Why He is Called Satan's Familiar or Truth is Stranger (and Uglier) than Fiction

Today, the Matron enthusiastically -- stupidly -- allowed Satan's Familiar to accompany her to drop off Merrick at a friend's house.

The friend has a dog.

So. . . she wasn't thinking clearly and just let S.F. into the house with her. These are good friends, people whose house you can sort of walk into unannounced and yell "Hey get out of the shower we're here!"

(wouldn't that be annoying, though?)

Anyway, the Matron walked in with the demon and her son, and put her purse on the floor.

Whereupon Scruffy immediately lifted his cloven hoof and PEED IN/ON HER PURSE.

She thinks this pretty much sums up her relationship with that dog.

Funny how the five remaining pounds of Easter chocolate might just be left conveniently in his dog dish tonight.

Post for Dog Lovers

Have you cried yet today?

The Matron dares you to watch this without tears. Kiss the snout nearest you.

Day of the Dog

Over the weekend, the Universe handed the Matron yet another lesson: Halloween is really Day of the Dog.

What's not to like, from the canine perspective? There's that doorbell, ringing and ringing and ringing and all those people to bark at!

Even better: there is candy.

If you have 6 and 13 year old boys, they will leave their bags of candy laying around on couches, chairs, and the floor without a second thought. They will pick up a Snickers bar, take a bite and put the bar down, distracted, and walk away. The boys will dump out half a bag of candy to examine the booty and then realize that Malcolm in the Middle is playing on the TV upstairs. They will go up, leaving the candy behind. The 11 year old girl will keep her candy hidden in a secret locale, safely far away both brothers and the dog, and she will also be very aware of the fact that other people's candy is being left out, carelessly, but hers is not.

Because she is female.

Herein lies the secret to the cultural mythology about a boy and his dog. Dogs like boys because boys aren't girls. Boys leave candy on the floor. Girls don't. If you are a dog, this is enough for you.

Now the Matron has a P H D in English Literature and Feminist Studies. She knows she is breaking every rule in the book here. She doesn't care. Hear it again: boys leave candy laying around and girls do not and this is why dogs love boys. There! Essentialism 101!

The weary Matron feels that she has earned the right to stereotype and malign small children. Because if you clean up 100 million tons of dog vomit in one day, why, you have lost a wee bit of your brain in the process.

That's right. Satan's Familiar ate the Halloween candy-- at least one pillowcase FULL of sour and chocolate delight.

Unfortunately he's currently recovering on the bed that Scarlett made for him, complete with pillow, blanket and handy bedside water bowl. Note: the GIRL made the bed. Was in charge of convalescence. Was NOT the cause of problem in the first place.

And tomorrow, that damn dog will return to his position by Merrick's side, waiting for that hot dog to drop.

Insanity, the Primer

First, the insanity is living in this godforsaken state. Let her drop one word from the sky, like a frozen flake of rain:

SNOW.

It is @%#$%^ snowing. The Matron must don furred boot and hood in order to transport youth from one locale to another. This is decidedly unfair and insane. Forget yesterday's "oh I'm all happy about life" sentiment. Today there is snow in the second week of October. What a difference a day makes.

Second, Annie rehearsals every night from 7-10 pm this week PLUS an audition for a holiday show tonight. She can hear you: just say no! Just say no!

Scarlett, with a big hug: "Mom, I am SO happy! My LIFE is acting!"

Sigh.

At least if this continues throughout high school, Scarlett will be too busy and too worried about her career to get into significant trouble. The Matron is banking that dime all the way through college.

Third, the Matron is living All Dog All The Time between Satan's Familiar, Snappy the Foster dog and geriatric Jekyll -- who is STILL bumping around. Saturday--remember, those good old days before snow? -- the Matron took SF on her daily run, as usual.

In a moment of complete insanity, she decided to let him off-leash. To frolic! Romp! Free to be you and me all 70s dog joy and such! So about two and a half miles from home, she unleashes the hound and returns to the riverside jog.

"Come on, Scruffy! Come on!" This would be the Matron, encouraging.

Satan, free, just sat there. He stared at the Matron. He stared at the wide expanse of space in which he was encouraged to leap and bound, even in slow motion like the movies because the Matron expected he would be that happy!

Instead, he turned around and RAN IN THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION. Away from the Matron!!!

Matron!!: "SCRUFFY COME HERE!!"

This would be what she fairly screamed while chasing that damn dog -- who zipped across streets and through alleys well ahead of the wild screaming furious-beyond-repair Matron, sometimes pausing to consider the Matron as she sped toward him, resting to lick a leg while she gained ground -- only to TAKE OFF the second she got within ten feet.

Twice, he barely evaded getting run over! Slammed into the pavement like the road runner. Gone forever. Dead. . . sigh. Out of her life! Sweet dreams, said the Matron. But really all she could think of was: "the children will never forgive me!"

Of course, she ran into several neighbors during this enchanted engagement.

"Mary?! Are you looking for Scruffy? He's up there, three blocks ahead!"

"Mary!!! Scruffy just raced past here! I think he's headed toward Ali's house!"

No indeed, he was not headed toward Ali's house. He went home. Yes, SF fled from 2.5 miles away and hoofed it to his front steps, where he calmly sat waiting while the Matron dragged her huffing hysterical self home -- her peaceful run turned into an all out panicked sprint.

Considering Saturday's Olympics, the Matron is revisiting her 'turn the blind eye' policy toward a certain dog sitting on a certain child's lap during breakfast. Yes, every morning while Stryker (who she is NO not blogging about) is eating his before school brown-sugar cinnamon pop tart, Satan's Familiar is all nestled in on his lap drooling, plate-side.

Because this occurs around 6:30 am, the Matron has sorta pretended it wasn't really happening. You know, if your dog has a place at the dinner table but it's not dinner -- because it's not even an hour in which actual human interaction should occur -- then the dog really ISN'T at the table anyway.

And she can't upload photos of all this fun (and believe it, there are worlds to go with the moles in the basement and the current battle between Scarlett's room and Incurable Clutter Brain suck), because gremlins have invaded her computer and destroyed that feature.

If a dog sits on someone's lap during actual dinner, does that count?

All Things Satan's Familiar

Yesterday, per the Matronly request, Stryker made this Video Tribute to Satan's Familiar.  Please forgive the not infrequent F word in the lyrics.  This is her 7th grader's favored left-wing social protest music.   Not unlike Joan Baez.  (middle-aged mamas, it might help to keep the image of Baez in mind)

That dog can jump FOUR feet.  Really.  No counter top is safe.

The time he spends on two feet, waving those front paws?   About 20 hours a day.  The dance means:  I need Treat or Attention.

However, the Matron has been actually (gasp!)   enjoying  S.F.'s antics regarding the mail.   In addition to attacking letters as they arrive, Satan's henchman has begun hording them!  That's right.  He whips the letter about and then trots it off to a spot behind the couch.  The Matron is hoping he'll learn to recognize Bill and Credit Card Application.

 The last mailman did not like S.F.    Yes.  The dog received a warning!

The current mailman?  Yesterday, the Matron caught a strange glimpse out of her kitchen window.  The postal carrier, bag tossed off, carefuly inserting something awkward into the mail slot.

It was a dog treat.  Two of them, which the waiting Satan's Familiar ate wtih glee.

Friends, the Mail Man?  Was having a blast.  He carefully inserted letter by letter, timing each so that S.F. had plenty of time to reposition himself.  Why, that guy even teased the cloven creature by wiggling an envelope and not letting go.

The Matron is glad somebody loves that damn dog.  . . .  . who is the reigning expert on vomit, (which followed)   poop,    engorgement and escape!  

But maybe he'll solve that credit card bill problem.

In which Christianity Takes a Hit

Remember Satan's Familiar? He of Cloven Paw and steel stomach? The Matron is certain he is here to remind her of Theological Shortcomings, All Type. You see, yesterday? That damn dog climbed on the table featured in above photo and ate the remnants of this (times 3):

Yellow Peeps, Reeses eggs, and Cadbury bunnies -- all in the Belly of the 15 lb Beast. And the Matron did what she has done before (although she can't find the post to link it!). She stood with ipecac in hand, pondered -- and decided to let nature take its course.

Of course, Satan Ruled. The dog lives to Eat, Poop and Escape again.

She's sure her pagan approach to Christian Holidays -- all Buddha and karma but 'Hey! There's Santa!' is messing with the theological ecosystem. Sorry, God-Oprah-Allah-Buddha-Yahweh-Universe.

But next time could you descend locusts? Walk in the park after the past two years of Dog Bodily Fluid, All Sort.

King of the Hill

The Matron understands that she must be paying some karmic debt. Frances from first grade? Yes, Wee Miss was soooo jealous of your apparently perfect life that even though she KNEW that Jason -- not you -- threw the pickle in the mashed potatoes, Wee Miss said not one word when the lunch lady made you, not Jason, stand in the corner.

As an adult, Young Miss and later the Matron has coveted yet again. Lotsa stuff.

She's sure that envy is at the root of her current Situation because every day, when she sees happy people walking their dogs--smiling, sane sorts who dangle leashes after dogs happily padding and panting--she experiences white flashes of jealously. She wants that dog!

Morever, she wants to know why God-Oprah-Allah-Buddha-Universe saddled her with this.


Let's consider today's fun with Satan's Familiar (he has a given name but it is bad luck to utter or type).

First, last night, his delicate bowel structure required night-time elimination. No, he didn't wake anyone to go outside. He eliminated in the hallway. His return to Scarlett's bed required nudging the daughter awake in order to be allowed back in UNDER the covers at her feet, where he returned.

But Scarlett now could not sleep and she called out to her mother, who tiptoed, bare of foot, into the hallway.

Squish.

Be damned Oh Cloven One! Why hath thou darkened her bright door? Was it the time she sat on the swing just before Bethany Rogers got there?

In the morning, S. F. and Jekyll were given their separate bowls of food. The minute the Matronly back turned, the hench men thrust his snout in the geriatric dog's dish and started gobbling until the Matron threw him back to his own chow.

Done? Off that dog ran to find some shoes, purses, or expensive clothing to chew.

While the children were at school, the Matron thought the house oddly quiet. She went into the kitchen to find that damn dog --- calmly, happily, sitting ON the kitchen table, looking out the window. With the loaf of bread from breakfast half-eaten, at his leisurely side.

Because Satan's Familiar's eating disorder means that he has gone from 14 lbs to 100 during his two years of Matronly torture, she took him with her on her four mile run. This meant he would stop, dead and without warning, directly in front of her for no reason whatsoever about ONE MILLION times to test her hurdle skills. When the gymnastics bored him, he ran through the weeds and came out, cowering, in an equal number of burs.

Which the Matron had to pause - for a very long time- her run to remove, one by one.

If the Matron wasn't sick of Satan by now, this evening, Merrick decided to put the dog in the lovely nylon and canvas portable kennel that the Matron bought for Grandma Mary.

Satan's Familiar ate his way out. Oh, he's a keeper. He didn't just chew one exit hole, but ripped the thing apart at its seams in three different places.

Doesn't he look sweet?


Right now, he's snuggled at Stryker's feet, deep under the covers. The children, souls long sold, have a bitter, competitive rotation, in which each will bribe, bargain and beg for one extra night with Satan.

Who will undoubtedly demand night time elimination, after eating four bowls of food the neighbors left on their porch for the feral cats. Check in about 3 am for the fetid update.

How She Spends Her Time

Here sits Satan's Familiar, cloven paw and all.

He woke up the Matron at 6 am as he made his way out from under the covers, where he conveniently sleeps.

Later, after eating a bowl of Captain Crunch (before you ask - not only is he capable of getting on the kitchen table it is his daily routine) the evil one deemed the 30 degree day tepid enough for a romp around the back yard.

Now, the Matron didn't get all hopeful that he would poop out there instead of in Scarlett's bedroom. But neither did she consider that the Siren Song was in play --the sweet smell of somebody else's garbage.


The Matron has mentioned that her office is sits high in the house--a cozy little porch off of the master bedroom. See that window? Perfect view of the backyard and alley.

So she was able to clearly see that damn dog CLIMB THE WIRE FENCE and happily trot across the alley so he could begin the process of knocking over a garbage can. Now, because the Matron's house is high on a hill and there is all that clever-anti-dog wire fencing to navigate, it is impossible for the Matron to simply walk out the door and stop the creature.

No, she must put on coat and boots, go out the front door, down the block and around the alley, giving him plenty of time to knock over the can and get in a good meal.

And when he saw her coming? He turned around and ran.

Oh well. She tried, didn't she?

(he finally came home - sigh)

Post in which One Word Sums up Theology, Psyche and Time Grid Deployed Against Dog Who Believes Outdoor Defecation, Dangerous

Diarrhea.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In between curses and trips to the laundry room, the Matron pauses to thank everyone for their great generosity of spirit and support yesterday. Buoyed.

In Case You Thought She'd Forgotten Him

Now, there is someone in the Matron's household--beside her daughter--who is more delicate than that Princess who discerned a pea. Someone in her house is adept at the creature comfort, at seeking out the 300 count cotton sheet, demanding the truffle when plain old chocolate would do.

And that someone would Be Satan's Familiar.

Yesterday was a typical day for the Henchman.

He woke and was fed. After making speedy dispatch with his own bowl of nuggets, he made a bold attempt at the deaf-blind Jekyll's feast. Luckily, the Matron stood her usual guard because she just doesn't want this dog to live so long (15.5 years and ticking), only to die of starvation.

The Matron's not sure what he did while they were at the Zen Center, but the entire family spent no small amount of time looking for Merrick's sandal upon their return. You see, S.F. has taken to the fine art of Shoe Theft and Concealment. Only plastic, stupid things that the children rely on and adore, like crocs. The Matron finds them, weeks later, half-eaten, underneath beds, in closets or uncleaned corners and crannies.

Later, the Matron went to the store where she purchased some pastries: long johns, raised glazed donuts, chocolate with sprinkles. One for every child. She set the bag on the dining room table and went about her business.

Insert theme song from Jaws.


When she could not find that bag anywhere not much later, she interrogated each of her children in turn: "Did you take those donuts?"

Could it possibly be the hand of the Devil, again? But the absence of evidence, the empty bag, bothered the Matron. But as she was scanning the house yet one more time, it hit her. The dog door! She opened the human door that's right next to the dog one and sure enough -- one empty, wrinkled abandoned bag (from Woulletts, for the locals). Score one for Satan.

When the Matron went on her daily run, she considered not taking Satan's Familiar, as punishment. But she knows that what goes in, must come out and pastries with chocolate will come out as diarrhea.

Better outdoors than in.

So even though rain is imminent and the Matron dislikes running the rain, she leashes up her favorite Henchman and off they go! Now, if so much as a stick, a twig, a tiny teeny leaf gets snarled in SF's furry little hair, he refuses to move. He sits down and holds up his paw for help or rolls over: taket his pea off of me!

There is much stopping and plucking and doggy hair repair.

Then, the rain comes! The rain comes and it is decidedly not torrential, but wet. They get wet. And Satan's Familiar? It turns out that he cannot tolerate rain, not one bit. He sits beside a tree and refuses to budge. A very exasperated Matron pulls and pulls on that leash, to no avail. That doggie ain't walkin'.

So the Matron picks up her special gift from the Devil and carries him home, careful to cover his snout so he doesn't get wet.


The children were outraged! How could their mother subject the beloved to--water! Weather! Potentially dangerous Exposure, in general. They fed him treats, rubbed his belly and Merrick engaged his dog in a rounding game of Police, a game in which S.F. is jailed, escapes, chased, captured and jailed again. This keeps both of them busy, for hours.

And after sitting on Stryker's lap all through dinner before the Matron really noticed? He curled up for a good long sleep, right on the Matron's pillow.



Just another day in the life of Satan's Familiar.

Somebody Needs a Twelve Step Program

The first step is acknowledging you are powerless. Nobody said this was going to be easy. But the Matron sees all the signs!

She gasped, reading the symptoms of Substance Abuse:

• Seclusive behavior--long periods spent in self-imposed isolation
  
• Long, unexplained absences
• Lying and stealing
• Involvement on the wrong side of the law
• Deteriorating family relationships.
• Obvious intoxication, delirious, incoherent or unconscious
• Changes in behavior and attitude
• Decreased school or work performance

Seclusion and unexplained absences: Tuesday night, during play rehearsal, Satan's Familiar went missing! Nobody could find that damn dog. Half the children searched and screamed. When they finally located him a good hour later, he was holed up behind a tool shed with a leather backpack. Which he was eating.

Obvious intoxication: Later, S.F. hopped right up on the picnic table and helped himself to half a pound of organic Angel Corn Puffs. Ignoring the bowl of baby carrots, he washed down his treat with the dip for said, carrots, a big bowl of Annie's Cowgirl Ranch dressing. He spent the rest of the evening in visible pain.

Lying and Stealing: Just this morning, Satan's Familiar practiced his Olympian high jump skills and vaulted himself onto a kitchen chair, so that he could eat Stryker's bacon and cereal in comfort. The Matron understood how codependent and complicit her family had become. Merrick ate alongside the dog and just patted him on the head. As for lying? Satan's Familiar can feign sweet innocence like nobody's business.


Decreased performance: For the second time this week, the Matron had to return home halfway through her run to deposit Satan's Familiar in the backyard because diarrhea rendered him too weak to continue (and the Matron ready to toss the dog over the cliff, cleaning up that goo). This time, she was even forced to carry the sorry creature home because his droopy old stuffed junk food eating disordered self was incapable of walking as fast as the Matron, let alone, run. And that also annoyed her.

Deteriorating family relationship: See above.

On the Wrong Side of the Law:



Of course, the Matronly photograph skills render this impossible to read but that USPS? Stands for United States Postal Service. Yes, Satan's Familiar received a SECOND notice from the U.S. government, chronicling his missteps. This one says something like this: "Dog pulled outgoing letters from slot. Only got 1 of 3."

God, grant her the courage to change the things she can.

Satan's Familiar

This dog is so much fun! (did you hear the mangled, wrangled high pitch of hysteria in that line?)
While the Matron was busy battling nature in Itasca State Park, the legendary Grandma Mary took on the family dogs: fifteen year old, blind and deaf Jekyll and the fiesty Familiar, sent by Satan.

This would be Jekyll, struggling to understand where he is and what's in front of him.



One day into their trip, the Matron called her mother to inquire after Jekyll's well-being. He was fine! Lots of barking at air, but that's the thrill of doggie dementia!

She forced herself to ask. The other one?

Grandma Mary: "Well, Scruffy is attached to me. I'm going to train him not to poop in the house. He's sleeping in a kennel and when he's not there, he's attached to me with his leash."

Matron: "You're wearing the dog?"

Grandma Mary: "It's just four days."

Oh, now it all makes sense.

Fast forward to Wednesday morning, when the Matron retrieved the boys. Grandma Mary reported that:

• Satan's Familiar slept in a crate.
• Satan's Familiar did not poop or pee in the house, once.
• Satan's Familiar spent every single waking moment attached to Grandma Mary unless he was doing his duty, out doors.
• Satan's Familiar is 100% retrained to A) use the great outdoors as his toilet and B) forget the beauty of beds and adore the crate.

Two days later, the Matron can report, this:

• 

• Satan's Familiar has actually not forgotten how much he enjoys combed cotton and high-quality mattress and he will cast Evil Glance in direction of anyone considering shoving him off said comforts.
  
• Satan's Familiar celebrated his return home with instant indoor defecation! Twice.
• Within one hour of being home, Satan's Familiar broke open the front door and raced across the street, down the block, over the hills and vanished - poof -- for one frantic (Scarlett: HE'S DYING! FIND HIM!!) hour. He returned home with someone else's poop all over him.
• Satan's Familiar has a new trick! When his blind brother is eating anything - a treat, or say, his DINNER -- that wily Devil's Henchman swoops in and steals whatever food is sitting in front of Jekyll. Then, Jekyll spends the next few minutes sniffing around for his booty, while S.F. munches on it, one foot away.
  

For the new readers who missed it, there has been much of this lately, too. The new mailman actually rang the doorbell to ask about whose teeth are touching his fingertips.

Satan's Familiar is currently sound asleep on the bed, with two peanut butter sandwiches, half a cupcake and a quarter pound of turkey in his belly. Yes! He can also find his way on top of a kitchen table!

Anybody need a puppy?

That Damn Dog

The Matron spent the past two hours searching the neighborhood for Satan's Familiar.

Finally, she tossed in the towel and headed for the van so she could travel greater distances in her daily (at least) search for that damn dog.

Guess what? The man who is unable to move this, forgot Satan's Familiar in the van. Where he languished for nearly five hours!

Yes, now the Matron can search for the dog even when he's not missing. He IS magic, able to suck up all her time and spirit that way.

Now that the Matron's previous post has established her as an utterly unreliable narrator, you may not believe the terrible truth: as she was typing this, she heard Satan's Familiar barking and barking and barking -- from about four blocks away.

Sigh.

But she bought a crate. The problem is that it's hard to see his evil little self in there, all huddling and whimpering. That dog has the Matron on a very special leash.

Satan's Familiar

Yesterday, the Matron defied gravity. She hoisted the tiny acorns into her one and only push-up bra and tottered on high heels.

She felt fine!

Her hair looked good. Her purse and shoes worked well. All that teacher appreciation was just shooting through those veins! She loves her women students!

After teaching her day class, she shot home to grab the eighteen items she forgot to pack earlier: guitar for the guitar lesson; snacks; notes for teachers; overdue library books. Apples, string cheese, water. Her good mood allowed her to toss a new bag of Oreo into the mix.

As she was heading out the door to retrieve her children, Satan's Familiar implored. He wanted to ride along.

Now, Satan's Familiar is currently confined to the back porch, sort of the Matronly version of the kennel. He spends most of his time there with complete and total access to the dog door. In and out, he can go. Poop in the grass? Entirely within his reach.

But on Wednesday, SF was off the porch for just ten brief minutes. Not one to waste time, he deposited not one but three piles of poop in Scarlett's room.

That dog has talent.

But John is certain, certain, that Satan's Familiar will undergo miraculous Bowel Realignment if only he is allowed to ride in the car. To that end, SF has started traveling to post offices, grocery stores, banks and schools..

He hangs his ugly black head out the window, happy.

Because she was flying high--she felt fine, this hip middle-aged version of the put-together working mama balancing the world on her slim shoulders -- the Matron opened the door and let that damn dog out.

He immediately shot across the street and disappeared.

Satan's Familiar does not answer to any name. And, he is thoroughly afraid of the Matron, sensing her hatred and all that.

Ten minutes later, the Matron found SF eating squirrel food (bread) five houses down. He cowered against a tree until she grabbed him and, because she will support any Bowel Realignment Plan, put him in the van.

She picked up the children from school where Satan's Familiar spent some time deceiving the other families into thinking him an adorable, benign family pet. He played fetch! He licked small children. He allowed himself to be picked up and hugged by mobs of preschoolers.

"What a sweet dog!"

"He's so good with children!"

"Scruffy! What a perfect name!"

Hmmm.

In the van, the children sensed her free spirit and implored: "Can we go to Bread and Chocolate, Mom! Please, please, please!"

They are very good at the unified front. So she relented.

The sun was shining. The day was fine and so was the Matron. She and her children enjoyed a lovely treat at Bread and Chocolate, a decadent little coffee shop on the trendy and busy Grand Avenue.

As they were leaving, the Matron sensed something. . . something unusual. The female intuition made her turn and yes! She met the eye and got a wide smile from a gorgeous mid-forties male who was sipping his espresso at a sidewalk table. She couldn't help it. She smiled back, this calm put-together well-dressed working mama who was not screaming at her children nor wearing sweat pants!

Then she opened the door to the van.

Satan's Familiar shot out.

Grand Avenue is a busy, busy, busy, street. Cars drive on it. Lots of them.

And the Matron tottered and ran and raced on those high heels, her acorn chest heaving as she screamed after that dog who gave one thorough romp up and down the block. The three children cried and screamed by her side as Satan's Familiar darted once out into the street!

He shot back! Passers by tried to grab him. Gorgeous lunged, too. The Matron yelled "Scruffy!" at the top of her lungs to no avail.

Finally, the dog decided to cower under the van, with cars whipping by at top speed, just inches from his head.

Did she mention that Scarlett is sobbing: "He's going to die! He's going to get hit by a car!"

So the Matron (who is furious) spends give a few minutes kneeling on the sidewalk -- all semblance of her formerly fine self abandoned -- screaming at Satan's Familiar to COME OUT RIGHT NOW (you goddamn dog) in front of the audience of coffee shop patrons (including Gorgeous) who were previously enjoying some peace and quiet with their latte.

As Satan's Familiar consistently creeps away from the Matron, she realizes that he senses her, ah, current state. He fears for his life. Rightly.

So Stryker calls his dog, quietly, gently: "Scruffy! Here you, boy!"

Scruffy goes right into his arms. The Matron hoists her acorn bra back into position, pulls up the hosiery and hauls herself into that van.

Only to discover that while they had been enjoyed cinnamon swirls and cocoa, Satan's Familiar had eaten all of the snacks the Matron had packed and forgotten in the car - including a brand new bag of Oreo cookies! Crackers, string cheese. Attentive to the food pyramid, he even gnawed on an apple.

The Matron understands this is part of his plan to produce four times his body weight in poop later this evening. She wonders how he will worm his way into the house so he can distribute the goods evenly.

At least, as she was pulling away from the curb, that that guy? He gave her one last smile.