Meerkat Minor Ch. 8

As Malcolm swam his way to the mysterious tree gap, he noticed the grass becoming more full and glorious beyond his imagination! He began to leap after every other step and soon he was practically flying like a spotted deer. His mind darted from thought to thought of what could be waiting beyond the trees. Perhaps the ocean, he had only heard stories of the ocean, how exciting it would be to see the ocean! Or maybe a tiny cottage filled with Bit-O-Honey and Swedish Fish! OR . . . it might be a grand Icelandic castle with a big deep moat filled with fearsome creatures and houdstooth tapestries (the tapestries would obviously be in the castle not in the moat).

I would like to paws (pun intended) and slide a tidbit of useful information in your direction about Malcolm's feet. From his day of birth he has had extremely sensitive foot pads, which he would tell you is a blessing and a curse. He was always able to tell the exact ingredients of whatever he was standing on, whether it be granite rocks or pine wood shavings. And with that morsel of information, I will now continue with the story. Malcolm began to notice a strange consistency in the soil that danced between his toes as each foot beat the ground. A plastic synthetic feeling he had only ever felt while miniature golfing with his cousins in Trinidad. As he got closer he began to get dizzy and the strange feeling in his toes became worse. Suddenly without warning everything went black, but not just black, Malcolm was unconscious but still vertical. He had slammed straight into something, but it would not be until he regained consciousness that he would realize he slammed straight into a giant wall.

Meerkat Minor, Ch. 7

This sleep that Malcolm slipped into was no ordinary sleep, Dear Friends. And that is why we had to take a brief reprieve from our story so that we, the Storytellers, could recuperate from the sleep ourselves. Now that we've regained our strength, we'll resume the tale. But first as a word of caution, beware of any smells that may come wafting from your kitchen, and do not be too surprised with where this story may take us - particularly in the way of the characters of Major Heggs and Mr. Foximus. Remember firstly, that you have been forewarned and secondly, that not everyone is as good at hiding their true intent as these two animals. You needn't fear, but you should also learn to be cautious when dealing with mammals.
That is our caveat, Reader, and now back to Malcolm.

When Malcolm awakened, the first thing he saw was the branches of a dozen Oak trees, full of leaves, silhouetted against a velvet black sky that was speckled with stars. As he laid on the ground, he could smell the sweet grass that grew 3 feet taller than where the tip of his nose reached when his face was pointed up towards the sky. It was still warm out, but not as humid as it had been earlier in the day. Was it even still the same day as when he met Major Heggs and Mr. Foximus or had he slept for far longer than even he knew?

Malcolm licked his lips, suddenly realizing that he was incredibly thirsty. He sat up and slurped a couple of grass blades before standing all the way up in an attempt to see over the grass and find out where he was. 

Nothing but trees and grass in front of him.

Nothing to the right.

Nothing behind him.

Nothing to the le- wait. There was an opening in the trees to his left that looked like it might lead out of the circle of trees. It was dark out, but this opening was a slightly lighter shade of blue and seemed to glow with a misty haze. 

Malcolm was confused. After all, wouldn't you be too if you woke up in the middle of the forest after being quite cozy in your little hovel under the ground?

Here, is where Malcolm makes a choice. Had he made a different choice, his story could have gone in quite the opposite direction, both literally and figuratively. But he made the decision to enter the clearing between the trees, so we, of course, will follow him through.

Malcolm partly waded through, partly hopped over, the sea of grass towards the gap in the trees. 

Meerkat Minor, Ch. 6

Malcolm blinked twice and quickly gave Mr. Foximus the once over. He noticed the fox was a very tall slender mammal. His tail was as thick and poofy as a grand piano on a muggy summer day in New Orleans and his eyes were a soft brownish yellow. A burlap looking cream colored shirt covered in spots of paint draped over his shoulders and harem style trousers with a rather stuffed deep brown leather belt wrapped around his waist. There were feathers, paint brushes, beads, and other odd things spilling out of his belt, all clinking together while he shifted his weight back and forth as he stood there.

Although it may seem like Malcolm had stopped and stared at Sethimus Foximus for quite some time, it was only a matter of seconds in between the time Sethimus had said hello to Malcolm and when Malcolm had replied.

"Uh . . . Hello Sir." Malcolm uttered.

Malcolm was quite exhausted from the unexpected excitement of the day. He slumped back into the arm chair as Major Heggs waved Sethimus Foximus into the house. The two old friends scampered into the kitchen and began making a considerable amount of noise banging pots and pans about as if they were in a badly rehearsed school marching band.

Malcolm did not even try to get up and see what was going on. He was stricken by a sudden fit of sleepiness, which he forgot was a side effect from his eye drops. The last thing he he remembered was a smell. He was unsure if the smell was good or bad, but it filled his nose holes right before he dozed off.

Meerkat Minor, Ch. 5

As Malcolm struggled to suction his eyes into his skull sockets, Major Heggs "Ha-rrrrmph'd," slapped him on the back, and marched to answer the door. Malcolm tried to follow, but ran into a corner due to the fact that he still had his hands over his eyes. "Ow. Sweet Francis, that hurt!" He heard Heggs yell at him from around the corner, "No one's called me that in years!" Malcolm was confused. And also temporarily blind.

Meanwhile, Heggs swung open the heavy oak door with woosh. "Ah-ha! I was wondering when you would get here old friend!"

Old friend? Malcolm thought. Old friend? Another Heggs?? Please not someone else like Heggs! I can't struggle to keep my eyes in all day! And if my hands are over my eyes, I can't protect my ears!

But Malcolm, dear reader, need not have worried. For at the door with Heggs was Sethimus Foximus. As his name suggests, yes, he was a fox. If you have in mind a red fox, you are mistaken. He was more of a burnt orange with a hint of umber, that color delicately fostered for blending into the Oklahoma fields. And the reason you need not worry that he is another Heggs--as much as we do love the boisterous major--is because Sethimus Foximus was a far more mild mammal. Sethimus was an artist.

Now, how did Major Heggs and Sethimus Foximus meet? As interesting of a story as it is, I feel you will learn it far better later in our current story about Malcolm. Sethimus tells it much better than I ever could. So for now, we return to Malcolm, who had just grasped his eye drops, squeezed the drops into his eyes, and was seeing Sethimus for the first time ever.

"Well, hello there, young man," soft spoken Sethimus said to Malcolm.

Meerkat Minor Ch. 4

Major Heggs pause and waiting for Malcolm's last sneezing fit to subside.

"Dear boy, have you been to the doctor about your nerves? You really should get that checked out."

Malcolm nodded no, and dabbed his nose with a doily.

"Well before I joined the Royal Marines I was a constant bucket of nerves, always swollen in the tongue, not a pretty look you know, never could get a prom date because of it."

Malcolm's ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton and his elbows ached. He could barely keep up with Major Heggs pace.

"Do you know how I was cured boy?! I'll tell you right now!"

He pointed to a leather band around his ankle with a small scarp of a doily tied to it. The doily was tattered and old, no longer crisp and white. Malcolm was confused, and wondering how a doily could help the swelling of a tongue fade.

"Yes ma'boy, one of your very own Aunt Peach's hand embroidered doilies. This is my last one. Tongue puffs right back up like an African Hippopotamus, you know the kind right lad?"

Malcolm nodded yes, and blinked. He hadn't blinked this whole time (it was a condition he had along with his sneezing) and realized he needed his eye drops. Malcolm didn't want to move, he knew another raging fit of sneezes would attack him and then the Major would again go off on thread counts and doilies and how he should strap one to his forehead. But before he could figure out how to get his drops without his eyes drying up and dropping out of this head, there was a knock at the door. The Major turned and walked to the door. Malcolm scrambled to the bathroom and shut the door.

As Malcolm dug through his toiletry bag he wondered, how many people would knock on the door? Is today a holiday? Why on earth were the q-tips pink, he didn't own pink q-tips? Who really was Salamagrundi, and where were his eye drops!?

Meerkat Minor Ch. 3

"I say, young man! Who in the blue blazes are you?!?!"

Malcolm leapt backwards, his hackles in a tizzy.

An older looking prairie dog stood staring at Malcolm, dressed in a well-kempt, but decades old khaki uniform. After assessing Malcolm intently with his right eye wide open and his left eye squinched shut, he waved him aside with his walking stick.

"Move aside, bingo. I'm here to see Peach. I brought her some news."

Malcolm noticed that when the prairie dog pronounced his b's like they bubbled out of his mouth. Maybe he's British, he thought. Or maybe he doesn't have any teeth. No, he does. Maybe they're fake. They do look awfully straight.

As Malcolm contemplated the old man's teeth, the prairie dog marched around Peach's underground home, searching room to room for her. He completely ignored the fact that Malcolm was still pressed against the wall in silence. The prairie dog's metals shone as they swung from side to side in the midst of his frenzied search.

When he finally remembered Malcolm, he swung his walking stick once round then planted it firmly in the ground. He leaned towards the young meerkat and asked, "Well! Where have you put her!? This is of utmost importance! No time to fiddlefaddle around, here, young man! Hmm? Speak up!"

"She's . . . She's. . . HaCHOO!" Malcolm sneezed. He often sneezed when he was nervous.

"Nervous, eh? My tongue swells up when I'm nervous. Sit down. Sit down," he said in a much more calm manner.

Malcolm sat in a floral printed arm chair. He felt like he was sitting inside a tea pot.
"I . . .who are you?"

"I, young man, am Major Heggs, commander of the 14th regiment of the Royal Marines. Fought in the largest small mammal war of all time. You may have heard of it."

Malcolm gasped then sneezed. He certainly had heard of it.

Meerkat Minor Ch. 2

Malcolm stabbed his oatmeal one last time and stood up. Where could he find something better then oatmeal? Anything was better then oatmeal. He bared a single fang at the bowl of mush as he plopped it into the trash. He put his bowl in the dishwasher and walked to the front door.

"Read a book," he muttered to himself and rolled his eyes. What would he read! He didn't have a favorite book, and Aunt Peach sure didn't have anything other then How To Tame Your Ladybug and old garden mysteries.

He got to the front door and then gave up on going outside. He didn't like sunny days anyways. Well, Oklahoma sunny days. Not hot enough. Not like home. Maybe he could listen to music, but that was shot down when the only thing he could find was Aunt Peach's old hurdy gurdy (it's a real instrument, look it up) recordings from her high school days.

What could he do! He slumped into an over stuffed arm chair covered in doilies and closed his eyes.

KNOCK! tap tap tap! KICK! scratch scratch!

Malcolm leaped up. Did he really fall asleep!! How lame. His summer was wasted with sleep. What woke him up? Was someone at the door? What was going on!

He shuffled to the door, not bothering to check the peep hole like his mother always strongly advised, and swung open the door. There standing on the door mat was . . .

Meerkat Minor Ch. 1

Malcolm didn't like oatmeal.
It was slimy and bulgy as it oozed down his throat. He stabbed at it with his pointer finger and watched as it rebounded back into place.

"Malcolm!" scolded his mother. "We are guests. Be polite."
Malcolm drew his hand back from his oatmeal, slouching in a well-practiced sulk.

He missed home. Back in South Africa he would have spent the morning searching for centipedes and munching on millipedes with his best friend Fritz. But here in Oklahoma, Malcolm wasn't having very much fun. Oatmeal was a boring breakfast.

"Malcolm, your Aunt Peach and I are going to visit a couple of friends. You stay within sight of her home, you understand?"
"Yes, ma'am." Aunt Peach wasn't his real aunt. She and his mother had been friends for so long, that Malcolm grew up calling her "aunt."
"We'll be home by dinner. Stay out of trouble. Read a book. Don't sulk."

Malcolm sighed. Oklahoma. What could he do in Oklahoma? He didn't have much hope. But being a young meerkat (a minor, so to speak), Malcolm hoped he would be able to find something to do. Maybe. Once he got rid of this oatmeal and found something more appetizing.

The Hare: Ch.7 The REAL End

"LET ME TELL YOU WHAT HAPPENED TO MY HEAD!" said ... (let me fill you in on a secret that is not a secret at all . . . i am not at all sure who is even supposed to be talking; i have read kelly's portion of the story 6 times and still get lost in the center of it all.)

SO, since i have NO idea who should be explaining their head trauma to whom, i will make an executive decision and say that the hare is asking Magnum what happened to his head, when in reality The Hare is the one with the broken crown and not the fearless Fleabler.

"LET ME TELL YOU WHAT HAPPENED TO MY HEAD!" shouted the Fleabler to the possibly royal hare.

Even to this day, no one is quite sure what caused the hare to faint, (which lapsed into a coma), perhaps it was the combination of the Fleablers voice mixed with the wind combing through the tall Gingerwood Grass, or the sound of the glass bottle blowers who worked in a factory across the river or perhaps it was the combination of it all, along with the bump on his very own head. The Hare's eyes froze on Magnum and rolled to the back of his head, closed and his whole body fell backward, like a falling tree. Magnum stood there shocked in mid-sentence, (which he did not finish), with his little Fleabler jaw agape.

Since then, Magnum goes and visits The Hare every day in the coma ward at the 3 Trees Hospital down by the willow bush across from Turnip's Tulip Farm. He brings fresh Gingerwood Grass in a vase every two days and reads the newspaper to his numb little friend. The doctor's say there is no hope for recovery, and since it has been six and a half years with no signs of rehabilitation or even an eye lid twitch, Magnum fears it is true. Still he remains faithful to his possibly royal friend (he still isn't sure) and because of his loyalty, other Hares have considered the Fleablers as friends more then enemies.

Two historians have since written about the The Hare and Fleabler and how their tragic story has brought together two wildly different communities. To this very day, they all celebrate the 4th of July together and even have a parade with a may pole.

The END

The Hare: The End

THE END
(Attention: This is not The End. Dana just needs to write an Ending. Then that will be The End)

The Hare Ch. 6

The Hare shot up *ba-zing!* and started spewing random facts at Magnum.
"The-square-root-of-pi-is-apple-flour-crispy-crust. Don't-look-a-shark-in-the-eyes-or-he'll-shrivel-into-salt. Bengal-tigers-have-8-toes..."

Magnum watched as The Hare's eyes got bigger and rounder and rolly-er (it is SO a word. Look it up. No, don't. Just continue reading). He was really questioning the validity of these facts, when The Hare seemed to get stuck.

"...Have-you-ever-seen-a-piano-fly? Of-course-you-haven't-don't-be-vain-vain-vain-vain-"
Magnum gave him a gentle bop on the nose with his helmet. (Don't worry. It didn't hurt. You must remember that Fleablers' helmets weigh no more than that piece of dust you see flying in the air before you now.) It weighed just enough to zip The Hare out of his repetition.

"I say!" he declared. "That was quite unnecessary. Ouch, that smarts."
"Did you become British in the last few seconds? And that did not hurt. Don't be a baby."
"Oy! 'ow dare you accuse me of bein' a baby!" The Hare still spoke in a British accent, only it had shifted from a high class British accent to a Cockney one. Or perhaps it was Australian. Magnum wasn't quite sure.
"I'm just going to ignore that. Why did you just call yourself a Fleabler? Judging from your height, fur, and badge that says 'I am a Hare, not a Fleabler', you are, in fact, a hare. Not a Fleabler."
"I never said that!" Iranian accent
"Yes you did!"
"Did not!" Southern accent
"Which one of us has that nasty bump on his head?"
"You." Sign Language
"Nice try. You're obviously not well if you keep switching languages like- Holy Macaroni!" Here, Magnum had a rather epiphanous epiphany (Look, if you keep challenging me on the words I use, we'll never finish this story. Which one of us is the writer here? Don't answer that.) The Hare must be one of a long line of Royal Bunnies! Magnum thought. The reigning family of Haredom! This might even be the prince! (Or at least a distant cousin.) Only royalty knew so many languages! (Or accents anyway.)

"I do not mean to interrupt, but what just happened in your head?" French accent. (Accen'!)
Magnum considered not saying anything, but decided that perhaps this Hare could bring peace betwixt their two rival tribes!
"Well..."