I finish pushing the reel mower around the backyard lawn and go inside for a glass of water to wash down the pollen where I find Fleegle in the kitchen sitting in front of the refrigerator with the door wide open and a strange blue glow on his face.
“What the cat, Fleegle? Close the fridge door. You’re letting all the cold air out.”
He doesn’t budge. “But then I won’t be able to see it.”
“See what? The egg?”
“No, the ham.” He wags his tail. “Are you ready for your sandwich yet?’
“It’s only 10:30 and I had a big bowl of oatmeal for breakfast.”
“I know, it was tasty.”
I step over to close the fridge door, but stop. “Does it look bigger to you?”
“No, the egg.”
“Maybe, but the ham definitely looks smaller. If you were smart you’d go buy a new light bulb for the fridge and give that crazy egg thingy to Timber Jack. I bet his jaws can crush anything.”
“You’re probably right, but we need to see this through. Don’t you want to know what it is?”
“Not as much as I want to avoid another encounter with crazy space chickens.”
“Oh Fleegle, you worry too much.
* * *
In the middle of the night I’m woken by a cold wet nose in my face. “Raud, wake up. It’s happening.”
“Your reckoning. Listen.”
I hear the muffled sounds of something thrashing about coming from the direction of the kitchen.
Fleegle jumps off the bed. “You better bring that bat you keep by the bed.”
I glance at it as I slip my feet into my slippers, then grab it and follow the noise to the kitchen.
Fleegle cocks his ears. “It’s coming from inside the fridge.”
As I open the fridge door, the sound stops, and all looks normal inside, bathed in a pink glow of a Key West sunset.
“It’s gone,” Fleegle says.
“No, it’s not,” I say and point at the egg.
“Not the egg, the ham.” His hackles go up and he growls. “And the egg looks definitely bigger.”
I flick on the kitchen light. “And so does your belly.”