Tuesday, April 19, 2011

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.

Saturday, April 2, 2011

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.