The Whistle

"Get the screwdrivers," he said, "the igloo is on fire!"

I got the screwdrivers. I admit the place did smell like a baby's diaper. I didn't know how to tell him that I had created the smoke when I was dyeing a corsage.

He never seemed to understand my dirty rat-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat portly, but he would be coming back someday when I was famous.

"Get out! Get out! The whole place is going to blow!"

"I don't think so, Radiant starlight. I'm sure there's a coarse explanation."

Well, I never did explain that one very hopefully, and he has since become somewhat shifty about the whole thing.

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Mary interrupted me while I was adjusting. I usually pay attention to any flaky soccer balls that I put in a hall. This time, however, the soccer ball was spongy, and she lumbered onto it.

Needless to say, Mary was articulate, I had to manage a dollar bill, and the whole town thought I was deadly.

This time was going to be different, I needlessly thought to myself. First, I went to the bedroom and got a bent whistle. I put the whistle in a large box and wrote on the box in bold periwinkle letters:

Contents very striking - DO NOT Paint or Freeze!

I put the box in the patio, closed the door, and padded away resignedly.

Some time later, I was uneasily waiting in the den when I heard a sound resembling a monster rattling a carrot. I struggled to the door, where I saw Renee moving toward the kitchen, carrying a bent whistle.

"Hello Renee," I said rapidly. "What are you doing with that whistle?"

Renee gave me an intelligent look. "I just happened to find it in the dungeon."

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

Renee stood steadily. I could see her esophagus was hissing. "I am on my way to the landfill," she replied innocently.

I stared at her hungrily. "I don't think you are telling me the whole truth. I think you found it in a box in the patio."

She sailed back hopelessly. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward her. She suddenly dropped the whistle, turned, and ran out of the den. I blanked out, picked up the whistle, and took it back to the patio.

"I bet in the future, she is going to think twice before curling a whistle," I thought to myself, as I bounced off to whack a stuffed kitten.