My man Tyrongle and I, after a lovely sunset picnic on the beach, decided to pen an entertaining short story. I think it has an important message.
Twinkle Twinkle Little Chair
All I wanted was a comfy chair--a big, squashy, cushy spot to read or do crossword puzzles or watch movies. I was looking for a chair you could really sink into, that you could spend an entire afternoon in and not get stiff or uncomfortable. What I found instead were gigantic seats for the fat-bottomed that seemed more like couches in their size or chairs of wood and plastic that looked posh and modern but offered very little in coziness.
Whenever I think I know what I’m looking for in consumer goods, I can never find it. Perhaps the lack of a unlimited bank account is part of the problem, but even when I’m willing to shell out some shekels, the items of my imagination are not to be found.
So, I had no choice but to buy one of the big-bottomed chairs and put it next to my lamp, so that I could do those crossword puzzles. Then I became interested in crocheting. And my big chair became my crocheting chair until I spilled a double latte on it. I cried, and my pet cat, Twinkles, got angry and wouldn’t let me pet him for weeks.
“It’s just espresso and steamed milk, precious cat,” I said, trying to coax him out from under the bed. He wouldn’t hear of it. He hissed at me and tried to bite my hand. After that, my comfy chair just wasn’t so comfy anymore.
I decided to move the now offensive chair to the front porch so that Twinkles would not have to smell the permanent latte stain. He is a strictly indoor cat, which, while protecting him from disease, wild animals and bad drivers, has made him very sensitive to his environment. He has developed a firm dislike of caffeinated beverages, freesia-scented candles, and crème brulee, but he is otherwise safe and healthy.
I had a bit of trouble maneuvering the wide chair out my front door by myself, but I was very pleased with the resulting affect it had on my outside décor. The blues in the chair upholstery nicely matched my artistic garden sphere, and I started to envision the porch parties that would soon be inevitable now that this luscious indoor furniture has been brought into the great outdoors.
The next morning, I discovered a family of raccoons sleeping on my comfy chair. They did not seem to mind the latte stain at all. I tried to shoo them away, but they ignored me and I didn’t want to get too close since they are wild animals. Wild animals are magnificent creatures, but they can be dangerous.
I wanted the raccoons to be as comfortable as possible, so I decided to crochet them a small blanket to keep them warm on cold nights. When I presented it, they chirped and chortled at me.
I knew better than to feed them, as everyone knows a fed wild animal is a dead one, but I thought a little homespun charm might keep them warm as the winter winds whistled through the night. It seems, however, that raccoons have an affinity for wool yarn, and my blanket was quickly ripped to tattered shreds as the raccoons ingested my masterwork. I guess some creatures will eat anything.
I didn’t see the raccoons after that, so I kind of figured that my blanket gave them gastro-intestinal upset. I hoped they were okay, but I was kind of glad to have my chair back. I had a party to plan.
I called my friend Steingord Prilo-Wantock. He was an expert party planner with an eye for interior design. I knew that I could count on him to help me put together a killer get-together and that if a nicer comfy chair was available in the greater Nampa area, he would know about it.
“Do you want to do theme?” He asked. “I suggest either a vampire theme, or possibly a dentist theme. I have this great dental hygienist outfit I have been wanting to wear for a while now. The fishnet stockings are 100% authentic.”
“What do you mean authentic?”
“They were once used to catch North Atlantic Cod. By the way, I happen to have two dozen crab cakes in my fridge now. Should I bring them over?”
“Sure, but what about my comfy chair?”
“There’s a small problem,” Gordy (as he was know to his friends) continued. “I am an expert in interior design, but you seem to want an outdoor porch party. I’m not sure how well I can handle that. If you will reconsider moving your party back inside where it’s safe, then I will help you in your comfy chair quest (provided that the chair stay indoors, too). Otherwise, I think I will just hand over my crab cakes and leave. You know that being outdoors gives me the willies.”
I had forgotten my friend’s odd fear of the outdoors. It seems that when he was a child, he’d been the recipient of many of Mother Nature’s nastiest surprises from the sky. A large lump of hail had broken his nose. He’d sustained a concussion from a stray meteorite. I think the swarm of palmetto bugs attacking his face may have been the last straw. Even now, he could barely go for a walk without getting pooped on by a bird flying overhead. A word of advice: don’t ever try to tell him that guano is lucky.
“Yeah, we can move it inside. Besides the raccoons might come back, and I can foresee trouble if that happens.”
“Raccoons! Those vicious little bastards! What do you mean ‘back’?”
“Oh, nothing, I just saw some on my front porch.”
“Well, I’ll tell you this now. If I see one raccoon, I am going to start chucking crab cakes at it.”
“To be honest, I don’t think they will be back. They ate a mini-blanket that I made for them and then disappeared.”
“Thank god for that. About your chair: I know a place in downtown Boise that has just what you are looking for. It’s an old dental supply warehouse and I think if I come with you, they will throw in one of those lights that dentists use for exams. Those things are great for reading the morning paper. I guess that means we’re going to have a dentist theme. I suggest that we keep this thing open because some people are going to want to come as orthodontists and we might even get a few gum sturgeons and we shouldn’t turn them away. We have plenty of crab cakes, you know.”
“Right.”
“I’ll be over in ten minutes. I’ll wait in my car if that’s okay. With all those beasts around your place, I’ll feel safer. I’ll honk twice and just so you don’t get scared, I’ll take my eye patch off.”
As I waited for Gordy to arrive, I started pondering how to combine his desired themes. I couldn’t understand how dentists and fish went together, but Gordy was always so much better at party-planning than me. I assumed that his mention of sturgeons must have something to do with the fish tanks that always seem to be in dental waiting rooms. I think watching fish swim is supposed to be relaxing, and we all know the anxiety of a dental visit, especially with fillings or root canals on the horizon. Hey, maybe we can serve root vegetables as party snacks!
I didn’t have a fish tank, and I didn’t think Twinkles would approve. He would either try to eat the fish or drown trying, and I would be forever guilty about whatever loss of life ensued. No, better to make fish-shaped hors d’ouerves and toothbrush-shaped decorations than to suffer Twinkles’ displeasure. I did hope he would enjoy the party.
I was actually quite worried about Twinkles. He had been standoffish since the comfy-chair incident. I knew I had to be careful when telling him about the party. “Twinkles Kitty,” I said, “don’t get upset, but I am having a party here, and I don’t want you to get alarmed if you see a bunch of dentists walking around.”
He threw up a hairball and walked away.
Then I heard a horn sound outside. It must be Gordy, I thought. I rushed outside to meet him so that we could get down to business.
“I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news,” he said.
“What’s the bad news?”
“The party is gonna have to be off for now. The x-ray machine that I was going to rent is unavailable for the next three weeks. But that’s not the worst news. My drill that I was going to use for cavities and root canals overheated right after I hung up the phone with you.”
“What’s the good news?”
“I think I may have found the perfect chair for you. And we won’t even have to go into Boise to get it.”
Gordy was right. He drove me to a store and I bought the perfect comfy-chair. It was purple velvet, quite cushiony, and just the right size for my bottom. When we got back to my place, I asked Gordy for some help bringing it inside.
“I don’t know. Can you guarantee that I won’t be attacked by wild beasts?”
“You should be safe.”
“Okay, but I’m really nervous about this.”
We each took an end of the chair and walked toward my front door. When we reached my porch, I noticed that the raccoons were back, curled up on the discarded comfy chair now on my porch. Unfortunately, Gordy saw them too, and he dropped his end of the chair, let out a high-pitch scream and ran off. I was able to drag the chair the rest of the way through my front door and put it in an appropriate spot. I sat down with my crocheting and before I knew it, Twinkles was back in my lap. His contented purrs told me he wouldn’t miss the party.
