"Okay," Tommy said, "but you have to promise not to laugh. He doesn't like it when you laugh."

"Ooo. I'm soo scared." Billy made a face. "C'mon, let me see it."

Tommy took a long length of string with a loop in it from out of his pocket. Kneeling in the grass, he stuck the loop through the zippered opening of his backpack on the ground in front of him.

"Norman," he said, "put that around your neck."

Tommy waited. "Oh, c'mon, Norman. Just do it. You'll be ok."

Billy put his hands on his hips. The sarcasm in his young voice was biting. "You talk to him? What does he do, talk back?"

Tommy said, "Yeah, sometimes."

Billy laughed. "You're so full of crap. Do you even have anything in that bag at all?"

Tommy whispered into the opening, "C'mon. He doesn't believe you're in there. You're making me look bad. Come on out. I'll keep you safe."

Tommy held his hand over the opening, palm turned toward the ground. A tiny set of claws touched the top of the opening. A second later, Norman's upside-down green head appeared. He held himself there underneath the top of the bag, looking around. The loop of string was around his neck.

"Oh, neat," Billy said. "You got a lizard!"

Tommy paused. "Well, um… yeah, sort of."

"C'mon out, buddy." Billy held his face close, grinning from ear to ear. "Lizards are so cool. My cousin has a monitor lizard, and he let me feed him this big rat. He swallowed it right down! It was so gross, it was great!"

Slowly, Norman crawled out onto the underside of Tommy's hand.

Billy said, "Turn him over, so I can get a good look."

Tommy blurted, "No way! He'd fall away."

Billy scrunched up his face. "'Fall away?' What're you talking about?"

Tommy searched for the right words. "He's gravity-challenged. If I turned him over, he'd fall upwards into the sky and never stop. He'd die up in outer space, or something."

Billy laughed again. "You are so full of shit. Like that could happen."

Norman twitched.

"Stop it!" Tommy insisted. "He doesn't like it when you laugh at him, and he doesn't like swearing. You're making him mad."

"Fine." Billy crossed his arms. "Can I hold him?"

"No."

"Oh, come on. I'll keep him safe."

Tommy paused. "Do you promise?"

"Okay."

"Cross your heart?"

"I said yes."

"Cross your heart, and have to kiss Mrs. Murdow the lunch lady?"

Billy made a retching noise. "Ew! She's gross."

"Promise!"

"Fine, I promise."

Billy held out his hand and Tommy carefully pushed Norman out to the underside of Billy's. Billy looked at him close.

"He just looks like a salamander or gecko or something."

Tommy shrugged. "We'll he's not."

"He's just some shitty little green lizard."

"Stop swearing!"

"Maggoty, puke-green, runt. That's what he looks like."

"Stop it!"

"Fine! I'll stop insulting your precious little buddy." Billy smiled slyly and turned his hand over. "Oops!"

Norman flew up into the air.

Billy was wide-eyed.

Tommy grabbed at the string leash.

Tommy's father frowned at the head of the dinner table. "So, what happened today?"

Tommy looked down. "I took Norman to school."

His mother gasped. "You didn't!"

Tommy said, "Sammy Goldman brought his pet tarantula to school and everybody kept going on and on about how cool it was. Norman is way cooler… so I brought him."

His father looked very stern. "And then what happened?"

"I had him out on the playground--"

His mother's voice was sharp. "Outside?"

Tommy's voice was small. "Yes. I was showing him to Billy and he made him fall up. He did it on purpose! Billy laughed at him and called him names!"

His father's voice was angry now. "Then what happened?"

Tommy swallowed. "It made Norman really mad. He blew."

His mother crossed herself.

His father shouted, "What happened to Billy?"

Tommy whispered, "Only his shoes were left. Everybody ran and hid in the school. The police thought it was an underground gas leak that exploded."

"Thomas de Bayeux, you go to your room this instant!"

Tommy's knock on the linen closet door was gentle. "Norman, can I talk to you?"

There was no answer, so Tommy slowly opened the door. Norman was on the underside of one of the shelves, curled up inside an old blanket that was stapled to it.

"I'm sorry, Norman."

Norman didn't move.

"Norman? I said I was sorry."

Norman's raspy voice scolded, "I haven't breathed on someone since the year 1066. Once I was revered among your people, so honored they took their name from me. Now, I'm brought out for show and tell like a shiny bauble. A possession. As if!"

Norman stuck his head out of the blanket. "It is your responsibility to care for my needs, to protect me, and to be my companion, until you have a son or daughter of your own to pass me on to, and then to their offspring in turn, until time ends. This was the oath of Odo that I might help him and his half-brother, William, in their conquests."

Tommy looked at his shoes. "I'm sorry."

There was a long pause while Norman looked him over. "So, what have you learned?"

"What do you mean?"

"What has Billy's death taught you?"

Tommy's face was confused. "Not to take you to school?"

Norman rolled his eyes. "No! That your actions have consequences! Billy's death is your fault, and you will carry that knowledge your entire life. You must think before you act, or someone may die. You must protect your family's secret, with your life if you must."

"Oh," Tommy said quietly. "I understand."

Tommy closed the door.

And, Norman added to himself, that a dragon deserves respect.

Humans are such primitive pets.

Breakfast Cereal Commercials. Most parents blame them; Reggie Webber, age eight, was grateful for one particular one.

"… New Purple People Cereal! Made with Sucralose so your parents don't have to worry about the sugar! You'll love them - they're yummy!"

So blared the TV throughout the Adventures of the Purple People cartoon show. So, of course, Reggie 'had' to have them when they went shopping. Mrs. Webber shrugged. The cereal was no health food, but it wasn't the worst thing on the shelf either. Reggie was a good kid and really had modest wishes anyway, so $13.77 of cereal a week was not something to fret over. Reggie snuck a box into his room so he could eat while watching the cartoon show on the TV in his room before everyone else was up. Mr. Webber taught his son how to set ant traps, and a little carpet cleaner every month or so could handle the rest.

On the Saturday before Easter, Reggie finished his show, but then a voice sounded.

"Reggie… Come down to help decorate the eggs!"

He rushed downstairs, forgetting to put his cereal away in his drawer. The bowl on the bed-tray had a few bites left floating in a bit of leftover milk.

Reggie worked hard on the eggs for a whole hour. Mr. Webber adjourned to hide the plastic eggs for the following day, and Reggie was free again, so he went back to his room.

The bowl was clean. Everything else in the room was the same.

Now, Reggie was a bright boy, but he couldn't figure this out. He remembered rushing down to help prepare for Easter, and was *sure* he'd been called away before finishing. But since everything else in the room was fine, this felt like a Detective Jerry show, so he didn't tell his parents. Pretending to be the hero of the show, he got down on hands and knees and Snooped For Clues. (Detective Jerry always did his Snooping on hands and knees, because the clues that Adults left were always on the ground. )

Reaching into the closet where he threw his dirty laundry when he was supposed to be cleaning his room, Reggie stuck his hand under a mound of tshirts and felt around. Something licked his fingers, which were still sugary from Easter Egg glazing.

"Glaaah!" yelped Reggie.

The voice floated up the stairs, "Reggie, did you say something?"

"Uh… No Mom. I just … uh… knocked over something in my room."

"Okay sweetie".

This was definitely a Clue! Real careful, Reggie shone a flashlight into the closet and poked at the tshirts. The pile moved. A purple snout with a little horn and one baleful eye peered out.

"Awww. You're cute. Let me lock the door so Mom won't see you." So done, the purple creature emerged with a little coaxing. It was about the size of a portable heating unit with the approximate build of the smaller dinosaurs Reggie had seen on a trip to the museum. On its back were neatly folded purple wings. The creature shook loose a cramp and flew little circles around the room.

Reggie was delighted, and whispered, "Sshh, okay? Don't make any noise or Mom will come upstairs." The creature was also smart - it whimpered a subdued response, and settled on the bed next to the bowl.

"Oh, YOU ate my cereal That's okay. I'll get you some more later. We're going to be friends, okay?"

The creature snuggled itself under the blankets and went back to sleep.

Years passed. The creature, which Reggie eventually named Sheb when he caught on to the fantastic coincidence with the song, was very good at hiding. Reggie was very good at keeping secrets. (Uncle Sam would have been proud!) If anything, Sheb was even smarter than Jerry, but the creature had a humble heart and never gloated. In return for a cozy home under an old Disney blanket, a pillow, his namesake cereal, and a friend, Sheb helped his friend Reggie when they did homework together. Sheb couldn't speak, and apparently couldn't exactly read, but he had a knack of sorta finding the clue to homework problems that occasionally had Reggie in tears. (Maybe it was all the Detective Jerry episodes they had watched together.)

Reggie had taken to reading his assignments aloud, "because he liked to hear how things sounded". (He didn't say that Sheb also liked to hear how things sounded.) When faced with a typically tough question in history, Reggie would reread the assigned selection. Sometimes it took Sheb two readings to get the feel of it, but the third time he was usually right on target with a whimper at the important passage.

For math problems, Jerry explained his line of thought aloud. Sheb listened intently, scrunching his snout into a frown when it "felt wrong", and blinking his eye brightly when things "felt better". Again, in his own coded fashion, Sheb was "Darn Sure of himself" as Detective Jerry always said on the show. Sometimes they both gave up, but the teacher gave partial credit, and that was usually enough on one or two problems.

Although they had a couple near crises, Sheb was never discovered and remained a secret.

With Jerry acting as class proxy, Sheb listened to his textbooks on CD through headphones. While Jerry had grown into more of an English Literature fan, Sheb showed real talent with a major in geology. He graduated with modest B+ grades, and later single-wingedly created his own field of XenoGeology, where he studied the differences in amino acids wedged in rock bands formed by meteor impact craters.

In all actuality, my father was as close to a pet monster as one could ever hope or not hope to have in this reality. I never figured out if he was just mean or without concern for anyone other than himself or plain spiteful or just in part…retarded. What I do know is I could count on him one hundred percent of the time to embarrass the hell out of me no matter how I hoped for a break from his tormenting escapades.

Folks would call us Chuck and Chuck junior in passing, although I passionately did not want to be associated with this man or linked to him in any way. I don't think people thought that I was like him in my traits or mannerisms. It was more like people pitied me for being his son, for they could see he was an idiot.

Hundreds of memories of him are forever burned into my mind, never to be erased, haunting me as I go through each day of my life, now that I am an adult.

One day, while studying in the kitchen of my parent's home during my high school years, I had a friend over cramming for the next day's exam when all of a sudden, I heard the bedroom door open, which to me meant one of two things; either my father had awakened from his mid day nap and would head to the bathroom to get ready for work or he would parade into the kitchen in his underwear on his way to the fridge.

"Is he in his boxers?" I whispered to my friend who was sitting at the table facing the kitchen, while I sat across the table with my back to everything.

He shook his head in amazement as I took a sigh of relief. I turned around in time to see my father's naked ass heading down the hall back to his bedroom.

‘Why does he do things like this? I have no freakin' idea!' I exclaimed to myself.

I was a prisoner in my parent's home for the fact that I was under age and had little money to get out and live on my own. I had years before I could get the hell out of there and so I just abided my time until then.

The pastor of my church had asked me to do some landscaping in his yard one Saturday morning and so I had made a list of what I needed and prepared to go to the lawn and garden store to pick up the supplies, when my father who found out what I was doing horned in and insisted he go to help me. After all, he was the expert. He wasn't really, but I thought that maybe for the first time he was trying to be a father to me and wanted to share some quality time. So I relented and let him come along.

I worked and sweated in hard labor while he talked to the preacher's wife, not letting up his non-stop speaking for a millisecond. As I passed him by with a load of mulch, I over heard my father telling her that they wouldn't let him in the Army when you was a young man, because he had only one testicle. Whether that was true or not, this was another association botched by the pet monster that wouldn't stop his insane meanderings.

How he held down a job, wore shoes and carried on with the day-to-day affairs of life, I'll never know. But he did, so I guess he was normal.

He had a contact at a Pharmacy who sold him all the Valium he wanted which he consumed in abundance. One could decorate birthday cakes with the amount he would take on an on going basis. I don't know if they helped or hurt him, but he would have his own way no matter what.

One morning, I was half asleep sitting up on the couch when he said something to me that I couldn't understand. When I didn't answer him, he threw a bowl of food at me and missed my head by an inch. I don't know what happened to me at that moment, but I flew into a fit of rage and stood up moving fast toward him. He stood up equally as fast and hauled off kicking me in the shin as hard as he could. Never knowing when to stop, he ran over to the television and pushed my thousand-dollar video recorder backwards into the floor, something I had paid for with my own money working part time on weekends.

I took a step toward him when he shouted, "Where's my gun!" as he ran out of the living room and toward the bedroom.

I ran after him and tackled him as he got to the bedroom door, knocking the door off the hinges and landing him on his bed, which broke under the pressure. I sat on his chest pounding his face with both fists, completely oblivious to what I was doing. Then seeing I was not having the effect I wanted, I started strangling him with both hands around his throat. His face turned blue, then purple and I finally realized I was killing him. I looked into his face and strangely enough, I saw the unexpected, the fool hearted grin that I had come to know and loathe.

I let go abruptly and slowly rose to my feet. I turned and left the room, walked into my own bedroom, sat in my chair and cried bitterly. I didn't hate my father; I hated what I was becoming because of him.

I never engaged him in battle again. I now understood. He was at all times…high as a kite.

"Aw! You're such a big dumb beast," Keiji screamed, but his voice was lost in buffeting wind and the low rumble from Daigila's chest. Something exploded down near the monster's feet and Keiji felt Daigila lurch backwards. A plume of black smoke rose into the air and Keiji held his breath with expectation, but Daigila was on the move again and in a moment the cloud was left far behind.

"Good Daigila. Good boy. Try to step between the buildings next time," Keiji yelled, patting the monster's rough scaly hide. Keiji leaned over as far as he could to watch the monster's feet, but couldn't see them from where he was sitting among the dorsal spikes growing on Daigila's back. Daigila looked like a Gila monster, covered with scales mostly black but with the common Gila monster pattern of big pink blotches throughout. But unlike a Gila monster, Daigila was massive, taller than a skyscraper and walked upright on large hind legs. He also had a forest of spikes growing on his upper back. Looking down from there made Keiji dizzy especially when coupled with the slow sway back and forth from Daigila's lumbering walk. It caused something akin to sea sickness and leaning to try to see what Daigila might step on made the feeling a lot worse. Keiji was afraid of heights after all. He pushed his glasses back up his nose and reasserted his hold on the nearest spike.

"A little to the left, boy… I think," he said. Keiji wasn't really sure where they were heading, but he was reasonably sure that his school was along the way. He only hoped that Mrs. Mackelroyd's third grade class would be on the playground when Daigila tromped by. He dreamed of their faces, mouths wide, gap-toothed Will staring, Eesha Gupta speechless, Zack and Austin scared. He'd wave and they'd all cheer. Daigila would lie down and let him off, and then the principal would declare the day a holiday in his honor and there would be rides, under his instruction of course. As Daigila lumbered on, Keiji started working on a limerick his friends could all sing for him and his wonderful pet: Stomp, stomp, smash, crunch, crunch. Don't make Daigila mad: he'll eat ya for lunch.

The pah-twang, pah-twang, pah-twang of power lines snapping brought Keiji out of his daydream. Daigila had been walking through a suburban part of the city, but now they were nearing the waterfront and Keiji could smell the saltiness of the ocean. Ahead he could see the skyscrapers of the city's heart. Daigila paused. Spread out at the monster's feet like toys were tanks, Humvees, and thousands of soldiers; the army had set up a line of defense.

"Get out of the way!" Keiji screamed as the explosions started. The tanks fired a barrage into Daigila's legs. Keiji thought it sounded like a string of firecrackers. Thick smoke was everywhere. Daigila let out a moaning growl that forced Keiji's hands over his ears. Daigila inhaled and Keiji felt the air around him all pull away into the giant's lungs. It was as if a river was rushing over Keiji, his fine black hair whipped about his face and into his eyes. He almost lost his glasses. Then Keiji felt Daigila's body all around him start to heat up. There was a long loud hiss that sounded like a boiling pot running over onto a hot burner. Daigila exhaled, and there was a blast of heat that warped the air.

Smoke and ash were everywhere now, spot lights crisscrossed the darkening sky, and sirens blared. Keiji pushed his glasses back into place. A deep black trench stretched across the ground at Daigila's feet and the army was gone.

"Cowards!" Keiji screamed thinking they had retreated back towards the city. "Go, go, Daigila!" he cheered.

The sound of an oncoming wind getting higher and higher pitched grew louder and louder until there was a twin whoosh right over Daigila's head. Keiji looked. Two fighter jets passed so low Keiji thought he could see a pilot. They quickly whooshed away, but then Keiji realized they were just making a wide arc in the sky and were circling back.

"Leave Daigila alone! You'll hurt him," Keiji yelled. But the whoosh of the jets just kept getting closer and closer until there was a pair of pops and sizzles. Keiji watched as missiles trailing growing spirals of white smoke shot from the jets directly at Daigila. Keiji hunkered down. Twin explosions rocked the beast and Keiji thought the world was spinning to the side.

Daigila let out another skull-crushing moaning scream. The twin fighters were far off now, but Keiji knew they were circling again. Daigila rose and started tromping off, not towards the city's center, but towards the ocean.

Keiji was being violently jostled from side to side. He had to fight to keep from falling. Keiji heard the jets zip overhead and another pair of explosions. But Daigila was too fast; the explosions tore the ground behind them. Keiji craned his neck to see a couple of buildings billowing smoke.

Then Daigila jumped and there was a crack. Salty water was everywhere. It lifted Keiji up and out of Daigila's spikes. Daigila sank below the surface. The undertow sucked Keiji down too. He opened his eyes under water and watched the underside of the surface rushing away. He started swimming with all his strength.

Keiji stood wrapped in blankets. A soldier was talking to his parents. Keiji's dad was trying to piece things together.

"…the fault-line runs near our house, it opened up during yesterday's earthquake. He was playing down the street… neighbor kids saw him fall in… must have fallen on top of that… that monster."

Keiji started crying. His mom hugged him close and tried to comfort him. "It's okay. It's okay." She was crying too. "The monster's gone now."

"I know," Keiji sobbed, "but he was the best pet ever."

OK smart guy how do you propose to get one of these Huie Monsters, and domesticate it on top of that? You and I both know, one, they are difficult to catch, and two,almost impossible to domesticate unless you get them when they are young. Worse yet, they are hard to keep alive when they are young.

Easy. My brother has one and so does my sister. In fact our whole family breeds Huies out west. I have one that I take every where. She stays in the cabin when I travel. She's about 5 metricks high and well formed. She's only one revolution old. I still have to keep her confined though. It's the law. She's a great pet.

You're kidding me? They're disloyal little animals. How may times have you been stabbed by this one?

Once

You never let on, why? Only one revolution old? How long do they live?

Huies? Oh about 5 revolutions. It's not a long lived pet. They are interesting to work with. One can get attached to them. Normally, Huies live a very primitive and short life. Our family and some others believe they are intelligent no matter that their habitats are sties and they commit the foulest acts imaginable.

Until recently our family business, legal as it is, was frowned upon. Since these Huies are now on the official endangered species calendar our business has a new patina especially in this new governments' eyes. The last government gave lip service to conservation. Now to answer your other question yes it is difficult to capture these. I have a method that seems to work more than not. It requires subterfuge and outright trickery. It's a laugh at how easily my methods work.

We know they communicate so we rarely catch and release. If our methods were discovered they would adapt. The result would take us revolutions to develop new modes of operating.

My brother and sister have ensconced themselves in that environment once or twice. They said it was too dangerous to remain any length of time without finally being noticed and killed. Camouflage is very important. Learning their vocalization takes some doing. My sister is a practicing small animal vet specializing in Huies.

OK, thanks for the quick history lesson. Vocalizations, interesting, very interesting.

I have one I just captured the other day. It's a male. For the males we use a very basic approach playing on their innate curiosity. The females are a bit tougher to attract. The females appear to be more aloof and cautious. Captured males and females are extremely dangerous. They will kill each other for no apparent reasons and they rarely breed with other captured Huies. We have better luck mixing our stock with a captured Huie. The males are easier.

That is an abomination. I still can't believe you breed the little Huie monsters, these killing machines. Do you have fighting Huies? I've heard of them.

No, absolutely not! That would make me a monster.

Back off. Maybe they are rubbing off on you.

Sorry, first let me show you this one. He's new and we have him drugged up. This prevents him from harming himself. I will probably keep him and mate him with one of the ones we have bred here. The gene pool will be enhanced in this manner. I think Coffee will like him.

Coffee? I take it Coffee is the one you have now.

Yes, she is my favorite. She's rather beautiful. Watch yourself; even the ones we breed will attack if they feel threatened.

What's the new one's name?

I don't have one yet. I'll watch and see. Maybe something about him will lend itself to a name. Coffee likes to drink that foul stimulant. Many of them do.

He is younger than she is. She is fully mature and can breed. However I have kept her with me all this time. A Huies life is generally shorter if they run in the uncontrolled wild. As I mentioned, they have a tendency and a long history of killing kill each other.

You mentioned their life span. Quick buggers.

On a protected environment they seem to last the equivalent of about 80 to 90 of their revolutions long. It is a very strange place, trust me.

OK how do you get them? Come on, do tell.

First I cloak the transport vehicle. That's a must. Then we enter their environment. Since they are social animals I tend to have more success hunting in their clusters. This last one that you see here I used Coffee as bait. He followed her like a magnet. It worked great. He approached the trap.

What, a box over its head? I know, a hole in the ground!

No, you idiot. I had a sign made up in their language:

WET PAINT

I put the sign on a pole with a bonding agent. He touched it and stuck. I knew he would. Huies are predictable. Here he is take a look. Take a look.

They write too?

Some do. They speak with their mouths too. They have no form of psi conversation. I told you they were primitive. Certain captured ones can receive if you work with them. They must be young. Fully mature Huies can't do it. The Huies that we breed are genetically altered just a bit so as to be able to understand us. We think psi might make them more docile. We have to experiment. Coffee here is fine example. I rarely have an issue with her.

Coffee, come girl. You did a great job. A smile broke from her lips and she nodded.

See I told you they are smart. And if you had one long enough you'd discover they are affectionate too.

Smart maybe and dangerous; that's a known fact. Keep your little yellow haired Huie. Little monsters, that's what the are. We should leave them on their planet and quarantine that sector.

"Here you go, sir. There's your receipt and your Wells Fargo card."

Britneye's customer stared a moment at his Wachovia debit card, checking, perhaps, that she had given back the correct bit of plastic money. OMG! She thought, he thinks I'm serious.

"Okay guys, that's just about it," Britneye said as she stared at a digital display of numbers. The lites darkened. The speed of service timer had shut off. "It's official. We're closed. Let's be out at ten after: Power-wash those dishes, wipe those counters. I'll go make up the numbers that make the company accountants happy."

Britneye pulled all the Jacksons, Grants and Franklins from the back-cash drop-box and went into the office. As she started counting the money, Frank, their truck driver with their supplies' delivery, walked in. He wasn't supposed to deliver when the store was still open for business.

"Things all good? No more problems with idiots?" Frank asked.

"No, most people are nice and friendly. There was just that one guy who kept threatening me because we closed early one night. But he doesn't come around any more."

"Good! 'cuz I'd kick his behind." Frank smiled and rubbed his bald head.

"Thanks," she replied. "You're not the only one."

"Oh! no feminist manifesto about taking care of yourself," Frank said with a wink and a big gap-toothed smile.

"Everyone wants to be rescued, the question is by whom and from what," Britneye said. She turned her face to him and brought forth a wide smile of her own.

"You didn't even call it that night, right?" Frank questioned.

"Nope, I wasn't manger-in-charge. I just made the mistake of going to the pick-up window to tell him we were closed." Britneye leaned back in her swivel chair. "So, the first night, he told me: 'I'll *expletive* get you.' I assumed: he was gonna call the 1-800 number and get me in trouble. The second time he came through, he told me: 'I didn't eat that night. I'll remember you.' For some reason he made it personal!"

Britneye was doing the nightly paperwork. Click the right mouse button, highlight the register totals at the bottom of the report. Crl-C - copy, Alt-Tab - traverse to another window, Ctrl-P - paste into the correct cell in the spreadsheet. She watched the numbers magically change as the software recalculated. None of the figures were in the red, Britneye gladly noticed.

Frank stormed into the office. "I need to use the phone." He dialed 911.

"What happened?"

"Someone's stolen from the trailer."

"Are you sure?"

"A case of beef is missing."

"Are you sure!" she repeated. "It just wasn't left of the pallet at the warehouse?"

"Yes, ma'am! I'm positive" he replied. "The shrink wraps been torn aside."

"Stay on the line." Frank handed her the receiver. "Officers have been dispatched," she heard.

"Do you have a description?"

"I don't know. I'm in the office. Let me put down the phone…

"No, he only heard something in the bushes. The police are here now."

"Okay," the operator said and hung up.

Britneye watched as two vehicles exited the quick service restaurant's parking lot. The first was the white police car, it's red and blue lights off. The second was Frank's truck, a sleeper cab with a refer trailer. She walked back to where the dumpster lay. She tossed the small plastic trash bag from the office into the steel box. "Kaiden. Kaiden!" She stood, her arms akimbo.

"Kaiden here." A short young man stood there. He had long black hair that cascaded blinding across his left eye and down his face toward the ruddy, sensual lips that had spoken. He looked strained, pained. Pale cheeks and black eyes with long lashes (lashes she would die for) completed the image. Such a Robert Smith emo, Britneye thought. But she knew there was more goth in its nature. So much more.

"Did you steal from the truck?" she asked.

"Hungry." Kaiden morphed, puffing up several sizes. Fangs suddenly curved out his mouth. He swallowed a stack of ground beef the length of her shoulder to her index finger, including the wax paper that separated the patties. Was that a cubit? She wondered. A troll should eat a cubit in one gulp.

"I told you to be more careful," Britneys said softly. "I told you I'd bring you the leftover and discarded burgers."

"Burned."

"They're not burnt; they're just cooked."

"Burned! Like gazelle after brush fire." Kaiden scowled. Its fangs pointing outward. "Britneye will not let Kaiden stop metal carriages on bridge."

"It's a highway overpass over an open sewer."

"A bridge is a bridge."

"I just don't want you to get caught. You were seen by others the night we met."

"Britneye protect Kaiden. Kaiden protect Britneye." The creature morphed again, growing wider than the biggest football full-back, taller than the most lanky basketball center, meaner than a hockey defense-man. Curnute horns sprouted from the sides of its forehead.

"A little too much I think sometimes."

"Kaiden not hurt man."

"You ate his fenders!" Britneye began to giggle. The monster began a loud, roaring guffaw. She recalled how they met. How her monster came to rescue her from the irate customer who had frightened her. How it had rushed out from behind their dumpster -- like every nightmare you ever dreamed, every creature that escaped your closet, like every beast that slept beneath your bed – that is how Kaiden ran out to the stranger's car. Its skin was grey with long hair, Medusa's wild and untamed. It was an elemental of nature unleashed, a tornado, hurricane or earthquake personified in human form (or at least mostly human).

Britneye brushed her strawberry blonde hair out of her eyes, parting her locks like the Red Sea.

"Britneye pretty. Pretty like Ashenputtel."

Britneye smiled. Disney knew her as Cinderella.

"I Luv U 2," she said, and rubbed her troll under its furry chin.

A pet for Sir's son?

Naturally, sir.

What sort of pet would the boy fancy? I have dogs, cats, fish - very easy to care for, fish - hamsters, mice, lizards, parrots, budgies…

None of those catch your fancy? Then what would you like?

The archer fish, here, will catch insects hovering above the tank by firing water droplets at them with great accuracy; quite a sight to see. Observe.

Not the archer fish? Then what?

Ah, Sir has been listening to rumour. I do not know how these tales get around, sir, but I can assure you that the animals you see are all -

Oh, most generous, Sir, most generous. Now that I come to think of it, there may be one or two of the - let us say - the rarer breeds in the back room. Well cared for, sir, let us have no misunderstandings on that score. But a little out of the price range of most and some of them can be very tricky to care for - though, of course, I can provide Sir with full instructions. If sir would be so kind as to step this way?

First of all, sir, we have this one. Very dangerous if released, sir, very dangerous indeed. Note the cage, sir, wood carefully soaked in garlic. Somewhat tricky to feed, as it requires the extra haemoglobin and a diet high in iron - this particular one seems to like B+. To be kept out of sunlight.

Not for you, sir? Never mind, I am sure that I can find a buyer for the bat.

Next up, sir, a most rare specimen. You will note the silver bars? Very important, sir, very important. Also built into the cage, just over the door, is a clock which shows the phase of the moon - only suitable for exhibition when the moon is full, as now, but it can survive sunlight and is far easier to feed.

No, sir, I must advise against taking him for a walk.

In the bowl here, sir - no, sir, please do not touch it, the last patron who did so had his finger digested - yes, sir, I realise it looks like a strawberry jelly with an eyeball, sir. A very useful watchcreature, sir; very lazy, it tends to simply flow downhill and pool in a hollow, digesting anything foolish enough to step in. The only downside is that it grows as it eats, and the hollow must be big enough to contain all of it after eating of else you'll find another one - ah - downstream somewhere.

No, sir, not really suitable for display.

Would sir perhaps like to consider a mermaid? Quite incapable of surviving on land, sir, despite what sir may have heard - yes, sir, their song is quite melodious, is it not? Sir, please - Sir! Please do not attempt to enter the mermaid's tank! This is how it feeds, sir, if you enter the tank it will eat you!

Yes, sir, quite. The song can be somewhat compelling if one is not expecting it.

No, Sir, the creature behind that door is not suitable for your son, sir. Quite deadly, sir, and very dangerous. The door is kept locked with very good reason, sir.

If you would like a decorative creature, easy to care for, sir, I must introduce you to the pixies, sir.

Yes, sir, very pretty. Moreover, they subsist entirely on nectar and dew.

No, sir, not just any water. It must be dew. One further point, sir, they develop a coating of dust after a few hours - yes, that's right sir, you have been reading your Peter Pan. The fairy dust must be removed once a day, sir; it's an easy enough operation, but quite necessary.

Once again, sir, I must insist that you do not attempt to pass through that door!

Oh, very generous, sir, very generous indeed - no, sir, you may still not pass through that door. Sir, the creatures beyond that door are not as harmless as the creatures out here! Yes, sir, I realise that the mermaid tried to eat you, but even so, sir, I stand by my claim!

In this glass terrarium, sir, we have a hoop snake; unfortunately it is not large enough for him to travel in the manner of his kind over long distances, by rolling himself into a hoop and rolling along.

No, sir, he is most venomous, I cannot let him out of the cage.

Sir, a hoop snake's venom is powerful enough to kill a man by biting his footprint. I do not consider it safe to be let out.

And if you will step along this way, sir, you will see - sir? Where are - Sir! Put that key back! Sir! Don't open tha-

Oh, dear. I did warn sir.

No, officer, I do not know what happened to him. I remember him well; he was supposed to come in here yesterday to fetch a gift, sir. For his son.

That's right, officer, this statue. He sent photographs, sir, and our sculptor spent some time getting it right; then yesterday, he arrived for the final sitting and to claim the sculpture.

Naturally the figure is dressed in the same clothing, sir. We specifically requested that he wear the clothing he wore in the photographs, so that our sculptor could get it exactly right.

Yes, officer, I have no doubt that sculpture and pets are a very strange combination. We get that question all the time, officer. All I can say is that it appears to work for us.