A Sprinkling of Thought Dust
Page 5
NOT A CREATURE WAS STIRRING
Electrum perched on a rung and circled his arm around the table leg for balance. The house was sticky warm and the flat smell of indoor humans made his mouth dry.
The woman passed from one room to another, closing curtains, arranging cushions, and picking up half empty glasses and plastic toys.
From upstairs came the sound of laughter and roaring as the father chased Trevor down the hall.
She paused by Electrum’s table. “Bedtime, boys,” she called up the stairs. Her voice was pleasant with a hint of laughter, but the smell of plastic blending with her perfume made him want to sneeze.
He rubbed his nose and shifted uneasily. The whoops and thumping upstairs gradually quieted into muffled laughter. His chances of success would have been better with the girl. He wished he had more time, but the kittens needed someone now.
As the father came down the stairs, Electrum folded his wings tightly to hide any glimmer.
The parents settled onto a sofa in the other room and stared at lights and moving pictures in a box. Electrum’s nose exploded in a sneeze, but it wasn’t heard over the noise. A voice from the box droned like a lazy bee. The flight jacket was now stifling. His eyes closed and he rested his head against the table leg.
He dozed and dreamed of sleeping under heavy blankets in his hammock. The air was heavy and still. His throat felt dry and it was hard to breathe. Feeling himself falling he snapped awake and grabbed for the hammock. Instead his hands connected with the polished table leg. His fingers bumped over the elaborate carvings in the wood as he tumbled down the leg and hit the floor with a startled cry.
Alarmed, he scrambled behind the table. A trail of sparkles on the floor led to his hiding place. Only his ears shifted as he listened, but there was no sign anyone had noticed. Perhaps they had fallen asleep also. Slowly his muscles relaxed. He wasn’t looking forward to the flight home.
Finally the noise from the box stopped. The parents turned off the lights and went to bed. The house became quiet except for the soft ticking of the clock as it marked the minutes to midnight.
Finally he shifted and stretched. Once again he took on the shape of a gray cat and padded up the carpeted stairs to the bedrooms on the second floor.
Loud snoring came from the first room. Crouching low, he crept past the open doorway. At the end of the hall, he stopped and hesitated. His ears twitched back, and a thin spray of sparkles scattered into the air. Still quiet.
He entered the boy’s room. Holding his breath, he picked a path across the rug where plastic reptiles and armored warriors waged a battle.
The boy lay sleeping, his breathing was even and rhythmic. A turned back corner of the quilt revealed sheets with flying beasts bordering the edge. What was the fascination with ugly reptiles?
With a bound he landed noiselessly on the dark blue quilt. A chilly breeze through the open window made the curtain flap. Flickers of moonlight caught and reflected off the printed pattern of white stars, comets, and galaxies on the cloth.
The boy stirred in his sleep. The scattered freckles across his face reminded him of Silverthorn, but this boy had red highlights in his closely cropped hair.
Electrum resumed his pookah form. He removed his hat and shook it over the sleeping boy. Silver and gold dust drifted down and settled on his face. Some spilled on the quilt making the printed stars twinkle.
The pookah grinned with satisfaction. He flew over to the window which was open a crack. Obviously the boy had Silverthorn’s love for the cold air. He pushed on the screen. It didn’t budge. The rustle of sheets and a loud sigh sent a bead of sweat down his wing. Feeling panic rising, he grasped the mesh and tugged. A gust of cold air blew in his face clearing his head.
He pulled his dagger from his boot scabbard and sliced through the mesh making a small hole. With wings folded tight he squeezed through, but his hat caught on the screen. Thought dust spilled over the windowsill and his hat drifted away.
He shoved the mesh back in place and flew after his hat. It was floating on an updraft. With a deft movement he snatched it out of the air and clamped it firmly on his head.
Taking deep breaths of fresh air, he flew off to check on the kittens. They would need to be on the porch for his plan to work. Then he could go home.
Trevor stirred in his sleep, rolled over, and sat up in confusion.
“What a dream,” he said softly. He slipped on his fleece jacket. By the time he located his slippers, his feet were cold. It felt good to curl his toes in the flannel lining.
When he reached the living room, he pushed a hassock in front of the door. It wobbled as he balanced and squinted through the peephole. On the porch, a small kitten looked up at the door. Its mouth opened in a silent mew.
The hassock thumped as Trevor jumped down. Just like in my dream, he thought. His slippers made a soft rubbing noise as he shuffled to the refrigerator. He poured milk into a bowl. In his hurry, it slopped over the side and he grabbed paper towels to sop up the mess.
His mother called down the stairs, “Trevor, are you up?”
“Just getting some milk,” he called back.
“Okay, but hurry back to bed.”
“Okay, Mom.”
He opened the door and flinched as the hinges squeaked. The little brown tiger kitten looked up with wild, frightened eyes. In its haste to get away, it stumbled over its feet. Hissing and spitting it retreated to the top step. The fur on its scrawny tail and skinny body fluffed out. It looked like a quivering ball of angora yarn shot with static.
The liquid sloshed in the bowl as Trevor set it down. He called softly, “Come on little brown cat. Come and get some milk.”
He stood up slowly and eased back into the house. Squeezing behind the sofa, he poked his head around the curtain. Wind ruffled the tiger kitten’s fur as he took timid steps forward and stretched out his neck to sniff the bowl. He inhaled the milk and shook his head, sneezing in rapid little explosions. At first he had more milk on his face than in his mouth as he tried to figure out how to drink from the bowl. It took him several tries, but soon he was lapping up the liquid.
Suddenly another little kitten appeared. It was the same color, but spots dotted its fur. By the time they finished the milk, the kittens had stopped shaking. Soon they were chasing each other and tumbling in the grass.
“I shall call you Brownie,” Trevor whispered. “Just like in my dream. Brownie and Bobcat. Well, maybe just Bob.”