The Sphynx Who Stole Christmas by M. R. Dimond

Author:M. R. Dimond
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781956204056
Publisher: Rock Rose Press

Darryl and Johnny returned shortly after Dianne and her mother departed, before the commands from those left behind died down.

“Get extra cinnamon dots! And those tiny marshmallows.”

“Don’t get me anything yellow. I hate yellow.”

“Get extra socks. That way we can wear two pair.”

“Get gloves and hats that we can wear to bed.”

“See if they have blankets.”

With the return of the heroes, Mrs. Ly went into full-on grandmother fuss mode, with commands to others to make hot chocolate and tea and some lunch, for heaven’s sake. They must be starved. And Darryl should stand over the tile, not the wooden floor, to take off that ridiculous gear, dripping everywhere.

Because his coat wouldn’t fit over all his bandages, even with his clothes cut off in strategic places, his top layer of clothing was lawn-and-leaf size garbage bags. As he divested himself of these with the help of the cousins and advice from Mrs. Ly, Johnny, still bundled, nodded to me to follow him to the clinic.

“How’s Darryl?” I asked.

“He’ll be fine in a few weeks with the antibiotics and tetanus shot. I don’t want to ask him to help me. Would you? Godzilla is still free in the clinic, though I hope he’s calmed down.”

“We’re not going to bathe him, are we?”

Johnny considered. “We might have to wipe the blood off. And the icing from yesterday. We shouldn’t oil him unless we give him a full bath. You’ll want to put on your coat, maybe leather work gloves.”

“So I can get my one winter coat shredded?”

“So you can keep your skin from being shredded or punctured. I think there’s a reason we haven’t heard from Godzilla’s owner.” After I bundled up and bid a silent farewell to my coat, he opened the clinic door and whispered, “Move quietly and slowly. We don’t want to startle him.”

“That we do not,” I agreed with fervor, wincing at the pounding rain and sleet on the roof. A different sound than hurricanes make, but still threatening.

The din was louder in here because the clinic’s metal porch roof was closer to us than the roof of the main house. The racket made it hard to identify the constant low rumble. Some kind of machinery two steps from malfunction?

We took a few more steps in, past his office, to the main entry area. Now we could hear soft soprano singing, familiar to those of us who’ve been in a band with her for a decade.

Chantal was sitting on the floor, her back against the front door, singing a lullaby to the pink bundle in her arms, a bright contrast to her nut-brown skin. Godzilla glared in our general direction. I pulled out my phone in slo-mo and snapped a photo of this alternative Virgin Mary and Demon Child.

“And I’m gonna make you some little jimjams to keep you warm in this nasty weather. Have another treat. You gotta keep up your strength and pile on a few pounds for the winter.” She reached into the cat treat jar, open on the floor beside her.

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