Painting the Roses Red

Since the new series:

Of Thursday Prompts don't start up till February, I took it upon myself to come up with one this week. Opening the dictionary and poking my finger down at a random location, however, gave me "Munsee: one of the two Algonquin languages of the Delaware peoples."

Further down that same column, though, was "mural" which made me think of painting which made the phrase "painting the roses red" pop into my head. So I used that for what turns out to be the 46th installment of Neighbors, our ongoing saga hereabouts. The previous sections are as follows: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, and 45. And here's the next!

We made quite the parade that morning.

     I'd asked Honoria and Serena to wait outside for me to 

get dressed and have my breakfast, but as soon as El Brujo and 

I wheeled through the side door at Chrysalis House, down they 

swooped, the crow passing over once to let Serena drop from 

her claws, then circling back to settle on my shoulder.  El 

Brujo already took up most of my lap, but Serena caught hold 

of my jacket as she fell, swung herself into a head-downward 

position, her tail just tickling the tip of my chin.  

"Onward!" she announced.

     For my part, I would've preferred something a bit 

subtler, but, well, I was apparently in the minority.  Even El 

Brujo was grinning as only a cat can.  "Indeed.  And how 

rude we've been, keeping our associates waiting!"

     Shaking my head just made both Serena's tail and 

Honoria's wings brush against me, so I stopped.  I grabbed the 

rims, rolled us down the sidewalk toward the Ramsays' place, 

and tried not to flinch when one of the hundreds of SUVs 

infesting the neighborhood slowed on passing us just long 

enough for me to catch a glimpse of the driver's astonished 

face staring out the passenger side window.

Incorporation

This, chapter 45, marks the conclusion of the Thursday Prompts over at Poetigress's place. Starting is February, Duroc will be taking 'em over, but for the upcoming month of January, I'll be slapping chapters together on my own!

Still, you can read the earlier bits of this whole thing by choosing appropriately from the following selections--1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, and 44--and we'll all meet back here next week for Part 46!

Oh, and the final prompt? "Saying goodbye."

     Now, I'd like to say that I woke up the next morning ready 

to take on the world, ready to kick my fears down the stairs, 

chuck my doubts out the window, give the butterflies in my 

stomach the ol' heave-ho and face the future with firm chin and 

steely eyes.

     But, well, I'm trying to be honest in this whole thing, 

aren't I?  So instead, I've gotta admit I woke up bleary-eyed, 

choking, and itchy, a fair portion of El Brujo's considerable 

bulk spread over my face.

     Have I mentioned she sheds in her sleep?

     This led to some flailing, sneezing and gasping on my part 

and some growling, sniffing and recriminations from El Brujo: 

"Were you humans not so devoid of sensible fur, you'd no doubt 

suffer far fewer allergic reactions."

     Falling into my chair, I somehow got myself down the hall 

to the bathroom, scraped away the layers of dander and dried cat 

spit till I found my face, scrubbed it with the hottest water I 

could stand, and rolled back into my bedroom only to see Serena 

and Honoria perched on the windowsill, El Brujo seated like some 

Egyptian statue on my pillow.  "Well??" Honoria shrieked, waving 

her wings so wildly, she would've knocked Serena right over 

backwards if the squirrel hadn't ducked.  "We going into 

business or what??"

Night Thoughts

The penultimate Thursday Prompt from Poetigress was "illumination," and my response to it forms chapter 44 in our continuing saga--I think the overall title's gonna be Neighbors, actually.

If you'd like to read the previous bits first, they are as follows:1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, and 43.

And then comes this one.

     Rolling home, using the key I'd forgotten I even had to 

unlock the side door, riding up in the elevator, spending what 

felt like half an hour convincing Serena that she had to sleep 

outside in the bougainvillea rather than tucked up in bed with 

me and El Brujo, muscling myself in and out of the shower before 

crawling into bed and finally closing my eyes for the night, I 

couldn't stop El Brujo's words from rattling around inside my 

head like the little ball in a can of spray paint.

     I mean, who was I to try bringing sense and stability into 

someone else's life?  Half-paralyzed, abandoned except for the 

checks Dad sent every month to pay for my upkeep here at 

Chrysalis House, my brain and nervous system either so tangled 

that I could communicate with animals more easily than people, 

or else so shredded that I simply imagined they were 

talking to me, and here I was thinking I could be helpful!

     "August," El Brujo's voice rumbled from the end of the bed.  

"Don't grind your teeth so.  It's quite disturbing."

Prospects

For those of you who may have joined us late, this is part 43 of an apparent 75-part saga the first 45 parts of which have been and will be inspired by the Thursday Prompt, soon to be running its course over at Poetigress's place. So, as you might surmise, there have been 42 previous parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, and 42.

This one, though, comes to us courtesy of the phrase "a friend in need."

     "Such an interesting question," El Brujo said, her grin so 

huge, she practically did a Cheshire Cat and vanished behind it.  

"Whom do you consider the cleverer species, August: dogs or 

squirrels?"

     Very aware of Serena clinging to my upper arm and Heather 

sitting in Deena's lap, their ears perking in a way I found both 

cute and menacing, I was forced to fall back into the last 

refuge of the scoundrel: literal honesty.  "I've never trained a 

dog before," I told Deena.

Sidestepping the Avalanche

Douglas Adams aside, this is part 42 of this whole big thing I'm doing inspired by the Thursday Prompt from Poetigress. That means there have been 41 previous installments, and they run as follows: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, and 41.

This week's prompt? "A battlefield."

     Between the two of them, Deena and Mr. Schwarber managed to 

lift my chair down the step into the living room.  "I'll get 

some plywood or something and put a ramp in," Mr. Schwarber 

said, straightening with a grunt.

     They both took seats, then, Deena on the couch again with 

Heather, the little dog's tail a happy blur, and her father in a 

brownish-yellowish recliner that I'm guessing didn't recline 

anymore, the way it had a couple chunks of two-by-four shoved in 

along the back edge.  I rolled across the carpet, its shag thick 

enough to pull at my wheels like damp grass, and fetched up on 

the other side of the coffee table from Deena, her smile making 

me feel--

     Well, making me feel, I guess, something I hadn't 

done among humans in a long, long time.  With animals, see, it's 

always a flood of emotion, like Heather with her boundless 

enthusiasm or El Brujo's layer of feline disdain over the depths 

of her love and devotion.  Humans, though--and I'll be the first 

to admit my experiences in this area aren't exactly average--

humans make everything much more a battlefield.

And Out the Other Side

So, again, the previous bits of all this are numbered 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, and 40. Which means this is the 41st in this series inspired by the Thursday Prompts over at Poetigress's place. This week's phrase was "every day."

     A sudden scrabbling of claws on wood somewhere behind me, 

and Heather's little yipping voice: "Mr. Augie's inside!  And 

the El Brujo kitty!  And my favorite squirrel friend Serena!  

Please, Deena's dad!  Let me in!  I'm all done pooping and 

peeing now!"

     Deena perked up.  "Dad, can you--?"

     "Here she comes," Mr. Schwarber said from the kitchen, 

and the creak of a door led immediately to a frantic clickety-

clickety-click across the linoleum.

     "Mr. Augie!  El Brujo!  Serena!"  Even in animal speech, 

Heather managed to make our names one continuous blur.  She 

streaked brownish-gold past my chair and sprang into Deena's 

arms.  "I'm so, so sorry that I had to go outside and away 

from you when you're feeling so sad!" the little dog cried out 

with each lick at Deena's face.  "I tried to hold my poop 

inside me, but it can get insistent!"

     Serena gave a grave little twitch of her ears, her first 

movement in what felt like hours.  "That is very true."

     El Brujo sighed.  "I'm learning so much today."

Reality

I'm ready to call this whole thing: it'll run 75 parts of which this is part 40. The previous parts are 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, and 39, and it's all being inspired week by week by the Thursday Prompt over at Poetigress's place. The word this week was "fall."

     Following Mr. Schwarber through the garage, I refused to 

let myself think about what might happen when I got inside.  "Be 

cautious," El Brujo had said, settled big as a throw pillow on 

my lap, and I knew she was right.  Worrying about what might 

happen was worse than useless because, well, it was less than 

the shadow of a passing breeze until it actually happened.  

     If, y'know, breezes had shadows...

     But, see, the thing was: Serena was right, too.  Still 

clinging to the front of my jacket, her tail jittering in rhythm 

with her words, she was muttering, "All will be well!  All will 

be well!" over and over again.  Blind baseless hope is one 

thing, but evidence-based optimism, that was something else.