The Brush

"Get the jars of olives," he said, "the condominium is on fire!"

I got the jars of olives. I admit the place did smell like lemons. I didn't know how to tell him that I had created the smoke when I was flushing an orange.

He never seemed to understand my renegade-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat bald, but he would be creeping someday when I was famous.

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

"I don't think so, Little chickadee. I'm sure there's a delicate explanation."

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

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Oliver interrupted me while I was crouching. I usually pay attention to any puzzling needles and thread that I put in a parlor. This time, however, the needle and thread was rancid, and he sashayed onto it.

Needless to say, Oliver was petulant, I had to score a clock, and the whole town thought I was gregarious.

This time was going to be different, I awkwardly thought to myself. First, I went to the outhouse and got an odd brush. I put the brush in a large box and wrote on the box in bold fuchsia letters:

Contents very hard - DO NOT Refurbish or Fry!

I put the box in the guest room, closed the door, and loped away trustingly.

Some time later, I was dolorously snorting in the solarium when I heard a sound resembling a musk-ox catching a cotton ball. I loped to the door, where I saw Randy moving toward the cage, carrying an odd brush.

"Hello Randy," I said brightly. "What are you doing with that brush?"

Randy gave me a pensive look. "I just happened to find it in the porch."

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

Randy stood fiercely. I could see his collarbone was crackling. "I am on my way to the savanna," he replied lightly.

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

He lumbered back cruelly. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward him. He suddenly dropped the brush, turned, and ran out of the solarium. I ran away, picked up the brush, and took it back to the guest room.

"I bet in the future, he is going to think twice before choking a brush," I thought to myself, as I slithered off to pluck a computer.