As we rejoin our story...

It was dawn on Sunday, the day of the big Flea Market. The grass in
the yard was silvered with dew, and the Blue Jays were busy at the
feeders.The white tailed deer in the forest behind the house were
browsing for their breakfast among the new berries. The flowers all
began to lift their faces, waiting for the sun to peep over the edge
of the hemlocks.The hoomin's vegetable garden was covered with bright
orange squash and pumpkin blossoms, so vivid they almost glowed like
morning stars. The air was still, and full of birdsong. The crickets
began their song.

And in their hammy, Ping is He and Puma had passed a miserable night.
"Never again," said Puma. I will never go into the fireplace again. I
feel gritty."

"It's even gritty between my toes," said Ping "but we do look like
rare black Russian minks!"

"No..." said Puma. "We look like two jet black ferrets who leave ashy
footprints everywhere we go. There are a million of our footprints on
the floors. What will the hoomins think?"

"I think they'll get out the Swiffer!" giggled Ping.

Puma knuckled one dirty black paw into her sleepy eyes which looked
*startlingly* white by comparison, and said "Where are the Otters?"

Ping said "I heard them leave a little while ago to go get the kid's
plastic wading pool from next door."

"Ah..."

And things began to happen very quickly after that. The Otters did
indeed return with the (borrowed!) kiddy wading pool. Empty, it made a
bad noise as they dragged it up the dirt and gravel of the driveway,
but no hoomins appeared to be interested in the noise. All of the
paw-lettered signs and the cardboard honor box were loaded into the
big bucket in front of the tractor along with the wading pool. The
Otters were able to load France's plastic habitat box in, too.

France herself, being nocturnal, was exceedingly grumpy at the prospect
of spending the *day* trying to earn money as a Petting Zoo exhibit.
This was her bedtime, and she was gently placed in the tractor's bucket
wrapped in a towel from which her mumbling could still be heard,
although in muffled form. Everyone wished the towel was a bit more
muffling.

Allis Chompers began her journey to the Harrington Farm, where she
would meet with the sheep who was willing to be herded by her in the
'Border Collie Demonstrations', and the two of them would walk through
the woods to the grounds of the Flea Market. There simply wasn't room
on the tractor for everyone!

The Otters opted to ride in the bucket with France in her little towel
bundle and Sterling the Silver cat, who had decided that his artificial
spots were quite handsome. He said they still smelled faintly of the
Sharpie pen that made them, but that the smell was much more tolerable
than it had been previously. Then he said nervously "Do you think it's
safe for me to groom with this stuff in my fur? I haven't groomed since
yesterday, and I feel like an unmade bed." The First Otter considered
the matter and said "We could remove the spots with nail-polish remover
this evening, after the Flea Market is over." At that Sterling hissed
and spat and it was the Second Otter who was peacemaker, insisting that
his brother had made an ill-considered joke. Of *course* nobody would
consider treating Sterling with nail polish remover! The Second Otter
gave his brother a very stern look as he said that, but the First Otter
continued to look more mischievous then repentant, and it was a little
while before Sterling was calm once more. But his eyes glowed a deeper
shade of green for quite some time and he did indeed resemble a wild
cat!

Then it was time for Ping and Puma to start the tractor, which had
been sitting, neglected, for quite some time ever since the crack in
the front axle had been detected. Ping slotted the gear shift into
'Neutral' with a heave of his strong shoulders, and Puma turned the
key in the ignition. The starter motor whined and whined and whined,
the iron frame of the tractor shook, and everyone imagined that crack
getting a little deeper, a little more deadly. The first pop of black
smoke belched from the exhaust, to be followed rapidly by half a dozen
more, and the wounded tractor roared into life, it's great greasy heart
thumping and pistoning beneath its battered green hood. The birds all
flew away in terror, dropping the seed away from their beaks as they
flew. It landed on the ground, abandoned. The crickets in the long
grass were all startled to silence, and in the forest, the deer stood
still and listened....

More Tomorrow
Alexandra in MA

[Posted in FML 5707]