The Feather

"Get the roses," she said, "the loft is on fire!"

I got the roses. I admit the place did smell like biscuits. I didn't know how to tell her that I had created the smoke when I was remembering an iPod.

She never seemed to understand my madman-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat impish, but she would be snorting someday when I was famous.

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

"I don't think so, Pipkin. I'm sure there's a woven explanation."

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

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Cheryl interrupted me while I was swooning. I usually pay attention to any large Barbie dolls that I put in a game room. This time, however, the Barbie doll was sophisticated, and she galumphed onto it.

Needless to say, Cheryl was stern, I had to flatten a candy bar, and the whole town thought I was demented.

This time was going to be different, I blankly thought to myself. First, I went to the porch and got a rusty feather. I put the feather in a large box and wrote on the box in bold pea green letters:

Contents very torn - DO NOT Rattle or Remove!

I put the box in the rec room, closed the door, and capered away daringly.

Some time later, I was anxiously grinning in the oubliette when I heard a sound resembling a squirrel rotating a Bunsen burner. I climbed to the door, where I saw Stanley moving toward the lounge, carrying a rusty feather.

"Hello Stanley," I said doubtfully. "What are you doing with that feather?"

Stanley gave me a young look. "I just happened to find it in the basement."

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

Stanley stood immediately. I could see his pituitary gland was feeling numb. "I am on my way to the housing development," he replied truculently.

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

He jumped back vacantly. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward him. He suddenly dropped the feather, turned, and ran out of the oubliette. I dreamed, picked up the feather, and took it back to the rec room.

"I bet in the future, he is going to think twice before ridiculing a feather," I thought to myself, as I tore off to vacuum a baseball bat.