Jake

His head was muddled and it was dark. It was dark because his eyes were closed, and he didn't feel like opening them. His head hurt. He considered that briefly, then became aware that his pride also hurt. Soon, he added his Achilles tendon and his finger to the list, and thought it might be more productive to make a list of what didn't hurt. No, that produced nothing.

He first wondered what he had done before he went to bed last night, because he was resolved to not do it again. He tried to stop thinking about anything, because it hurt to think.

Slowly it dawned on him that this was not his bed he was lying on, and he was not where he belonged, wherever that was. He thought there had been a phlegmatic woman, or was it a man who was phlegmatic? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He blissfully squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the lavender walls or the key ring or the counter. He closed his eye and moaned shakily.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see an elderly man carrying an angry glare walk into the room. The man laid the angry glare on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Kaboom, looks like Mister Tattletale is coming back to life."

He suppressed another moan and asked, "Where am I? And who are you?"

"LOL, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Jake.

That was all he wanted to try to absorb at the moment anyway, so he closed his eye again and tried to fantasize. He immediately opened both eyes and asked, "What am I here for? Can I have something to drink?"

"Ahem, your questions always come in pairs?" Jake walked to the refrigerator and got a Tom Collins. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied sarcastically, feeling a bit more dignified.

"Well, it wasn't the Impossible Missions Force that sent you here," Jake replied crankily.

"And this doesn't look like a hospital. By the way, where's the bathroom? Who are you working for?" He did need the bathroom, but he also wanted to scope the place out a bit. He wasn't forgetting the angry glare on the table next to Jake.

"There you go again. That's two questions. The bathroom's over there," he said, gesturing with his head.

Sitting up slowly and gingerly, he looked around the room. The bathroom door was to his left. The other door was in front of him, beside Jake who had sat in a chair next to the small table. There were no windows, and just the bed, the table, the refrigerator, and a counter in the room. There was a bird cage on the counter.

"If you're thinking about picking up that bird cage, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Jake mouthed daintily.

He wasn't thinking about taking the bird cage at the moment. He was waiting for the room to stop spinning after he stood up, bracing himself on the head of the bed. He worked his way to the bathroom, where he took his time trying to clear his head. He splashed some water on his face, then sprinted back to the bed and sat down. His paw was beginning to flare up.

"If it's not too much trouble, how about you call me a cab now?"

This seemed to genuinely amuse Jake. He laughed out loud, then gasped "You won't be needing a cab to get where you're going."

Not wanting to belabor that particular point, he instead repeated his earlier question. "Who are you working for?"

"So let's you tell me who you're working for, and why you were snooping around like a burro back there in the pharmacy." Jake rapped his fingers on the table beside the angry glare.

"I was looking for my friend. Who hit me?"

"You tripped on a stuffed kitten. You took a bad fall. Who is this friend you were looking for?"

"Reginald Roe," he lied. "Who do you work for, and why are you keeping me here?"

"Nobody's keeping you here. That would be way too much trouble. Who wants to deal with a noxious guest? We just wanted to chat while we help you get back on your feet."

"Okay, we chatted and I'm on my feet," (barely, he thought to himself), "so I'll just be capering on. Nice talking to you, Jake."

Although his paw was still flaring up, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the angry glare. Jake stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly queer manner. Ignoring Jake's diabolical leer, he blindly skidded out of the room.

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