Look What The Cat Dragged In [FICTOID]

The lovely old grandmother really wasn’t surprised to find the polar bear in her living room.

“Let me guess,” she said.  “Mr. Bump-bump-tiddly-wump brought you here,” referring to her grey short-haired house cat.

“Thou art correct, oh gracious dame of beauty,” said the polar bear. 

She looked at her cat with amusement.  “He certainly talks fancy,” she said.

“That’s because he’s a poet,” said Mister, her cat, whom we shall refer to by that name from here on in because I’ll be damned if I’m going to type Mr. Bump-bump-tiddly-wump Every.  Single.  Time.

“A poet?” she said.  “I never heard of a polar bear poet before.”

“You’re in a story where cats talk,” said Mister.  “Surely it isn’t that much of a stretch to accept a poetic polar bear.”

“Alas, I fear I doth intrude,” said the polar bear to Mister.  “I shall take my leave so as not to offend.”

“No, no,” the grandmother said.  “Sit, sit.  Always nice to get company at my age.”

The polar bear checked the furniture in the old lady’s living room before settling on the ottoman as the safest bet to support his bulk.

“May I get you something?” the grandmother asked.

“I’ll have a kippered herring,” said Mister.

“Hush, you’re on a diet.  You, poet bear, what would you like?  A Coca-Cola™ perhaps?”

“That, my dear, is what I fear, is an overripe marketing department stereotype,” said the bear.

“A Pepsi™ please.

© Buzz Dixon