CHIP OFF THE OLD BLOCK

CHIP OFF THE OLD BLOCK

Published by Sahara Foley and Pamela Foley at
Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Pamela Foley

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Mike glanced at his watch, three after
one in the afternoon. Tammy, his girlfriend of four years, was
still at work. Mike was a construction worker, and the long, cold,
Nebraska winters found him reading, cooking, or doing anything to
keep him from going stir crazy. So far, this winter had been a long
and harsh one in Omaha.

He cracked another beer, then went back
to studying recipes, He was hungry for baked chicken and was trying
to find a recipe that he wouldn’t botch-up too much. As long as he
had a recipe to follow, or step-by-step directions on a package, he
had a fifty-fifty chance the meal would be edible.

“
Let’s see, two cups of
chopped broccoli and two cups of milk. Uh, and, ah, butter.” He
mumbled to himself, seated at a kitchen table strewn with cooking
books and utensils.

Running his hand through his short
brown hair, he looked up from the recipe. He was finding it
difficult to concentrate today. This was the first nice day of
winter. It was February 18th, and the day was bright sunshine with
a warm fitful breeze. The six inches of old, accumulated snow was
vigorously melting, and icicles were slowly growing from gutters in
long, lumpy lines. The sound of dripping water echoed between the
houses.

Distracted by the bright sun and
promise of spring, Mike opened the window over the kitchen table.
Because they lived in a basement apartment, the windows were only
nineteen inches-high and twenty-six inches wide. The screen-less
windows were placed high on the walls, near the ceiling, and hinged
on the topside. Mike gave a contented smile as he breathed a whiff
of fresh, crisp air. Using a butter knife, he propped the window
open, then sat back at his recipes.

Sipping his beer, he shivered as the
late winter air flowed into the small kitchen. But he didn’t want
to shut the window. Instead, he compromised by shrugging into a
jacket. Like most buildings shut up for five months or more, the
small basement apartment cried out for fresh air. Breathing the
fresh air, he realized how bad the place smelled. It really
stunk!

Setting his mind to the task at hand,
he turned over a bagged, whole chicken lying on the table. The
chicken was thawed, ready to go, and he was calculating the time
needed to bake it, when he heard a scraping noise. Glancing up, he
saw sitting in the open window, a black cat. There wasn’t anything
unusual about the cat being there, as loose cats roamed all over
the neighborhood. But this cat was unusual. The cat regarded him
with large, yellow eyes, and up between its ears he could barely
make out a floppy, black hat. The hat sat atop a mess of scraggly,
white hair, and below the hair Mike noticed two bright, green eyes,
and a small mouth. The green eyes stared down at him, as did the
large, yellow eyes of the cat.

Blinking rapidly in disbelief, Mike
looked down at his recipe books, then over at his opened beer can.
Slightly shaking his head, he glanced back up. The cat was still
there, and worse, so was the floppy hat and small head. All four
eyes were still glued on him. Before Mike could do or say anything,
the cat leaped down on an open spot on the table with a soft
thump.

Backpedaling as fast as he could, Mike
scooted his chair across the narrow room with a spine-tingling
screech, stopping with a bone-jarring smack into the sink! Barely
breathing, not moving, with a tight grip, he held his seat staring
wide-eyed back at the unlikely duo. The black cat gazed unflinching
back at him. The cat was huge! Mike figured the cat could weigh
more than twenty pounds, and with a bluish cast to its black
fur.

On the cat’s back was mounted a small
creature, with two arms, two legs who also gazed unflinching at
him. Mike’s heart jumped into his throat as the small creature
slowly dismounted from the cat with a groan. It stretched, bending
side to side, back to front, then loudly cracked its knuckles.
Pointing with a short, gnarled finger, and in a voice much too loud
for such a small creature, ordered, “You! Come over
here!”

Mike slammed his eyes shut. Listening
to his heart pounding, he wondered how much time he had left. He’d
told Tammy before that one day he would poison them with his
haphazard cooking, and now he had done it. He was having
hallucinations! He must have poisoned then with the pork chops he’d
cooked last night. Taking inventory of his body, he didn’t feel any
pain, but he didn’t know if you were supposed to with food
poisoning.

Taking a deep breath, he slowly opened
his eyes, peeking through his eyelashes. The cat-riding creature
was still there; legs spread apart, small hands clenched into tiny
fists, resting on tiny hips. And it was still staring at
him.

Mike was rubbing his eyes in disbelief,
when the cat moved its mouth, and a sound came out. “Overrr herrre
youerrr!” Mike blinked dumbly as the cat added,
“Nowerrr!”

After blinking rapidly several times,
Mike tightly shut eyes. Squeezing them closed as hard as he could,
feeling his heart pounding, he heard another sound over the loud
pounding of his heart, making him snap his eyes open.

The cat-rider was violently tapping its
foot while standing on a recipe book on the table. Again it pointed
a gnarled finger and loudly demanded in a high-pitched voice, “You
will move back over here Michael. . . John . . . Carlson! I have
much to tell you, and I don’t have all day to do it in! You surely
took long enough to open the window, young man. Why, I’ve been
working on you to open that window for over an hour
now!”

The cat made a face that had to be a
smile. “Tooerrr much glasseourrr!”

The small creature acknowledged with a
slight nod, “You’re right, Charlie. I’ve never been any good
working through glass, too much sand residue. I hate sand! Now
young man, move over here. What’re you afraid of?”

Mike thought of a thousand reasons, but
only mentioned one. He stammered in a tight voice, “I, I, uh, I’m
afraid that you’re really there! Uh, but, uh, I’m uh, also afraid
that you’re not!”

With a scowl, the creature stamped its
foot again. “Of course I’m here! Don’t be ridiculous, young man.
Now, are you moving back over here, or must I shout at
you?”

Mike blinked in indecision. The
white-haired creature was only six inches tall, and it certainly
didn’t look dangerous. He could crush it in one hand. But the cat
looked formidable, and it was in the process of licking one large,
front paw, then rubbing that paw up between its ears, watching him.
The cat looked like it could take on a good-sized dog, and Mike
wouldn’t have bet on the dog either!

The white-haired creature said in
indignation, “Of course he could whip a dog. If a dog ever bothered
us, that is. They never do, though. Now Michael, move back over
here like a good boy.”

Almost in a trance, in fits and starts,
Mike scooted and slid forward in his chair, screeching across the
linoleum floor. He held the seat with a white-knuckled grip. The
chair was solid. The chair was reassuring, like a life preserver.
And the chair was real!

He stopped about two feet away, not
wanting to get too close. His heart leapt again as he felt the
chair move on its own volition, closer to the table and the small,
scary creature. The chair kept moving, right up the edge of the
table and Mike went “Ooof!” as he was shoved forcefully into the
table.

The huge cat went, “Yeowrrr!” as it
stumbled, regaining its footing.

Picking itself off the table, the small
creature apologized, “Hush Charlie, I know. I’m sorry, Michael.
Move back from the table if you want. Sometimes I forget myself.”
Michael scooted back a foot, as the creature said, “And this
four-footed flophouse for fleas is no help at all!” The flea bitten
cat-rider scratched itself, as the huge, purring, black cat leaned
over and licked one of its rider’s tiny, pointed ears. The deep
purring echoed around the small kitchen.

Mike took a closer look at the
cat-rider. It was wearing light green pants, with tiny black boots.
The shirt was green, but a darker shade than the pants. It had tiny
gold rings on each finger, and a tiny gold pendant on a gold
necklace around its neck. Except for the pointy ears, it looked
like a small human.

The creature said defensively, “Of
course I’m human! What did you think I was?”

Mike kept quiet, hoping any minute he’d
wake up and these two would be gone.

It was looking up at Mike as he studied
it. The creature exclaimed, “Enough! I’m human, but smaller than
you’re used to is all. I’m called Grizelda by my
friends.”

The cat snickered and made a sound
like, “Humph!”

Grizelda said to her cat, “Okay, so I
don’t have any friends! So what? Now, stop interrupting me.”
Turning to Mike, she explained, “We are real, Michael. We are not
figments of your imagination, or hallucinations from food
poisoning. Now, listen to me. I knew your great-great-great
grandfather back in Ireland, oh, uh, well; it was long ago. I told
him my story back then, but he never retold my story to his family
or friends as I told him to do.”

Mike thought,
And neither will I.

Grizelda retorted, “Well, if you don’t,
then eventually I’ll have to go see one of your children. Someone
must know my story, Michael. Everything I have been through for
centuries must not be allowed to go unknown.”

Finding his voice, Mike asked in a
high-pitched squeak, “Why me?”

Grizelda explained, “Because you happen
to be of my own blood. Of course, my bloodline has been pretty
watered down by now. You see Michael; most folks can look right at
me but not see me. I’m just something they briefly glimpse from the
corner of their eyes. It’s the same way as when they look at old
Charlie here. He looks like a big cat to them, so they don’t really
see him either. But you now, you can see me. So, that proves my
bloodline is running in you.”

Looking at his beer can again he
blinked and shook his head. “How can I be from your bloodline?
You’re, uh, well, uh, small!”

Grizelda waved a small hand
dismissively, “Oh pshaw! I wasn’t always like this you know.” With
a faraway look in her green eyes, she said, “I was once a young,
beautiful woman. I had a fine husband, and a lover. In those days,
that’s the way life went. My lover was one of the old Gods from
Mount Olympus. I was a young woman before Egypt, or Rome, or any
history that your kind is taught today.” Perking up, pointing at
the empty beer can, she asked, “Say. Is that ale?” Mike shook his
head as she softly said, “My, my, my, I would love to have some of
that. Haven’t had any ale since, well, since, uh, a long time
now.”

Again the cat went, ”Humph!”

“
Oh hesh up, Charlie! What’s
the matter for you? You ain’t one second younger than I am! In fact
boyo, you’re older!”

Taking the hint, Mike carefully stood.
He opened another beer. Rummaging through the cabinet searching for
a container small enough for the tiny woman to drink out of, he
mumbled to himself, “I’m going to wake up any minute and feel
really stupid!”

Grizelda said impatiently, “Oh come on,
Michael. Just pour some ale in this here bowl for old Charlie. I
got me own cup.”

Mike peered back at the table. There
sat a speckled, blue, metal bowl and the small woman was holding
out a speckled, blue, metal cup. He was sure the bowl and cup
hadn’t been there before, but that really didn’t matter. None of
what was happening was real. He must be having a daydream. He
didn’t usually have strange dreams. That was Tammy’s department.
Tammy excelled at weird dreams, but this time, it was his turn. And
this one was a real doozy!