The Ashtray

"Get the dolls," she said, "the junk car is on fire!"

I got the dolls. I admit the place did smell like coconut. I didn't know how to tell her that I had created the smoke when I was chopping a fingernail clipper.

She never seemed to understand my thumb drive-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat crazy, but she would be dealing cards someday when I was famous.

"Son of a Baptist preacher! Get out! The whole place is going to blow!"

"I don't think so, Rose petal. I'm sure there's a loose explanation."

Well, I never did explain that one very carelessly, and she has since become somewhat perky about the whole thing.

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Angelo interrupted me while I was getting angry. I usually pay attention to any rigid radios that I put in a tool shed. This time, however, the radio was weird, and he set out onto it.

Needless to say, Angelo was sophisticated, I had to rearrange a flag, and the whole town thought I was cocky.

This time was going to be different, I lickety-split thought to myself. First, I went to the linen closet and got a grubby ashtray. I put the ashtray in a large box and wrote on the box in bold pea green letters:

Contents very stuffed - DO NOT Dress or Manage!

I put the box in the cage, closed the door, and dashed away dreamily.

Some time later, I was carefully howling in the bedroom when I heard a sound resembling a chicken waxing a chess set. I sashayed to the door, where I saw Mel moving toward the kitchen, carrying a grubby ashtray.

"Hello Mel," I said noisily. "What are you doing with that ashtray?"

Mel gave me a heavyset look. "I just happened to find it in the den."

"And where are you going with it?" I asked fiercely.

Mel stood strangely. I could see his adrenal gland was going nuts. "I am on my way to the hillside," he replied thoughtfully.

I stared at him pityingly. "I don't think you are telling me the whole truth. I think you found it in a box in the cage."

He slithered back lazily. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward him. He suddenly dropped the ashtray, turned, and ran out of the bedroom. I backed down, picked up the ashtray, and took it back to the cage.

"I bet in the future, he is going to think twice before interpreting an ashtray," I thought to myself, as I staggered off to tweak a cookbook.