While on the couch watching a Battlestar Galactica rerun, Fleegle asks, “So the people on television are not who they say they are?”
“No, they’re actors,” I say. “They’re reading lines they’ve memorized that were made up by the writers about imaginary people.”
“Does that mean if I become an actor I’ll get to fly a spaceship? I want to fly a spaceship.”
“No, they’re sitting in front of a green screen when this is shot. Someone else puts the spaceship around them later.”
“So they’re just sitting there in a couple of vinyl recliners like you and me while someone else does all of the imagining for them?”
“Well, they do read the lines,” I say.
“And they make facial expressions,” Franny says from her end of the couch. “Those two look really skinny, I bet they’re super hungry. Maybe the writers should’ve written something into the script about binging on space food. It might be the only way to get the actors to eat. I bet the writers do all of their writing in their kitchen within an arm’s length of their fridge.”
“Why do you think that?” Fleegle asks.
“Well, are you thinking about sharing when you have a mouthful of food? I don’t think so. I think these writers just don’t want to share any of their food with their characters so they starve them.”
Fleegle gets off the couch and sniffs the actors on the television screen. “They don’t smell so good. Raud, I think they need our help. Why don’t we move the television into the kitchen and try to feed them.”
Franny wags her tail. “Yeah, you could put the television on top of the refrigerator and you could throw food at their mouths when they’re talking. Some of it is bound to get in.”
I shake my head. “The couch goes wherever the TV goes and it won’t fit in the kitchen.”
“Ah yes,” Fleegle says, “but the fridge will fit in the living room.”
“Yeah, right next to the couch. And you’d only have to move one thing that way instead of two,” Franny says and jerks her chin at the screen. “Look at her skinny arms. Do you think she ate at all last week? At the rate she’s wasting away, she may not be around for next week’s episode.”
Fleegle struts in front of the couch. “We need to move on this fast, Raud, and start throwing food at her. She’s my favorite character.”
“Is that so. Then what’s her name?”
“Um… The hungry one?”
I get up from the couch. “Okay, but she’s only getting popcorn. We don’t want to overfeed her. She might go into shock from too many calories.”
Fleegle tilts his head at me. “But that’s popcorn with melted butter, right?”
“And salt,” Franny adds.
Previous Bartering with Biscuits – Therapy
Fleegle blasts out of the bamboo, a biscuit sticking out of his mouth, and jets across the lawn and into the bamboo on the other side of the yard. Moments later, Franny runs awkwardly from the first bamboo, across the lawn after him and into the second bamboo, growling the whole way.
Then Fleegle blasts from the second bamboo, across the lawn, and dives into the first bamboo. A moment later Franny stumbles out of the second bamboo, makes it about halfway across the lawn and plops down panting.
She looks all around her, then her gaze lands on me. “Where’d the fat head with biscuit breath go?”
“Don’t tell her, Raud,” Fleegle calls out from his hiding place in the bamboo.
Franny sniffs the air, then gets up and scent tracks Fleegle to his spot. He emerges from the bamboo, crunching on the last of the biscuit he was carrying.
Franny looks at the crumbs stuck to his face. “Now if you had shared your biscuit, I wouldn’t have been able to find you by your scent because I would’ve smelled like biscuit too.”
“If I had shared my biscuit, you wouldn’t have been chasing me at all.”