Derrière Despair

      Since his abdominal regions can be quite – erm – explosive at times, I thanked my lucky stars that the only sound was his gentle, sleepy snuffling and not his usual, gaseous rendition of Flatulence in A Minor. Reading to him always seems to calm that down after one of his unstoppable binges so I was going to cover him up with his favourite, white snuggle-blanket and leave him to sleep it off but, even though I searched high and low, that blanket was nowhere to be seen.

      Tip-toeing across to the kitchen, I went to see if the poor little chap had left it on the back of his chair when he was finishing that Strawberry Jelly we picked up when we went to that odd little spot that we can never remember the name of... what is it now... it is right on the tip of my tongue...

      Oh! This is so annoying! I do not know why but we always forget about that place and how to get to it until we stumble across it on one of our daily rambles around Neopia. Well, anyway, whatever it might be called, there is generally a whole bunch of jelly lying around, just wibbling and wobbling away and MisterSquishikins gets himself ever so excited when there is a Strawberry Jelly because, that is his favourite!

      Meanwhile, as I said, apart from MisterSquishikins' soft snorting, it was very quiet. Too quiet for me to even begin to imagine the bedlam I would encounter when I innocently opened the door to the kitchen.

      Standing precariously on top of the dining table was Wuffikin, my UC Msp Poogle. He was covered from head to foot in a pinkish-red gloop that I quickly recognised as the contents of the empty jars of Strawberries and Cream Baby Food that now littered the kitchen floor. We had a ton of them after playing a lot of games of Dice-A-Roo and, even though MisterSquishikins adores Strawberry Jelly, he absolutely turns his wrinkly little nose up at Strawberries and Cream Baby Food. Wuffikin had clearly found another use for this forsaken food stock – he obviously thought it was worth wearing.

      I groaned as I imagined exactly what it was going to be like trying to get that sticky goo out of his stitches. Wuffikin was never the easiest Neopet to clean and he did not take kindly to bath time; he usually eats all of the cakes of soap before you can say "lather please" and by the time we are done there is definitely more water on the floor than in the tub (although he does rather like being tickled by the hair dryer afterwards).

      It was whilst I was imagining the sheer horror of hauling a sodden, plushie Neopet out of the bathtub (I am sure he weighs twice as much straight after a bath – at least if he was a Sponge pet I could just wring him out) that I saw it.

      Tied around his middle, like an over-sized baby's nappy, was MisterSquishikins' favourite, white snuggle-blanket – except it was nowhere near as white as it had been that morning; now it was covered in shiny, pinkish smears and... wait, what? Were those TEETHMARKS?! (Oh my! Wringing was too good for a certain, patched-up Poogle at this point).

      In one paw, a guilty-looking Wuffikin was holding a bottle of Red Glitter Glue and in the other was Face ♥ Biter, his rather confused and dangerously angry Meepit. That Petpet did not look at all happy at what appeared to be Wuffikins' clumsy attempts to glue a pair of floppy, white wings to his back. Floppy, white wings covered in shiny, pinkish smears that looked suspiciously like they had been cut, no, chewed out of... oh NO!

      "Wuffikin! Put that Meepit down and step away from those jars of Strawberries and Cream Baby Food at ONCE!"

      As soon as I shouted at him, Wuffikin dropped the Red Glitter Glue, tucked Face ♥ Biter under his chin and turned around to scramble down on all fours from the treacherously-tacky table top. Clearly visible, in this reversed position he was now in and, through the two jagged wing-shaped holes in MisterSquishikins' favourite, white snuggle-blanket was the unmistakable, patchwork pattern of Wuffikins' brightly-coloured derrière.

      One look at that derrière and I was in despair – derrière despair. Whatever possessed Wuffikin to do such a horrible thing (aside from his general malevolent disposition, of course)? Demanding an explanation (and truly not expecting to get one that made an ounce of sense) I waited as my naughty, little Poogle offered up his version of events.

      It seems that, in the absence of a Valentine Day Paint Brush, the little fellow (whom I suspect is really quite the softie behind all that gnashing teeth and glaring eyes malarkey) decided to create his own. He squirrelled MisterSquishikins' favourite, white snuggle-blanket away while he was distracted, eating his Strawberry Jelly and then waited for story time so that he could carry out his little kitchen counter customization plan in secret. Once he figured the coast was clear, he got Face ♥ Biter to chomp his way through the fabric until they had something that looked like tiny wings. Wuffikin was going to glue them to himself but, he couldn't reach behind him and apparently, even though he could usually count on his bald, pink side-kick, watching a Meepit trying to manipulate a bottle of Red Glitter Glue is as funny as it is frightening.

      Therefore, realizing Face ♥ Biter was going to be no help getting him his wings, he put them to one side, donned MisterSquishikins' favourite, white snuggle-blanket; making it as napkinesque as he could, with the aid of two Weakling Badges and a whole lot of faith. Having then smeared himself from top to bottom with Strawberries and Cream Baby Food in an attempt to look as pink as possible he decided there was a case for 'waste not, want not' and turned his attention to Face ♥ Biter who was – until I walked in – about to get a spiffy, new set of wings instead.

      Thus, there they were – two sticky, little Valentinesy cherubs, up to their paws and ears in strawberry goo, who both needed a hot bath and a change of scenery. Trust me – we all did!

      And so, this is why they are currently languishing on a side account; I am not sure when I will ever trust them over here again. They are not happy about it and keep complaining about their unfair treatment but, I am not ready to allow them back just yet. That said, I do not wish to give them an abandonment complex so, as I say to them – let us call it a 'holiday' OK? Although in honesty, I think it is me who is getting the holiday from those two little imps.

      Now, if you will excuse me, I have someone's favourite, white snuggle-blanket to repair before he wakes up and notices it has gone!

The End