When we left off yesterday...It was a springtime night in New England.
The air was sweet, and soft against your cheek.  Look up, and you could
see the lacy silhouette of maple flowers against a full moon.  In the
distance, you could hear those tiny frogs with the mighty voices, the
Spring Peepers, singing their songs of love in the gritty, cold mud.
 
After a few minutes of stealthy sneak and peek work, Ping is He had
located the objects strewn about the moonlit lower driveway that Miss
Lily demanded of him.  A can of ether, the small tin of Marvel Mystery
Oil (No, I'm not making the name up!) the grease gun, and a fresh tube
of grease.  He climbed up into the seat of the John Deere 1949 Model B
tractor to report his success to Miss Lily.  It is a long scramble!  It
involves climbing up the tread of one of the enormous back tires, and
then jumping onto the main iron body of the tractor, and from there it's
pretty easy to get into the seat.
 
Ping is He arrived breathlessly to report the results of his successful
scavenger hunt to Miss Lily, who was waiting patiently curled up in the
seat, tail to nose to keep warm.
 
"I found it all, just like you said!  But how are we ever going to work
that grease gun, Ma'am?  It looks pretty-"
 
At that point, the unthinkable happened.  Something that had NEVER, EVER,
happened before on one of these nocturnal outings.  Out of the shadows, a
tall figure shuffled, clad in a long flannel nightgown, a hastily
buttoned wool sweater, and Birkenstock sandals.  It was a HOOMIN!  It was
the MOM!  She came closer, and the moonlight sparkled rubies on her long,
bed-rumpled, red hair.  (Box number R R 07, Because I'm Worth It.) One
further step forward, and her face was revealed.  She did NOT look happy.
She spoke!
 
"You must think I'm stupid, Lily.  I knew you were just waiting for the
first nice night to teach Ping how to use the tractor."
 
The smaller of the two ferrets, trying to look as dim-witted as possible,
perched there in the seat of the 1949 John Deere Model B tractor...a
position that left little room for deniability looked the Hoomin straight
in the eye, cleared her throat, and enunciated clearly "Dook-doook-dook!"
 
The Hoomin sighed deeply, crossed her arms before her and said "Yeah.
Dook-dook-dook to you to.  What, you think I came out here to give you
a raisin or something?"  Both ferrets gazed at her with as innocent an
expression as possible, difficult under these circumstances .Another deep
sigh from the Hoomin.
 
"Right," the Hoomin said, "you're going to need this." She pulled a
square of blankie crocheted by the excellent Diddy from the right sleeve
of her sweater, swirled it around Lily, and fastened it at the small
ferret's throat with a tiny gold safety pin.  "In case you forgot, you
are *sick*", said the Hoomin.  Then the Hoomin stepped back and fumbled
beneath her sweater for a few moments, saying "And I believe you forgot
someone..." She pulled a dark blue knitted ski-mask out from under her
sweater, and gently placed it in the seat of the tractor along with the
large and the small (now robed) ferret.  Upon contact with the seat, the
curiously bulging cap gave a hiss, and was distinctly heard to utter a
muffled "I 'ate you...I 'ate hoomins...I 'ate tractors..."
 
More Tomorrow
Alexandra in MA
[Posted in FML issue 4861]