December 17th

Via diligent internet research (which is hard when you have paws, really) the cats knew what to expect for each of the upcoming nights. Tonight they were expecting a troll that ate leftovers out of bowls. Clementine joked with BC and Archie that he’d be in heaven at her place, as Pam rarely finished a complete bowl of anything. Archie said that when a band of Jólasveinarnir had visited New Hamster the troll named Askasleiker had eaten all the squishy food which got a lot of news coverage.  Archie recalled it had been a pretty boring week for news, so it made some sense that it was reported on local radio. Archie said he’d been particularly generous to the cats, leaving a good variety of really fun cat toys. 

Clementine, Ursula, BC and Sparky had all snoozed the day away, hoping to stay awake for a nice chat with the “bowl licker” while he ate whatever leftovers he could find.  Ursula had actually kept Pam from carrying her dinner bowl of chili to the counter in the kitchen by jumping on her lap, trilling and waving her tail in Pam’s face.  Her job done, she snoozed until she heard Pam head for her room a little before midnight.  Clem joined her and they each perched on one of the ends of a long pillow Pam had put on the floor for just that purpose.  They were surprised to hear noises from the yarn lady’s room about an hour later.  She was zonked out in the bed, mouth open and snoring, but from under the bed there was cursing.

“Damn these folks. Why don’t they clean better under their beds. I’m allergic to dust and every single house has dust under the bed!” They watched as an unkempt troll crawled out, covered in dust bunnies (they were way too big to be dust mice). He muffled a sneeze in a raggedy sleeve and glared at them.  “Where’s the bowl? Not a single house has a bowl next to the bed on the floor. You Bandaríkjamenn are so uncivilized!” He shook his fist at the cats and stalked into the living room, looking around.

“There is a lovely bowl of chili on the table Mr. Alkalizer,” Ursula said. The troll gave her a disgusted look and Clem tried hard not to laugh.  Pronunciation of foreign words was not Ursula’s strong suit.  He quickly wolfed down the chili, threw the spoon on the table and banged two dried out potatoes on the table. “Bah, humbug!” he said and stalked out of the condo.  The two cats looked at each other, then the potatoes and then back to each other. 

“We made sure there was food for him, and what does he do? He gives us old potatoes.  These things are more eyes than potatoes. Cheapskate.” Clementine gingerly picked up the potato and headed into the bedroom. She took it outside via the cat door and returned for the second one.  She didn’t want the yarn lady to try to figure out why they were on the table.

 

A few hours later in Jackson, BC and Sparky were also surprised by noises from under the Daddy’s bed.  They were waiting in the kitchen though, knowing that if the troll wanted food, he’d need to come in here.  Askasleiker entered, wiping a cobweb out of one eyebrow.  He sighed as he looked around the kitchen.  The Daddy was much too careful to leave leftovers on the table or counter. He’d finished his dinner, scraped the plate and dropped it in the dishwater.  The cats had figured that tonight’s troll would need to be satisfied with the squishy food and so were watching for his reaction.

The troll poked around the kitchen until he determined that the only thing in a bowl was the squishy cat food.  Sparky knew that he’d love it, as tonight was Mixed Grill, her favorite.  It blended various types of meat together in a finely ground pâté that the Daddy artfully arranged on the plate.  She didn’t know how he got it in that short cylindrical shape every time. He only bothered to do this with the pâtés for some reason.  Askasleiker snorted and said, “so they leave me cat food.” He picked up the bowl, sniffed it and gingerly scooped a tiny bit onto his finger. He touched the finger to his thick tongue and dropped the plate, spitting out whatever he had managed to get on his tongue. He looked at the cats and said, “You are trying to poison me! First, those kitties gave me spicy chili that gave me brjóstsviði, what is that word…heartburn, and now you give me this garbage food.  We would not feed this to the rats in Ísland!”  Glaring at them he pelted them with two dried up potatoes. “That is what I think of your food – I would rather eat rotten potatoes than this, this, swill!” He stomped out of the room and into the living room where he kicked the sneakers across the room before leaving. 

BC looked at the floor, where the bowl lay broken with little bits of glazed ceramic stuck in the Mixed Grill.  He looked up at Sparky, growled and said, “No more Mr. Nice Cat. I declare it open season on trolls.” He stomped off into the bedroom (which is tough to do if you’re a cat, really), jumped up on the bed and snuggled against the Daddy.  If anything would make him feel better it was a nice, caring human.  BC wormed his way under the Daddy’s arm, and the other one reached across and stroked BC while the Daddy mumbled something incoherent.  Smiling a tiny bit, BC began to purr and daydreamed about MR, imagining what she’d do if she encountered a nasty Jólasveinarnir. She’d pound him into the ground, he thought as he drifted off to sleep.