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]