Scribblielocks and the Three Cats

Once upon a time, a girl named Scribblielocks and her three cats, Wheezer, Teezer and Meeser, lived in a house made of feta cheese. While quite delicious, every day a bit of the house crumbled. The cats were tired of eating cheese, and poor Scribblielocks was exhausted from fixing the leaks in the roof all by herself. She was so busy filling the cracks in the walls with humus and putting fresh cheese on the roof that she didn’t have any time to write her columns or books, or to go out and meet nice new people, or even have a date once in a while. All of her clothing smelled like cheese, so when she did get out of the house, dogs followed her around everywhere.

One day Scribblielocks was out walking in the forest looking for a fresh slab of feta to shove on the crumbling porch roof. And who should appear but her fairy godmother. And what a fairy godmother she was! She was dressed in a white Roberto Cavalli two-piece suit, her platinum locks were teased into a huge beehive hair-do, and she was driving a Jaguar V-12 convertible.

“Oh, dah-link,” she said to Scribblielocks, “a nice girl like you shouldn’t look so sad. Here, lemme give you these three things: a bag of magical seeds, a vial of this special perfume, and this sealed envelope.” She handed Scribblielocks a pouch containing all of these goodies.

“Gee, overdressed Fairy Godmother, that’s real sweet of you,” said Scribblielocks, “but what’s it for? Don’t you have a magic wand for fixing stuff?”

“Don’t be snarky, Scribblie. The Fairy Godmothers Association strictly limits wand use for fashion emergencies,” her fairy godmother explained, “and while you’re a mess, you got bigger problems. Your house is turning into a cheese ball.”

“So whaddo I do with all this stuff?” Scribblielocks asked in exasperation.

“Take the seeds and sprinkle them on your roof. The magic seeds will attract a flock of royalty birds that will make nests all over your roof, and you won’t have to worry about leaks. It’ll be even better after the royalty birds hatch their eggs. The shells are made of solid gold, and will turn into gold powder that rains down through your ceiling.”

“Oh, great,” said Scribblielocks. “How ‘bout the perfume?”
“This stuff is incredible. It leaves Love Potion #9 in the dust,” the fairy godmother said, while waving wildly with her perfectly manicured hands that were encrusted with gaudy cocktails rings from QVC. “Put on a drop of this perfume, and guys will fall all over you, and agents will hunt you down begging to represent you.”

“Wow. Can I get more?”

“You haven’t even used this bottle yet.”

“Good point. So what’s the envelope for?”
“Hide it in your house somewhere and forget about it.”

“What does it do?”
“You’ll see.” And with that, the fairy godmother put the pedal to the metal and blasted off in her Jag.

Scribblielocks went home and followed her fairy godmother’s instructions. Within a few months, the royalty birds covered her roof like a blanket with their nests. The leaks stopped, and gold dust started piling up. Scribblielocks and the cats did a happy dance.

Then Scribblielocks started wearing the magical perfume oil, and got asked out on a bunch of dates. One night when she was walking home, a wild-eyed woman leapt out of a dark alley, and begged to be her literary rep. The potion was so strong that the agent insisted that she receive only five percent of Scribblie’s royalties. Scribblielocks signed on the dotted line. Soon her books were on the New York Times best-sellers list.

Life at Scribblielock’s house got better every day. She met a great guy who had always wanted to live in a house made of feta cheese and bird’s nests, and got along with Wheezer, Teezer, and Meeser because he bribed them with fried chicken livers and vanilla ice cream.

Eventually Scribblielocks asked him to move in with her. So JonPaul (who was very hunky) brought his stuff to her house. As he was putting his CDs by her stereo, he came across an envelope that was addressed “To the Guy who Shacks Up with Scribblielocks.” Puzzled but curious, JonPaul opened it and looked to see what was inside of it. A short note was enclosed, and on it he read, “This is a note from Scribblielock’s Fairy Godmother to the guy who shacks up with her. Treat her like a princess for the rest of her life or I will turn you into a Bureau of Support investigator. Use the enclosed gift – you won’t be sorry and you’ll make Scribblielocks very happy.”

He looked in the envelope and found a gift certificate for a 12-week ballroom dancing class for two. JonPaul took Scribblielocks to the dance classes, and they had a blast. JonPaul never mentioned the envelope he’d found but it didn’t really matter. While the sun was shining, Scribblielocks wrote feature columns and books, and JonPaul kept the feta cheese house in good shape, fed the royalty birds, and carried the bags of gold dust to the bank. Scribblielocks loved watching his muscles bulge when he did this job. Every evening they did the rumba in the moonlight, and the three cats purred until they were all asleep. And contrary to popular skepticism, they lived happily ever after.

The End