Wednesday, December 23, 2009

A Christie Pet Christmas Carol continued...

Part III. The Ghost of Christmas Present

Instead of listening to her Lady, Hell Hound booked down the staircase and hid under the old coffee table in the parlor. She needed some time to think about what just happened to Princess Leah, and what it could all mean. The room was not dark. On the contrary, it was bathed in light. The Christmas tree was lit in full splendor.


What was that strange sound, wondered the dog. Had Sant-e-dog come and caught her near the tree?

"RrrRumbug!" shouted the dog. She realized the voice could only be that of Norman Whiskers, the impostor PETA sergeant who has been plotting to kill Hell Hound since the moment of his arrival just after the new year 2009, on her Lady's birthday. Why her Lady would bring home such a present for herself was beyond the dog's understanding.

"I guess having a Hell Hound was not good enough for my Lady. She needed a Norman Whiskers too," the dog grumbled.

"Come in, Shirley Dog!" shouted the voice.

Rolling her eyes, Hell Hound stepped into the light in front of the great tree.

"My name is not ..." started the dog.

"I know who you are, Hell Hound. I just like to pull your chain. Meow How How How!"

"It's HO HO, cat. HO HO!" said the dog.

"I know, I know, my lips can't make that noise. Anyway, dog, I have to do something for you tonight, or else my tail is cooked by the great Lion. Besides, you are starting to grow on me a little. SO, I am the Magnificent Ghost of Christmas Present, come to save you from exploding."

"Exploding?" Hell Hound was confused.

Just then a pile of MEATZ appeared beneath the great cat, who was pushed up almost six feet in the air, until his crown touched the ceiling. The cat's ears pointed into the shape of horns and a mischievous grin twisted his lips.

"Eat, Hell Hound! You shall surely eat until you explode!" laughed the cat.

Hell Hound did try to eat the meatz. Indeed, it was the most fantastic pile of beef she had ever seen, and then it was gone.

A roaring voice shook the room.


"OK, OK, sorry Lion. Where was I? Oh, yes," stammered the cat.

"Grab my tail, BRUTE!" Mr. Whiskers commanded.

Hell Hound did as she was told, and closed her eyes tightly. When she opened them, Hell Hound discovered that Norman Whiskers had led her into the laundry room.

The dog sighed.

"What do you plan to do, stuff me in the dryer? I 'm too fat. Give it up, cat. I'm not going anywhere. Maybe this story should be about you and your various attempts to murder me throughout the past year."

"SHHHHHH!" scolded the cat. Then, composing himself once again, Mr. Norman Whiskers, the GREAT Ghost of Christmas Present opened his furry robe. A small black thing with a head rolled out of it and rested at the front paws of Hell Hound, who leaped back in horror.

"What the %!#*$ is that thing, cat!" yelped the dog.

Mr. Whiskers, clearing his throat, replied, "Silly dog, get thee to a pound! This is the child of all naughty dogs. His name is SOCK WANT. He exists because you steal socks."

Hell Hound recoiled in horror. The little sock cat hissed and revealed pointy teeth.

"65,433,000 socks have perished because of you, You, YOU!" hissed the little sock head.

Hell Hound covered her eyes in torment. "I'm so sorry!" she wailed.

Norman Whiskers smiled.

"Come, let us see this Christmas!" shouted the cat. With that, he snapped Hell Hound in the face with his furry robe.

When Hell Hound came to her senses, it was Christmas morning. The Christie children were opening their presents in a 4 a.m. frenzy. As little Baby Bigfoot paused at his stocking, a tear rolled down his cheek and his pink lips began to quiver.

"Spirit," tell me, "muttered the dog, "will Baby Bigfoot get his Christmas candy this year?"

The cat looked solemn. "I see an empty teddy bear stocking with his name on it," the cat said.


When Hell Hound awoke, she was lying on her dog bed, crying softly. She could hear the clock striking 3 a.m. in the dining room.

With visions of her naughtiness spinning around in her brain, Hell Hound found it hard to sleep. When she closed her eyes, all she could picture were the meatballs she stole off Milk Man's dinner plate last night. Hell Hound smacked her forehead with her paw. She knew in her furry heart that the time had come for her to mellow out, and stop swiping food, but OH those meatballs were so good!

After tossing and turning for an hour, the dog decided to go outside and get some air.

The little cat playing "sock want" comes from the site icanhasacheeseburger?

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Dear Internet Traveler,

Welcome to my writer's blog, started about six years ago for fun. Over time, the writing I have posted has ranged from personal reflection, to Long Island history research, to tall tales for my own amusement, to feature articles for local newspapers. As you can see from topics listed here, I travel in many mental directions in regard to interests. Click on the tabs and labels to explore my strange mind which senses that you may be having a criss-cross day. If so, perhaps this blog will distract you. However, please note that if you tell me my blog is beautiful just to get me to advertise rhinoplasty surgery and cheap drugs from Canada in your comment, I will ask the gods to give you a tail that cannot be concealed.


Loren Christie

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