CHIP OFF THE OLD BLOCK

Mike glanced at his watch, three after one in the afternoon.  Tammy, his girlfriend of four years, was still at work.  Mike was a construction worker, and the long, cold, Nebraska winters found him reading, cooking, or doing anything to keep him from going stir crazy.  So far, this winter had been a long and harsh one in Omaha.

He cracked another beer, then went back to studying recipes, He was hungry for baked chicken and was trying to find a recipe that he wouldn't botch-up too much.  As long as he had a recipe to follow, or step-by-step directions on a package, he had a fifty-fifty chance the meal would be edible.

“Let’s see, two cups of chopped broccoli and two cups of milk.  Uh, and, ah, butter.”  He mumbled to himself, seated at a kitchen table strewn with cooking books and utensils.

Running his hand through his short brown hair, he looked up from the recipe.  He was finding it difficult to concentrate today.  This was the first nice day of winter.  It was February 18th, and the day was bright sunshine with a warm fitful breeze.  The six inches of old, accumulated snow was vigorously melting, and icicles were slowly growing from gutters in long, lumpy lines.  The sound of dripping water echoed between the houses.

Distracted by the bright sun and promise of spring, Mike opened the window over the kitchen table.  Because they lived in a basement apartment, the windows were only nineteen inches-high and twenty-six inches wide.  The screen-less windows were placed high on the walls, near the ceiling, and hinged on the topside.  Mike gave a contented smile as he breathed a whiff of fresh, crisp air.  Using a butter knife, he propped the window open, then sat back at his recipes.

Sipping his beer, he shivered as the late winter air flowed into the small kitchen.  But he didn’t want to shut the window.  Instead, he compromised by shrugging into a jacket.  Like most buildings shut up for five months or more, the small basement apartment cried out for fresh air.  Breathing the fresh air, he realized how bad the place smelled.  It really stunk!

Setting his mind to the task at hand, he turned over a bagged, whole chicken lying on the table. The chicken was thawed, ready to go, and he was calculating the time needed to bake it, when he heard a scraping noise.  Glancing up, he saw sitting in the open window, a black cat.  There wasn’t anything unusual about the cat being there, as loose cats roamed all over the neighborhood.  But this cat was unusual.  The cat regarded him with large, yellow eyes, and up between its ears he could barely make out a floppy, black hat.  The hat sat atop a mess of scraggly, white hair, and below the hair Mike noticed two bright, green eyes, and a small mouth.  The green eyes stared down at him, as did the large, yellow eyes of the cat.

Blinking rapidly in disbelief, Mike looked down at his recipe books, then over at his opened beer can.  Slightly shaking his head, he glanced back up.  The cat was still there, and worse, so was the floppy hat and small head.  All four eyes were still glued on him.  Before Mike could do or say anything, the cat leaped down on an open spot on the table with a soft thump.

Backpedaling as fast as he could, Mike scooted his chair across the narrow room with a spine-tingling screech, stopping with a bone-jarring smack into the sink!  Barely breathing, not moving, with a tight grip, he held his seat staring wide-eyed back at the unlikely duo.  The black cat gazed unflinching back at him.  The cat was huge!  Mike figured the cat could weigh more than twenty pounds, and with a bluish cast to its black fur.

On the cat’s back was mounted a small creature, with two arms, two legs who also gazed unflinching at him.  Mike’s heart jumped into his throat as the small creature slowly dismounted from the cat with a groan.  It stretched, bending side to side, back to front, then loudly cracked its knuckles.  Pointing with a short, gnarled finger, and in a voice much too loud for such a small creature, ordered, “You!  Come over here!”

Mike slammed his eyes shut.  Listening to his heart pounding, he wondered how much time he had left.  He’d told Tammy before that one day he would poison them with his haphazard cooking, and now he had done it.  He was having hallucinations!  He must have poisoned them with the pork chops he’d cooked last night.  Taking inventory of his body, he didn’t feel any pain, but he didn’t know if you were supposed to with food poisoning.

Taking a deep breath, he slowly opened his eyes, peeking through his eyelashes.  The cat-riding creature was still there; legs spread apart, small hands clenched into tiny fists, resting on tiny hips.  And it was still staring at him. 

Mike was rubbing his eyes in disbelief, when the cat moved its mouth, and a sound came out.  “Overrr herrre youerrr!”  Mike blinked dumbly as the cat added, “Nowerrr!” 

After blinking rapidly several times, Mike tightly shut his eyes.  Squeezing them closed as hard as he could, feeling his heart pounding, he heard another sound over the loud pounding of his heart, making him snap his eyes open.

The cat-rider was violently tapping its foot while standing on a recipe book on the table.  Again it pointed a gnarled finger and loudly demanded in a high-pitched voice, “You will move back over here Michael. . . John . . . Carlson!  I have much to tell you, and I don’t have all day to do it in!  You surely took long enough to open the window, young man.  Why, I’ve been working on you to open that window for over an hour now!”

The cat made a face that had to be a smile.  “Tooerrr much glasseourrr!”

The small creature acknowledged with a slight nod, “You’re right, Charlie.  I’ve never been any good working through glass, too much sand residue.  I hate sand!  Now young man, move over here.  What’re you afraid of?”

Mike thought of a thousand reasons, but only mentioned one.  He stammered in a tight voice, “I, I, uh, I’m afraid that you’re really there!  Uh, but, uh, I’m uh, also afraid that you’re not!”

With a scowl, the creature stamped its foot again.  “Of course I’m here!  Don’t be ridiculous, young man.  Now, are you moving back over here, or must I shout at you?”

Mike blinked in indecision.  The white-haired creature was only six inches tall, and it certainly didn’t look dangerous.  He could crush it in one hand.  But the cat looked formidable, and it was in the process of licking one large, front paw, then rubbing that paw up between its ears, watching him.  The cat looked like it could take on a good-sized dog, and Mike wouldn't have bet on the dog either!

The white-haired creature said in indignation, “Of course he could whip a dog.  If a dog ever bothered us, that is.  They never do, though.  Now Michael, move back over here like a good boy.”

Almost in a trance, in fits and starts, Mike scooted and slid forward in his chair, screeching across the linoleum floor.  He held the seat with a white-knuckled grip.  The chair was solid.  The chair was reassuring, like a life preserver.  And the chair was real!

He stopped about two feet away, not wanting to get too close.  His heart leapt again as he felt the chair move on its own volition, closer to the table and the small, scary creature.  The chair kept moving, right up to the edge of the table and Mike went “Ooof!” as he was shoved forcefully into the table.

The huge cat went, “Yeowrrr!” as it stumbled, regaining its footing.

Picking itself off the table, the small creature apologized, “Hush Charlie, I know.  I’m sorry, Michael.  Move back from the table if you want.  Sometimes I forget myself.”  Michael scooted back a foot, as the creature said, “And this four-footed flophouse for fleas is no help at all!”  The flea bitten cat-rider scratched itself, as the huge, purring, black cat leaned over and licked one of its rider’s tiny, pointed ears.  The deep purring echoed around the small kitchen.

Mike took a closer look at the cat-rider.  It was wearing light green pants, with tiny black boots.  The shirt was green, but a darker shade than the pants.  It had tiny gold rings on each finger, and a tiny gold pendant on a gold necklace around its neck.  Except for the pointy ears, it looked like a small human.

The creature said defensively, “Of course I’m human!  What did you think I was?”
Mike kept quiet, hoping any minute he’d wake up and these two would be gone.
It was looking up at Mike as he studied it.  The creature exclaimed, “Enough!  I’m human, but smaller than you’re used to is all.  I’m called Grizelda by my friends.”

The cat snickered and made a sound like, “Humph!”

Grizelda said to her cat, “Okay, so I don’t have any friends!  So what?  Now, stop interrupting me.”  Turning to Mike, she explained, “We are real, Michael.  We are not figments of your imagination, or hallucinations from food poisoning.  Now, listen to me.  I knew your great-great-great grandfather back in Ireland, oh, uh, well; it was long ago.  I told him my story back then, but he never retold my story to his family or friends as I told him to do.”

Mike thought, And neither will I.

Grizelda retorted, “Well, if you don’t, then eventually I’ll have to go see one of your children.  Someone must know my story, Michael.  Everything I have been through for centuries must not be allowed to go unknown.”

Finding his voice, Mike asked in a high-pitched squeak, “Why me?”

Grizelda explained, “Because you happen to be of my own blood.  Of course, my bloodline has been pretty watered down by now.  You see Michael; most folks can look right at me but not see me.  I’m just something they briefly glimpse from the corner of their eyes.  It’s the same way as when they look at old Charlie here.  He looks like a big cat to them, so they don’t really see him either.  But you now, you can see me.  So, that proves my bloodline is running in you.”

Looking at his beer can again he blinked and shook his head.  “How can I be from your bloodline?  You’re, uh, well, uh, small!”

Grizelda waved a small hand dismissively, “Oh pshaw!  I wasn’t always like this you know.”  With a faraway look in her green eyes, she said, “I was once a young, beautiful woman.  I had a fine husband, and a lover.  In those days, that’s the way life went.  My lover was one of the old Gods from Mount Olympus.  I was a young woman before Egypt, or Rome, or any history that your kind is taught today.”  Perking up, pointing at the empty beer can, she asked, “Say.  Is that ale?”  Mike shook his head as she softly said, “My, my, my, I would love to have some of that.  Haven’t had any ale since, well, since, uh, a long time now.”

Again the cat went, ”Humph!”

“Oh hesh up, Charlie!  What’s the matter for you?  You ain’t one second younger than I am!  In fact boyo, you’re older!”

Taking the hint, Mike carefully stood.  He opened another beer.  Rummaging through the cabinet searching for a container small enough for the tiny woman to drink out of, he mumbled to himself, “I’m going to wake up any minute and feel really stupid!”

Grizelda said impatiently, “Oh come on, Michael.  Just pour some ale in this here bowl for old Charlie.  I got me own cup.”

Mike peered back at the table.  There sat a speckled, blue, metal bowl and the small woman was holding out a speckled, blue, metal cup.  He was sure the bowl and cup hadn’t been there before, but that really didn’t matter.  None of what was happening was real.  He must be having a daydream.  He didn’t usually have strange dreams.  That was Tammy’s department.  Tammy excelled at weird dreams, but this time, it was his turn.  And this one was a real doozy!

Seating himself, he carefully poured the metal bowl full of cold beer.  The tiny woman quickly dipped out a cupful, and took one long drink.  She smacked her tiny lips, then let out a small belch.  “Humph!  Not nearly as good as I remember ale tasting before.”  She dipped out another cupful as the big cat nosily lapped away.

Mike lit a smoke and sipped his beer, cautiously watching the duo busily emptying the bowl.  The big cat sure liked his beer!  But Grizelda was no slouch when it came to drinking either!  When the thirsty pair had finished the five ounces of beer, Mike opened another can and refilled the bowl for them.  As for himself, he barely sipped the remaining beer.  He wasn’t sure if he’d ever want another beer!  Mike sat in his private dream world, watching the impossible.

The white-haired lady gave out a resounding belch, wiping her lips with the back of her tiny hand.  With a satisfied smile, she leaned over and scratched Charlie behind his ear.  “Okay.  Now, this here big animal ain’t no cat.  I mean, he’s a cat, but he ain’t no cat.  There never was such a thing as cats, up until I got tired of my lover.”  With a sneer she added, “He wasn’t much of a lover anyhow.  None of those old gods were for that matter.  They spent too much time admiring themselves.”

Leaning against her cat, she continued, “Anyhow, when I told old Hermes, by the way he’s Apollo’s brother, well, when I told him we were done, he got upset with me.  Hermes wanted to severely punish me, but Old Zeus had made a law that the Gods couldn’t directly harm a human.  So Hermes had to find another way to punish me.”  With a heavy, regretful sigh she said, “He used my pets to do that.  Well, they were more my friends than pets.  Stroking the cat’s nose, she said gruffly, “Well, this old thing here was my favorite.  He went everywhere I went.” 
Shaking her mess of white head in disgust, she continued, “Those old Gods were awful vengeful.  They thought they could keep us folks believing in them by keeping us scared.  Anyway, Old Hermes convinced the other Gods that us humans should be punished for our insolence.  They decided to punish us through the Unicorns.”

Grizelda began pacing around the kitchen table.  “Unicorns are gentle and magical creatures.  The magic is in the horn you know.  When I was young there weren’t very many humans around.  But there were plenty of Unicorns, a whole lot of them.  The Unicorns protected the forests and supplied food for our people.  There wasn’t any growing of crops back then.  All the food we needed was in the forest for us to pick.” 

Stopping in front of Mike with tiny fists on hips, she said with an angry frown, “So the Gods, being so vengeful, decided to whip up a spell to remove the Unicorns.  Well, because of the magic in Unicorn horns, they couldn’t get rid of them.  So Zeus called up some powerful old demons.  The demons went out to the forests where the Unicorns lived.  Now, a Unicorn is good, white magic.  They won’t harm anything, just help and protect.  Those demons, they were bad, black magic.  But even they couldn’t do anything to harm the Unicorns.”

With fire in her tiny, green eyes, she continued, “So my spiteful ex-lover, Hermes, convinced Kirke, the Changer of Things, to do the job.  And she did.  Kirke couldn’t get rid of the Unicorns, but she could change them into something else.  When she got back to Olympus, she reported the Unicorns Completely All Transformed.  Since there had never been an animal like what she turned them into, they settled on using the initials.  Completely All Transformed.  CAT.  So ever after that, they were just called cats.”

Wistfully eyeballing her empty cup and bowl, she resumed her pacing circuit.  “Now I know we got many other names for them now, like felines and such, but they are really Unicorns.  If you don’t believe me, just touch Charlie’s head, above and between his eyes.  You’ll feel the small bump where the horn is supposed to be.  They still got a bit of magic in them, and they all can talk, if you know how to listen that is.  Most folks don’t.”

“Anyhow, Kirke changed me into what you see now, and Zeus said I was forever to be the Keeper of the Cats.  Well, I did that for a long time.  I could back then, but now there are just too many cats.  Besides, there ain’t that many cats worth protecting.  All the original CATS are immortal, like me.  But their babies grow old and die.  So anymore old Charlie and me, we just wander around.  We currently live down by the Missouri River close to here.  There are a few more of the real CATS there.  That’s where I first saw you, and I knew right away you were of my blood.  So, I came to tell you the story of the cats that are really Unicorns.”  Stopping in front of Mike, she looked up at him.  “Now son, I want you to write my story and tell everybody the truth.”

Mike stared dumbfounded at the small woman.  Shaking his head he finally said, “I’ll be damned if this isn’t the craziest story I’ve ever dreamt up!  Cats, Unicorns, all of it.  Everybody knows that Unicorns aren’t real.  They were fictitious beings.  Magic?  Bull!  Why don’t you be a nice dream and just go away?  Then I’ll wake up.  Go on.  GET!”  He waved his hand as if he was shooing away flies.

The cat growled, but it was a cross between a big dog and a lion!  “GRRROOWWLLL!”

Mike jerked back in his chair, pin-wheeling his arms, almost going over backward.  For just a second, the cat had appeared different.  The cat growled again, and this time he clearly saw it.  The horn!  A glowing, twisted, golden horn!  Then it was gone, and there was just a big, mangy, black cat angrily glaring at him.

“Insolence!” Grizelda yelled, “Always insolence!  I’m going to teach you a lesson boy!  One you ain’t likely to ever forget!”  Finger to lip, the irate Grizelda looked around the table.  “Yes.  I’ll turn you in to something for a spell.  Then you’ll see how we feel”

Mike watched in frightened fascination as the tiny lady walked over and bent to look in an open bag of chips.  He was pinching the back of his hand so hard he could feel the intense, sharp pain.  Glancing down at his hand, he saw blood where he had been pinching.  Why wasn’t the pain waking him up?  He had to find a way to wake up!

Looking into the bag of chips, Grizelda said, “Yeah.  I know what these are.  That’s what I’ll do; turn you in to a potato chip!  How’s that sound, Charlie?”

With a toothy grin, the big cat hissed, “Yessss!”

In a quaking voice, Mike said, “Asleep or not, I’m getting the hell out of here!”  Quickly rising from his chair, he felt a rush of dizziness overcome him.  With the room spinning around, he looked down at the intimidating cat-rider.  She was mumbling and gesturing wildly with her arms over her head.  Suddenly all he could see were black boots, but they were enormous!  Somehow, he was lying on the table, looking up at her!  And now she was huge and the cat was monstrous!

Charlie’s giant head lowered toward Mike, a long pink tongue flicking out.  “Ssssalty!” he hissed.

“Of course,” retorted the giant cat-rider.  “He has ridges too!  I do good work,
Charlie.”  Glaring down at Mike, she admonished, “Now boy, how does it feel to be a lowly potato chip?  But don’t worry yourself any.  My spell will wear off in half an hour or so.  I think.  Sometimes my spells last longer.  I never can tell anymore.  Magic ain’t what it used to be.  Well boy, when you come out of your transformation, I want you to think back on my story.  If you don’t want me coming back here and going through this again, then you’d best be telling everyone what old Grizelda told you.  Folks should know about Unicorns”

The monstrous-sized cat crouched low so his amused cat-rider could climb aboard.  With an easy motion, the cat jumped three feet to the window, and turned around looking down at him.  Grizelda adjusted her floppy black hat, saying, “Hmph!  Don’t you worry boy, you’ll come out of the spell.”

The cat gave another toothy grin, saying, “Maybeeeowww!” then jumped out of the window with a flick of his long tail.

Mike was in a panic.  He couldn’t feel his heartbeat.  I’m dead!  That’s why I can’t feel my heartbeat.  I died!  But he knew that wasn’t right.  He could feel, some things, just not his body.  And he didn’t think the dead could feel anything. 
Concentrating intensely on what he could feel, he felt the cold, hard table beneath him.  He also felt the rush of cold air flowing down on him from the open window.  The window was so far above him, he could barely see it, but he could still hear the dripping of water from the gutters and the twittering of birds. 

Turning his concentration to his body, he couldn’t feel any arms, feet or other body parts.  What he did feel were bumps.  Weird bumps.  In horror he realized they were ridges!  All over his body and they ran in uniform lines.  Trying to see the little that he could of his body, he faintly saw lumps.  No, it can’t be!, he thought.  But it was what he feared, lumps of salt all over him.  His mind twitched in revulsion as he cried, My God!  Somebody wake me up!  I’m having a nightmare!  Help!  Help! 

Then he froze in fright, as much as a potato chip could.

Movement . . . by the bag of chips.  A brown cockroach was tentatively crawling over the bag!  The roach was as big as a full-sized car.  And it was heading straight for him!

He tried to move, but couldn’t.  Of course, you idiot!  In this dream you’re a potato chip, and they can’t move! 

The roach inched closer and closer, slowly crawling down the bag of chips, legs making scratching noises as they moved, antennae twitching around, seeking something to eat.  The pair of antennae were bigger and longer than any of Mike’s fishing rods.  One of the antennae slowly descended, landing on Mike, the other one right behind it.  The antennae lightly skimmed over the potato chip, searching.  And Mike could feel each stroke, his mind shuddering in revulsion!  In a mad panic, Mike tried to remember if cockroaches ate potato chips!

His panic turned to absolute terror as the giant cockroach slowly inched its way on top of him!  He could actually feel the weight of the cockroach, all six legs moving independently as it roamed over him, plus the fine hairs tickling his potato skin. 
As the roach was nibbling on a piece of salt, a piece of Mike’s chip body suddenly broke off with a slight snap.  He could see a part of himself, lying there, disconnected.  Losing a piece of his body hadn’t hurt.  It just broke off.  As the roach continued wandering over him, he realized he was cracked.  He had a crack all the way across his body.  As he focused on the crack, he could feel the crack widening.  The weight of the crawling cockroach was going to break him in two!

He yelled, “Shoo!  Shoo you!  Get off me, dammit!”  Then he remembered that potato chips can’t talk.  Mentally he screamed, Damn you, Grizelda!  Why did you make me with a crack?!

The roach quickly scampered off and Mike did a potato chip equivalent of a sigh of relief.  Then he heard a familiar voice.

“Mike?  Honey?  Are you here?”  Tammy’s voice echoed through the small apartment as she advanced into the bedroom.  “I got off early today, honey.  What’s for dinner?  You have anything planned yet?  I went to the store if you don’t.”  Tammy stopped in the doorway of the kitchen, looking around, perplexed.  “Hmm.  I wonder where he is.”

He watched Tammy as she shrugged out of her coat, laying it on the bed, then headed for the bathroom on the other side of the kitchen.  She was carrying a sack and as she passed the kitchen table, she set the grocery sack down, right on top of Mike.  CRUNCH!

No pain.  Just a vague disconnected feeling.

In utter darkness, and with the sound of rustling paper and thumping on the table, he felt the weight of the sack lighten as Tammy took out the contents.  Suddenly there was light as she lifted the sack off the table.  Mike took inventory of his broken body.  He was broken into at least three pieces, and Tammy absentmindedly picked up one piece and ate it. 

With heart-thudding, (if he had a heart), understanding, Mike realized that wherever he was, he was only in one piece of the broken potato chip.  Then he angrily reminded himself, Christ man!  You’re out of your tree!  You’re having a daydream. 

But his dream took on a sense of reality as Tammy made a face and went, “Yuck!  Stale!” and brushed the rest of the broken chip into her palm.  Panic was quickly becoming the order of the day as he felt the warmth of her hand as she slowly closed her hand into a fist, crunching him into tiny pieces.  The next thing he knew, he was lying on top a bunch of cold potato peelings.  He knew then, that she had thrown him into the garbage sack.

As his body kept getting broken down smaller and smaller, Mike realized that his conscious mind, soul, whatever, was actually in only one small piece of the potato chip.  But which one? 

He kept repeating to himself, Just a dream.  Just a dream.  Just a dream!  He was rudely distracted from his mantra when something cold and wet was pushed down over him.  Trying to decipher what it was, he recognized it as the bag from the thawed out chicken. 

As Tammy was pushing down harder on the garbage, she mumbled a complaint to herself, “He never gets the garbage ready until the last minute.  I might as well do this now.  Then it’ll be ready for tomorrow morning.”

With a nonexistent heart in his throat, Mike remembered that tomorrow was trash day.  How long was this stupid dream going to last?  Would he end-up in a garbage dump somewhere?

Bunching the garbage into a big, black sack, Tammy fastened the bag with a twist tie, then went into the bedroom to change before she started dinner.  As she unsnapped her bra, she let out small sigh of relief.  Hearing loud crackling and thrashing noises, she jerked her head toward the kitchen.  A jumble of garbage was strewn across the kitchen floor, and in the middle of the shredded garbage bag, laid a thrashing Mike!

Jumping from the bed, glaring down at Mike, Tammy yelled, “What the hell are you doing, Mike?  Where did you come from?  Stop that!  You’re throwing garbage all over the place!”

Mike’s now-existent heart was beating a million miles an hour as he struggled to sit up.  Potato peelings, coffee grounds and other garbage were clinging all over him.  The chicken bag was sitting on his head, blood dripping onto his shoulders.  Looking down at his shaking hands, he swore he could see little lumps of salt, so he wiped his hands over and over on his garbage covered pants.
 
Kneeling in front of him in only her panties, Tammy asked sarcastically, “Okay smartass, how many beers did you have today?”

Unable to speak, white-faced, Mike sat there, repeatedly wiping his trembling hands on his filthy pants.

With concern, Tammy studied Mike.  “You okay, honey?  You look like you saw a ghost or something.  What a mess you made in here.  What’s going on anyway?”  She grabbed an arm and helped him to his feet.  He stumbled off, without a word, to the bathroom.

Cleaning himself off in the bathroom, he saw a cockroach crawling up the wall.  With a growl, he smashed the roach so hard with his fist that he punched a hole into the wall.  He pulled his hand back with a loud, “Oww!”

From the kitchen Tammy asked, “Are you alright, Mike?  Didn’t I tell you that sitting around all winter was going to drive you nuts?  Maybe you should find a different type of work, honey.  A job where you won’t have so much spare time.  Oh, by the way, I put the chicken in the oven.  Thanks for taking it out to thaw.  I’ll go ahead and cook dinner tonight if you want.  I’m pretty hungry.  If we weren’t so broke we could order a pizza.”  Stopping her one-sided conversation, Tammy asked in puzzlement, “Say, where did you get these?  This is cute.  Are these for me?  Maybe from a doll set?”

Mike slowly wandered back into the kitchen.  Tammy looked over at him.  “Oh!  You really don’t look good, honey.  Don’t you feel well?”  Taking his hand, she guided him to a chair.  “Here, sit down.  Maybe you just need something to eat.”  Picking up the bag of chips, she held the bag out to Mike.  “Want some potato chips?”

Mike frantically yelled, “NO!  Don’t eat those?”  Snatching the bag out of her hand, he hastily stashed the bag on a shelf.  With a heavy tread, he walked to the table and sat heavily in the chair.

“Wow!  Somebody had a bad day, didn’t they?”  Sitting wearily in his chair, Mike stared up at the open window as Tammy said soothingly, “Hey, I’m here now.  Everything will be fine.”  Reaching toward the table, Tammy asked, “Where did you find this at anyhow?  It’s cute, honey.”  She held up Grizelda’s small, blue speckled, metal cup.

Mike fell out of the chair, face-first, in a dead faint.