Who are you?” I asked, rubbing away the last vestiges of sleep. “What am I doing here?”
“I am Hockaloogie,” he replied, “a wise and mystical sage who occasionally speaks in old English and refuses to give away plot details for his own mysterious reasons.”
“Why not?”
“If I told you,” he replied mysteriously, “they would no longer be mysterious. My mission, simply stated, is to show up at random points and dispense information.”
“So what information do you have to dispense at this present moment in time?” I queried.
“That I cannot divulge,” he answered with a wink.
“Why not?”
“It is far too early to dispense information,” he declared. “Perhaps in the sequel. However, I will pose you a riddle to demonstrate my wisdom. Which creature, pray tell, walks on four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, and three legs in the evening?”
“A human,” I replied immediately. “We crawl on all fours as babies, we walk on two legs in adulthood, and we use a cane in old age.”
“Oh,” spoke the wise sage who called himself Hockaloogie. “I guess you heard that one already.”
“Look, I don’t have time for riddles,” I told him. “My name is Trip Dinkleman. I’ve been through a lot and I want to go home so I can try out for the lacrosse team. What am I doing here? I need answers.”
“Calm yourself, young squire of Dinkle,” he grunted, as he helped me to my feet. “First, let us share a glass of mead.”
“It’s Dinkleman,” I corrected him. “I’m starved. Do you have any funnel cake?”
Hockaloogie lived in a dank cave which, for some reason, had a refrigerator in it. Unfortunately, all he had in there was a jug of
“Just shut up and stroke my forehead, you moronic two-legged, eyelashed freak,” Lucy said, purring.
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” I told her.
But it did. It was the father who reached down and rubbed Lucy.
“Ugh, he’s touching my belly!” she yelled. “I hate that! Get your paws off me, you clothes-wearing, furless skinhead! Now I’ll have to groom myself for an hour to get rid of the disgusting man smell.”
“Speaking of smells,” I said. “I smell food.”
“You’re right!” said Lucy. “They got takeout! Oh, I hope it’s Chinese! I hope it’s Chinese! Yes! It’s shrimp! Oh baby!”
“You think they have any funnel cake?” I asked.
“Funnel cake? What is your problem?”
The humans gathered in the kitchen and started putting plates on the table.
“Maybe I’ll sit on one of the kitchen chairs and see if anyone notices that I’m not human,” Lucy said.
“Good plan,” I told her, just before the mother swatted her off the chair.
“Oh, come on! Don’t make me beg!” Lucy said. “How come you get to eat real food while I get congealed glop in a can? It isn’t even hot. What’s up with that? Wait till you see what we serve you once we take over.”
I never did find out if she ever got a piece of shrimp. As soon as they all sat down at the table, I felt that sudden and overwhelming need to sleep. I curled myself up into a ball. My eyelids got heavy. I felt myself drifting off into dreamland.
I was at peace.
Chapter 10
Fantasy
The Quest for the Gold-Plated Knick-Knack
I was at peace. When I awoke from my deep and long-overdue slumber, darkness seeped from every opening on that cold fretful afternoon as ice formed on the dell like the sound of invisible feet bathing delicately in the shaded depths and ancient whispers of twilight’s soft darkness. The cloudless sky howled indistinctly while creatures of the evening writhed and roiled to the onset of autumn’s further glory, until, finally, silence reigned once more.
But it doesn’t matter, because none of that crap makes any sense.
When I forced open my eyes, I realized right away that I was no longer a cat. What a relief!
An old man loomed over me. His wrinkled, weathered face betrayed years of neglecting to use sunscreen.
“Who are you?” I asked, rubbing away the last vestiges of sleep. “What am I doing here?”
“I am Hockaloogie,” he replied, “a wise and mystical sage who occasionally speaks in old English and refuses to give away plot details for his own mysterious reasons.”
“Why not?”
“If I told you,” he replied mysteriously, “they would no longer be mysterious. My mission, simply stated, is to show up at random points and dispense information.”
“So what information do you have to dispense at this present moment in time?” I queried.
“That I cannot divulge,” he answered with a wink.
“Why not?”
“It is far too early to dispense information,” he declared. “Perhaps in the sequel. However, I will pose you a riddle to demonstrate my wisdom. Which creature, pray tell, walks on four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, and three legs in the evening?”
“A human,” I replied immediately. “We crawl on all fours as babies, we walk on two legs in adulthood, and we use a cane in old age.”
“Oh,” spoke the wise sage who called himself Hockaloogie. “I guess you heard that one already.”
“Look, I don’t have time for riddles,” I told him. “My name is Trip Dinkleman. I’ve been through a lot and I want to go home so I can try out for the lacrosse team. What am I doing here? I need answers.”
“Calm yourself, young squire of Dinkle,” he grunted, as he helped me to my feet. “First, let us share a glass of mead.”
“It’s Dinkleman,” I corrected him. “I’m starved. Do you have any funnel cake?”
Hockaloogie lived in a dank cave which, for some reason, had a refrigerator in it. Unfortunately, all he had in there was a jug of
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