Emails went back and forth furiously on the 17th
whenever Archie and the cats could use a computer unobserved. BC was determined that he was going to catch
tonight’s Jólasveinarnir
and teach him a lesson, preferably a painful or humiliating one. Clementine and
Ursula urged him to calm down, that maybe Askasleiker was naturally grumpy. That didn’t mean all the Jólasveinarnir
were bad guys. They’d been given cat treats, chocolates and for goodness sake,
catnip cows! He’d been the one bad apple on the troll tree, they argued. Archie, on the other hand, said that the one
who came on the 18th has spent the night slamming doors all over
both houses. It was enough to make
anyone jumpy.
BC’s eyes narrowed when he read that and turned
to Sparky. “Are you with me on this, my friend? Let’s kick some troll butt!”
Sparky, who was a little alarmed at this change in her usually good-natured
friend nodded, wondering what she’d just agreed to do.
After Clementine had given up on dissuading BC
from going on a troll hunt, she and Ursula spent some time discussing why a
troll would go around slamming doors. Sometimes Pam or the yarn lady slammed
their door when they were particularly aggravated with each other. More often than not it was Pam, as the yarn
lady had a much higher frustration tolerance. The one time they had both
slammed the door to their bedrooms resulted in Pam staying with her dad for a
long time, weeks even. Maybe this would be a grumpy troll. There was really no
other reason the two of them could think of as to why someone would slam doors.
Meanwhile, BC spend the afternoon perfecting a
troll trap. He and Sparky started by standing books up and then knocking them
over. Sparky got bored of it after the 15th time she pushed over the
book and left BC saying she was too tired and needed a nap. BC nodded distractedly,
knocking the book over again. The daddy
was out in his radio room working on something, so the cats could act as oddly
as they liked.
By the time Sparky woke up BC had an array of
items hidden under the TV shelf in the corner. There was a space behind the wood
pig for a collection of small items, so it was often used to set up surprises
for one of the humans. You could collect
a whole bunch of things there. Sparky had heard from LT who’d lived there when
she arrived about one time when the Peep was alive and she’d collected flowers
for a Mother’s Day bouquet for MR. She was so happy to have found so many
flowers, but when she dragged them out, they were all wilted. Peep had sat there and cried her little heart
out, as she’d wanted to make the Mommy (as she called MR) the best-ever present.
MR had come running when Peep started crying and found her amid the wilted
flowers. She’d picked the Peep up, cuddled
her and told her what beautiful flowers they were, and how she liked her
flowers exactly like that, as she could press them faster. Peep hadn’t known
what she meant until a few weeks later when MR had shown her a lovely dried
flower arrangement on paper. All of the flowers Peep had gathered were there,
but flatter. Sparky smiled, recalling that story. MR was such a softie. She wanted everyone to feel good about themselves.
Today there was a very odd collection back
there. One gone-to-seed dandelion in a
tiny vase, a whoopie cushion, some string tied to a stick and two blocks of
wood, one low and square and the other narrow and long. The narrow block of
wood was tied to the other end of the string.
Sparky poked at them, wondering what BC had decided to do. She went
looking and found him asleep on the bed.
She climbed up and poked him to ask what he’d decided to do. He yawned and said she’d see when he set it
up.
Not long after midnight Clementine was awakened
by the sound of a door shutting very quietly and a low voice humming a
tune. She wandered into the living room
and found a rotund fellow, dressed a bit nicer than the other Jólasveinarnir
she’d seen so far. She greeted him and
asked why he hadn’t slammed their door.
The troll laughed merrily and introduced himself. “I am Hurđaskellir, and yes I am supposed to
be slamming your doors. That is because every
last one of my ancestors has suffered from horrible seasonal affective
disorder. We’re jolly enough folks in the spring, summer and fall, but come
winter we’re as grumpy as over-tired bears.
After years of misery, I did some research and found that there are
cures for this disorder. Unfortunately, the
main one is plenty of sunlight, but that would turn me into stone, so that
would not do. Happily, there are
medications one can take, so for several years now I have been taking them as
soon as the days become short enough that there is more dark than light hours,
and I keep taking them until there are more hours light than dark. One a day, and I am a happy troll. So,
instead of slamming doors, I give things to keep doors from slamming.” He held something out to her. It was a small
carved cat with long front legs that stretched far out. He took it and wedged
it under the front door, demonstrating how it keeps the door from slamming, or even
closing for that matter.
“That’s a great idea, Mr. Hurđaskellir. And they’re
cats, just like Ursula and I. I’m glad you’re not depressed any more, but I
need to warn you about a house you’re probably going to in Jackson. Last night’s troll was pretty rude and BC
decided that he was going to take revenge on all of you. Please be careful when you go there. It’s a trap
just inside the door from the deck and you’re so nice I don’t want you to get
hurt.” Clementine’s heart had warmed to the troll’s tale of familial depression
and she’d just had to tell him, even if BC never sent her another email.
At around 2:30am the Daddy was awakened to the
yowls of an angry cat. He jumped out of bed and ran towards the sound, which
appeared to be coming from the living room.
He ran in and saw an astonishing sight. BC was under an upturned laundry
hamper on the floor, spitting and growling at absolutely nothing. He decided to leave him there for the moment,
as he didn’t want his legs to be shredded by an angry cat. Instead, he looked around and saw an odd
collection of items. As his eyes went
from one to the next, an idea began to grow in his head.
Sparky watched from the couch. The daddy was pretty good at figuring things
out. Would he figure out this one? When
BC was calm, the Daddy let him out, but left the laundry basket where it
was. He walked to the door and opened
it, seeing how close it was to the book that was lying on something. He closed
the door and stood the book up, finding a rubber thing under it. He picked it up and saw the lettering on
it. “Genuine Original Whoopie Cushion” In
the few moments he’d held it, he noticed it had filled up with air. He peered inside the narrow floppy part and
saw it contained a one-way valve and nodded.
He put the cushion back where it had been and
looked at the floor in front of it. There
was a vase with a dead dandelion on it, still with a few seeds attached. Next to the table there was a long narrow block
with a string tied to it, and the other end tied to a short sturdy stick next
to where the laundry basket had imprisoned BC.
The daddy fiddled around for about fifteen
minutes and then went into the kitchen, returning with generous handful of cat
treats. Some of these he placed on the
floor, after telling the cats to leave them be until he said they could have then. Sparky eyed them hungrily. The daddy then
opened the door, which knocked the book over, falling onto the whoopie
cushion. It made a farting sound and the
dandelion swayed a bit. The daddy
dropped some cat treats to the floor and watched as the automated vacuum
cleaner MR had bought zoomed out of its base and sucked up the cat treats he’d
dropped. The daddy told the cats they
could eat the rest of the treats before the vacuum did. It continued on, next bumping into the table.
That knocked the narrow block off the table and onto the floor, pulling the
string that was attached to it and made the stick fall out from where it was
supporting the hamper. The hamper came down on Sparky who was munching the last
of the cat treats. She jumped and
yowled, just as BC had.
The daddy laughed and sat down in the green chair.
“Okay, who’s been reading my Rube Goldberg book? .You’ve created a letter-perfect
Rube Goldberg machine. Things falling down, air current and at the end, whammo!
The question is – who were you trying to catch? The cat door won’t let anyone
in but you too, you know. It’s programmed
to your microchips. He yawned, slapped
his knees and told the kitties good night and headed back to bed, but not
before he let Sparky out from under the laundry basket.
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