Monster blog

I made a mistake and I feel really bad about it. You see we had a big party at work and some upper management people were down from headquarters. The local boss put out a nice spread and it was great. Every type of food and snack you could think of to eat, and that's what lead to my big mistake.
Over at one table were small baskets of chocolate of every description possible. Knowing I had a chocolate fiend at home I had to grab some. I took a napkin and scooped a few of every type. I knew I would like some later and the monsa would love me.
When I got home that night my wife was asleep and the monsa was in the basement watching TV. I dumped the goods on the table and went to bed for the night.

Now in life there are many ways to awaken. I like to be woken slowly with music, being woken suddenly with a monsa hand hugging your face yelling how much he loves the Big One is not the way I would ever want to awake to.
"What the .." I sat up and he rolled of my face onto the bed.
"I love you and.. and.. and I love you" he then collapsed into giggles and rolled onto his back.
My wife and I exchanged looks and I reached over and gently picked him up. His one red shot eye peered out at me from half closed eye lids.
" I really really love you Biggy" *hick*.

For a second my mind could not comprehend it. The furry guy was drunk. Now this was strange as I had no alcohol in the house.
"Did you drink something?" As I asked this I noticed chocolate around his mouth.
"Only chocolate in kitchen. good chocolate, yummy chocolate, happy chocolate. Super.." I placed a finger over his mouth.
"I'll check this out right now". My wife headed to the kitchen to check it out.
He just laid there. His legs hanging limp over the edge of my hand, a little chocolate drool coming from his mouth, his eye glazed in an alcoholic stupor.

"Dummy! You brought home a chocolate rum ball" she held up the offending item and the monsa suck marks were very evident.
"Look. Happy happy chocolate". *hick*.
Well with some warm cocoa and time he finally went from drunken stupor to after drunk sick. During this time we talked and I begged his forgiveness
I went and found the bad chocolate and several others I thought were also rum balls and threw them into trash.
I feel bad because I did not even think about it and his experience with anything like this is nil.
I guess that night I learned the bigger lesson then he did.

Somedays I feel like the monster in the house.

The family room is in the basement and monsa hand has to go through the basement to get to his nest where he sleeps in the closet. I was watching TV and leaned back and started to snooze like normal. I awoke with the feeling all parents get when their kids are up to something. I looked down and scurrying across the floor was monsa hand.

Now this is normal because as he runs the only word to describe it is scurrying. Well he was scurrying across the floor heading for his area, but this time he was sopping wet and holding a big fish.
"Stop!" The stop and jump showed me he did not know I had opened my eyes, and that he was also caught red handed doing something he should not be doing..
"Why are you holding one of the neighbors Koi?" The said fish was flopping around in his arms and not very happy to be there, obviously.
"It's my pet and it wanted to come home with me and I will take care of it and I really will love it and I have a bowl of water for it and I..."
Shhhhh! I raised my hand into the universal halt sign.
"The fish is unhappy. Take it right back to the pond and.."
"But I want a pet and.. and.. and" He looked desperate to find the proper words that would let him keep the fish.
"No! Take it back right now" I emphasized this by pointing to the door. He sullenly took the fish out. The silent treatment I got the rest of the night was a refreshing break from the non stop questions and banter of that he normally is like.
But I still feel bad. Every kid, even monsa kids, want a pet every once in awhile, and we have to say no before a zoo is created. It still doesn't make me feel less horrible

The little guys eating habits have changed over time. At first he only ate chocolate items. I know it sounds strange but that's what he asked for. I tried other food but nothing worked.
I did make a few errors when first feeding him. Reeses cups. A true no no. You see they have tongues that seems a mix of snake and dog, so they cannot get peanut butter off the roof of their mouth. The first time he almost choked to death. I didn't notice his struggling and the peanut butter build up in his mouth kept getting worse and worse. It seemed that even while struggling he kept eating. Well I helped him clear his mouth and for awhile PB was out, but he loved it.

One day by accident he found a little trick he could do. He takes a PB cup and "fangs it". Then he sucks the peanut butter straight down into his belly through the little fang holes. In reality a real smart idea. The PB shots straight past his mouth and he fills up and is happy. But ick. If you've ever gone into the family room after he has been up all night and see dozens of shriveled reeses cups all over you would be queasy. It's like a little PB vampire is living with us. Plus he slurps when he sucks it out. A truly stomach churning sound to hear through the house at night.

Damn. I remember the first time we celebrated a "day after". It was Easter of 2000. I had gotten a big chocolate Easter bunny at work and brought it home. It was the hollow type and it sat on the kitchen table for days.

Well I finally decided to eat it one night and I went looking for it. Gone. I looked all over and even threatened to shave monsa hand if he had taken it, but he remained silent. I had to just admit that it was gone. My wife arrived home from work and as she was taking her jacket off said "Dear. Why did you leave the Easter bunny on the front steps?"
"What?" I headed for the door but was passes instantly by a scurrying monsa hand screaming "Run! Run! He's going to eat you! Ruuuun!".

Damn. I knew instantly he thought the bunny was real inside of the box. After grabbing him as he attempted to shut the front door I opened the container and unwrapped the bunny and took the aluminum off.

He looked at it funny but I noticed something. The second the wrapper was off and the smell of chocolate started to spread his nose twitched. I picked up the bunny, held it out to him and asked him to smell it.
He leaned in slowly. Took a slow sniff, and then backed up slowly.
"You covered him in chocolate?" He seemed very confused. I was planning not to shock him but knew I would have to.
"Watch." I held the bunny to the table top. My wife, in the background whispered "you better not do what I think you are about ....."
Snap I broke the bunnies head off, and in the same motion grabbed the monsa hand who had just turned and started to run by reflex only.

The hand I had grabbed him with also had the chocolate head. As I held him he slowly stopped squirming and biting me. I think the smell of chocolate made him slow down enough to take a look. Well with his interest peaked he slowly picked the head up, looked in the hollow, and whispered "are you in there?"

Well with no answer, and after a good examination of the body he agreed that no bunnies were hurt in the production of the treat. He then started to yell at me for being mean to him.

I, regretfully, did not get to enjoy a single darn piece of chocolate. Because my wife said that because I was mean to the little guy she would split it with him, alone. I was left out totally. I hate "day afters".

Monsa hand has just learned the joys of books. It is nothing abnormal to come home and see him sitting on an open paperback reading. Right now he is into kids books. He liked the Curious George books and thought the monkey was funny, as he did many of the same things to my regret. He also likes the stories of Beverly Cleary. Just one problem, he takes to heart what he reads.

I realized this because one day he banished my wife from the basement.
He was laying down reading a book when my wife came in and laid down next to him. She was into a series of fantasy books and liked to read with monsa hand. Helping him with some of the words and meanings was a true joy for her.

Well this day as she laid down next to him he looked at her, stepped off his book, closed it, and pushed it about a foot away and started to read it again. Now even from where I was sitting I could see it was just a kids book he was reading. I thought he might be embarrassed by what he was reading, but why be embarrassed by this one?
Well my wife and I exchanged glances and she scooted closer to him. He then looked at her and repeated his actions. I and my wife, exchanged a bewildered glance. I motioned her to try again. This time she scooted closer to him, and before he could start shifting away she reached over to scritch him. "Are you ok hon.."

'Arrggghhhh!!!." He screamed, He jumped up and started towards the family room door. At first my wife and I were totally shocked. This was not the normal reaction of a scritch, it was not the normal reaction of anything.
Then the whole problem was exposed, causing my wife and I to collapse in laughter.
"Cooties, cooties cotties, she gave me cooties" He yelled this all the way into the bathroom for a needed cootie shower.
Cooties. Yep we learned that night he had entered the "All girls have icky cooties" stage of kid development.
The one good thing is the fact he is growing fast is the stages come and go fast.
But not fast enough for me...
or my wife.

I have to keep the freezer padlocked. Honest! It's really strange and I am not sure how to say it, but the furry little guy is weird.
It started the day after my wife's birthday party. He had stayed in the basement with a nice big piece of chocolate cake with chocolate sauce on it. Well the next day I was sitting at the kitchen table eating a bowl of rocky road ice cream when he came into the room. After lifting him onto the table he looked at what I was eating and asked for a bite. Well I figured he had the same germs as I did so I put some on a spoon and set it down for him.
Damn. I have never seen anything like it before in my life. At first he flicked his tongue out and touched it. With a small nibble he slurped some in. A funny look crossed his face, his eye opened real wide, and he buried his head into the ice cream.
Sluuuuuurp!
He pulled his head out and his cheeks were bulging with ice cream. With a giant gulp he forced it down into his gullet. He paused, quivered, then shrieked. His eye rolled back and his head dropped to the table and he laid there still.
"Oh my god I killed him". I jumped up yelling for my wife who ran into the room.
We stood there looking at him. I thought he was dead. I was feeling like crap.
"I didn't mean to kill him. He asked for some ice...."
At this point he stood up. With a smile he asked "What is it?"
Well I was so damn happy he was alive I answered.
"Ice cream."
"I scream?" he asked?
"No, Ice cream"
"Yeah, yeah. I scream" and buried his head again into the I scream.
Well he gulped it down again, screamed again, and then collapsed. Again.
After several times of watching this my wife removed the "I scream" from the table and poured it into the sink.
"Noooooooooo!!" He wailed, jumped from the table, scurried across the floor, and tried to climb up the cabinet front.
Well that day we found the little guy has a problem with cold "I scream". We have to keep it locked up or the little screams in the night wake us. I will admit I indulge him sometimes and let him have little bowls to eat, but the second the screaming starts the bowls get taken away.
I am to this day not sure what effect it actually has, but we have to keep it away.

He purrs!
Honestly! I was laying on the couch with monsa hand on my belly watching TV. I cannot even remember what was on, but it had something to do with food. At first I had no idea what was going on. I looked down and noticed his eye was shut and his head was laying on his front arms. He was purring as he slept.
I reached down carefully, as not to disturb him, and gave him a soft gentle scritch on the back of his head. The purring increased, and continued to increase in relationship to the amount of scritching I was doing. He was now purring so much that, from the other side of the room, my wife had set up from her chair and was watching.
I stopped scritching his head to see what would happen. Ever so slowly the purring subsided and soon faded into nothingness. My wife and I exchanged smiling looks as I nudged monsa hand gently. His head popped up and with a blinking eye and a yawn asked what was wrong. I asked him if he knew he purred as he slept.
With a huff he stood up and looked me in the eyes and said "monsa's don't purr, ugly cats purr, monsa's growl". With an air of indignation he walked from the family room with heavy foot steps. My wife and I were able to keep facial control until he was gone before breaking out into smiles and laughter.
Being a young monsa hand at the time he wanted so much to look and act like the big mean monsters on TV, and purring was not allowed. Purring was for cat's and girl's. His words not mine.
My wife and I never brought it up again because of his irritation, but every time he napped he would purr just a little, and I would smile just a little more.

As much as I love the furry little guy he has made me change my life, and not always to the better. I miss good omelets the most.
It started when he was watching the dang discovery channel and they were talking about birds. Monsa asked me about eggs and I pulled out the old health book and gave him a little lesson on eggs, and babies.
Big friggin mistake. For you see, he was born from an egg and that gives him a certain empathy with all eggs. I did not know this until one day while cracking a big pile of eggs for my wife's famous wild west quiche. I heard this "epp!". I looked over and there stood monsa hand. His one eye was open wider then I had ever seen it, a look of horror crossed his face. With a scream he took off running to the basement, with me in pursuit.
"Don't eat me! Don't eat me! Don't eat me!" all the way down the stairs. I cornered him in his closet where, in a panic, he curled into the tribble like ball and closed the bad bad world out.
Damn! So after getting him uncurled, I spent the next hour counseling a poor sad monsa, who in his eyes had just seen mass murder. I explained that the eggs I buy were not fertilized and would never ever become a bird or monsa hand. At this point I had to go on the net and show him the entire chicken industry of America. That was a very unpleasant evening.
We tried in the following days to show him that the eggs were not monsa eggs, and that no baby chicks were inside. But no matter how prepared he was, even under the fur I could tell he grew pale and shivered with every crack of the shell.
So we gave up. We now live in a egg free house.
Well here I sit knowing my wife is cooking a cake using the most foul egg substitute ever created by man. Egg beaters.
I miss my quiche, I miss scrambled eggs. I feel guilty whenever I buy a sausage egg and cheese biscuit.
But I do love the little furry guy, so it is worth it....Mostly

Now before you get mad at my wife, understand that Monsa hand and I had just gotten her mad minutes before and, well to put it nicely, the little furry guy got off light.
It was winter when we got monsa hand and things were like they always were during winter. We always wore heavy coats, gloves were left by the door, no one wore shorts, and my wife did not shave her legs so she could grow a "nice winter coat" in my words. Well winter was ending and my desire to see a well shaped pair of legs overcame my good sense so I planned an act of evil with monsa hand.

We had been sitting in the living room watching TV for a while. Monsa hand was in the middle of the floor sucking on a lollipop trying to count how many licks it took to get to the center. Every few moments he would look at me and smile. We had planned this for days and monsa hand was not good at "timing". At a nod from me Monsa hand jumped up and ran to my wife. He stopped at her foot, looked up with an angelic like innocence and asked the well rehearsed line, "Can I climb up your leg?"
My wife looked down in worry. Monsa hand had never been this cute and nice before. The word "Danger! Danger Will Robinson!" ran through her head. "Ok. But no claws for traction."

As he climbed up her leg to get to her lap her paused and hugged her leg. "I like your legs. It's like hugging a nice big furry monsa"

"Arrgghhhh!! Get off now!" she reached down and flipped him off onto the floor and started to storm off to the shower for a well needed shearing shaving.
This is where monsa hand shows his horrible timing. Jumping to his feet he looked at me and, with a smile said "It worked! It worked! We got her to shave her legs. Yippy!" The problem is she had not gotten out of the room. With a leap of quite desperate panic I fled towards the other door. I am not sure what impacted the door frame as I went through it, but I am sure of one thing ...

I deserved it.

Monsas have horrible timing.

Monsa hand was a baby when he started to live with us. Cute, nice, adventurous, and absolutely no natural social skills.

He thought the only way to talk to us was to crawl onto us. Well I was ok with it after I got used to it, but after being thrown across the room with a screech from my wife he learned he should ask her first. That was one of the first house rules we had to lay down. I mean I was not bothered but my wife was less then thrilled to be woken up with something furry crawling over her. I also did not like being torn from sleep with a screaming wife. It makes it hard to fall back to sleep.

He also had to learn space. Places you did not intrude upon. Example would be the shower incident, or maybe phrased the shower horror. My wife had just walked past me with a very short robe on and went into the basement shower. I could hear the water running and all seemed calm in the world. Yes. I know. That is normally is when the dam gives way, and boy did it ever.

I first heard the standard "the monsa is up to something and has upset the wife" screech, followed by silence. The silence is not normal by any means. About a minute later I learned to my horror why there was the silence. Into the room walked a shaky, wet, shaved monsa hand. "Oh! My! God! What happened?" "I.......I.......I.....I just wanted to watch her shower and she yelled at me and was mean." He whimpered. "Did she do that?" Because although he had hair left most was shaved off and he looked horribly naked, and cold. "Yes! She is so mean, she grabbed her electric razor and did this.........Shave her!!!"

Well as I have explained, he had been warned and I could not feel to bad for him. I took him to the upstairs bedroom and went to my dresser drawer. My father in law had visited sometime before monsa hand had moved in and left some of his rogaine cream. FIL was going bald and fighting a loosing battle.

Well I applied some and told him that may help, but do not expect any results for ... FWWOOOP!!!

Standing in front of me was now a fully furry monsa hand. It was like a little hair bomb went off in him when I applied the rogaine. Now this was an unexpected result, at least speed wise.

So that day we each learned something. He would never walk into the shower to watch, and I learned the next time he was dumb and my wife shaved him I could rogaine his hair fully back, after a needed time of public suffering of course.

Up until now monsa hand had been living on chocolate and softer foods because he had no teeth. I will admit it was cute when he smiled big at you and all you could see was a pink gummy maw. His cuteness was adorable and my wife soon agreed that we should try to help raise him.
About three weeks after he showed up we were watching TV and I noticed that he looked grumpy and was making sucking sounds with his mouth like he had a lollipop, but noting was in his mouth then, a true rarity. "are you ok monsa hand?". I asked because he looked unhappy.
"I'm fine, just leave me alone!" He jumped up and took off in a huff. I had by now learned how he ran so I intercepted him and after picking him up asked again what was bothering him.
"It hurts and I don't know why!" was his sad reply. I got him to open his mouth and saw on his upper gum line a small red spot.
Aha! I knew it. He was grumpy because he was teething. Now as I had no kids I was limited in teething knowledge but I was not totally ignorant either. I went and pulled an ice cube from the fridge and laid it in front of him. The confused pained look I got was sad and sweet, but when I informed him that the ice cube would help make it hurt less he attacked it with gusto.
It worked. I went that afternoon to a store and got an infant book on what to do and followed the instructions almost to the "T". I got some ambisolm for his tooth and that, plus ice, helped him till two days later a small white needle sharp fang popped out.
With in a week it grew to its full length and set nicely in his mouth.
Now how did I know how sharp it was? Because a primal instinct causes them to try out their new tooth and every time he did not like something I did, I had to pull him off my ankle chomping the entire time. Calling him snaggle tooth also got me chomped on, but he looked so strange for three weeks till the second one came out. He then became Vampire boy, with the resulting chomping on my ankles.
Such is life with a teething monsa hand

Monsas love to have a little place they call their own. I use the word "nest" to describe where the live but they like to use the word "home". I did not know for days where he was sleeping, he just said goodnight to me and the misses and scurried out of the room into the darkness. Well the mystery was solved one day when I was cleaning out a closet and found the nest. It was a little corner behind some boxes. The small area was full of reeses cup wrapping and candy bar packages. All together about two weeks of my midnight snacks had found their way here, little shit that he is. I almost started to clean it out when I noticed a terry cotton wash rag laid out and well used. I could tell this was what he slept on. Being furry no blanket was needed at night, but the wash rag was so much better then the floor.
I knew I would be pissed if someone took apart my house, so I just moved the boxes back and left it as it was. I love the little guy and figured the loss of one small corner of one closet was worth the him being happy and having a place to call his own. We have moved many times since that first nest, and each time they find a little corner to turn into their own place. I have never mess with their nests for all the time I have had monsa hands living with me. It would be, well, rude.

Monsa hands are one of the strangest creatures on earth. For example, everyone has seen rolly polly bugs. When you touch them they roll up and will stay thataway until they feel safe. Monsa hands do the same thing. Once I got so mad I yelled at him. I feel bad about it because he was just doing the same thing any other dumb youth would do, just in his own way. I yelled "damnit! You are in deep trouble". He looked at me, whimpered, and rolled himself into a furry tribble-like ball. Damn. I had never seen that before.

After picking him up I gave him a good look over. He seemed ok, just round. I was rolling him around and seeing if I could find where his head was when I heard him giggle. Aha! I touched one spot and the giggle repeated itself. After three times his head popped out yelling "Quit quit quit. I'm mad at you" then disappeared into the furry mass.

I then gently tickled the spot again where I realized his neck was and soon the head popped out again. This time I was ready and stuck my finger under his chin so he could not roll back up. "Listen you. I'm sorry but when you roll up you can't hear me. You shouldn't do that." I then apologized for yelling at him. He forgave me and we went and made some hot coco to drink. I also found that a belly of warm coco would get him happy in a heart beat.

Having monsters can cause problems. Most you deal with when they occur, some you see coming but there is no solution. Today is one of them, You see we have four living with us now. The original monsa hand moved years ago and many have come and gone as we adopt, raise, love, and let go when the time comes. We made a large mistake, sort of, when we found that monsters could read. We learned this when one day my wife told me the c. h. o. c. o. l. a. t. e. was in the kitchen. Seconds later we hear a tearing noise and as we walk into the kitchen we see him eating a giant hershey's kiss. He looks up at us and through chocolate glazed eyes mutters g. o. o. d. . Damn! He can spell.
Well back to the subject on hand. There are two days in the year that monsas hold sacred. The are not the holiday's that you and I know so well. Nope. They are monsa holidays. They are called the "day after's". Yep. The day after Easter and the day after Halloween when the chocolate candies go on sale. Well saving up all the money they can earn and steal they give us a pile of coins and marching orders to go to the nearest market and buy! buy! buy!
So here I am, typing at my keyboard, while in the background the sound of monsas gorging themselves into chocolate nirvana are heard. I prepare for the cleanup, small furry upset stomachs, and a moody wife muttering about the little chocolate rats messing up her carpet again.
To us Easter, to them the "day afters".

It took a but of time before he learned house rules.
Example.. My wife was going to make up a big pile of biscuits for breakfast. I was in the livingroom when I heard a shriek and a thud. I stood to run to the kitchen just in time to see a large cloud of flour float out through the doorway and a very very white monsa hand run out screaming "Not me! Not me! Not me!" all the way till he disappeared into the basement.
"Get him the heck out of the house now!" was the only comment my wife yelled as she started to clean. Knowing my wife I stood back as she banged around pots and pans and leaned the flour mess.
After 10 minutes or so she muttered "just keep him out of the darn kitchen"
I took a walk into the basement where monsa hand had made his own little nest in a basement closet.
"What happened?" I asked as I watched him clean his fur.
"I was sitting in the flour waiting for her and when she reached in for a handful I grabbed her as a joke..She threw me and the flour bag across the room..I liked it but she's mad at me." a sniffle arose and I knew I would have to do something soon or he would cry again.
"listen. She's not mad as much as startled. Just ask me before you try anymore jokes on her and things will be ok. Sound good?"
After agreeing to this I knew the little smuck would forget and do something else again.
I wonder how good my house insurance is?

How does a monsa hand look? Well like a furry "it", but with an eye, mouth, little ear things, and pads for feet. I was holding him the first night and talking to him telling him about me and my wife when I felt a poke in the palm of my hand. I looked down slowly and he was looking at the his front left pad and jutting out of it was a small claw.
"Is this mine?" He was a little puzzled and I explained what claws were. Well we looked and he had a simple single claw on each pad, retractable just like a cats, but sharper then a needle.

Their body is covered with a soft fur and they are very vain about its condition. They start out about the size of a large jaw breaker and grow up to the size of a standard winter glove. Although some are a little more plump then the rest, they are overall the same general size.

Monsa hand, the original, has a brown eye with a little green on one side. I am not sure how they do it but even with one eye they have good depth perception.
Overall a rather handsome monsa hand. He was our first and the one we hold closest to our heart.

"What is it and clean up the mess yourself"
That is not what I want to be welcomed home from work with. I walked into the bedroom and saw "it".
Laying amid a pile of candy wrappers and half eaten chocolate bars was the bloated, plump, monster thingy.
"Hi" I waited for a reply and soon it came.
BRAPPPP!!. "You're home big one!" was the first verbal response from the thingy.
I asked how much it ate while looking at all the wrappers. A sort of nirvana look appeared in its eyes as the reply "All I could" echoed forth.

It took a bit to clean up and I got my first lesson in monster knowledge.
They have a weakness for chocolate causing them to eat till they cannot force any more in. Chocolate is also good for bribery.
We sat and talked about what it was and where he came from. It really had no idea. All it could remember was popping out of an egg into a dark place with lots of scurrying and noise. He said he found a small place and hid till things got quite. He looked out and saw our livingroom and made a break for it, when he saw me coming he hid in my shoe and then I "attacked " him with my foot.
It took me but a mere minute to figure he came in a box of books we had just had delivered so he must have "popped" in the back of the truck.

I asked if he would like to stay with us. He asked if I could get more chocolate, when I replied yes he said ok but it took me the rest of the night to convince the wife. Mouse sized furry things that talk are not a ladies best friend.
He promised he would be good and never do anything wrong. My wife and I exchanged looks of total disbelief but decided to keep him.
We offered him several nice names but he decided on one of his own making. "Monsa Hand".

The first time I knew monsters were real was when my shoe yelled at me.

I was putting on a pair of work shoes and as I picked them up, like normal, I unlaced them, like normal, and then started to slide my foot in when I heard a small yell of "don't hurt me" come from my shoe, definitely NOT normal.

I looked into the shoe and there "it" was. A small furry one eyed monster. To make it more the whole situation more strange it was crying. WT!. The Monty Python line ran through my head "and now for something different". I knew I was on no strange medicines so I said what anyone would say.
"Hello there!"
"Please don't hurt me. I'm small" this comment was ended wit a small wet sniffle.
Well he was small . I had to admit I always thought monsters would be a lot bigger. Less … squishable. It had four legs from what I could see and looked so much like a hairy "thing" from the Adams family. On the end of one long neck was a big soft sad eye. One single eye.

"Now why would I hurt you?" I mean I had not done anything yet and I was a little upset. After all this was my first monster experience. You're never offered a class for things like this in school.
" 'Cause your big".
Ok I admit it, I am big, but I have never hurt little "things".
"I will not hurt you. I promise. My name is Gunner. Who or what are you?"
A puzzled look came over his face and a small tear formed in his eye and he whispered " I don't know".
"Where are you from?" Good follow up question I thought but the reply was like the last.
"I don't know that either" now he started to sniffle. I say "he" because I could tell that he was a little boy, even in a monster boys are obvious.
"Well listen. I have to go to work, will you be here when I get home?"
A very puzzled look came over him. " You're not going to eat me?"
??????
"Now why would you think that?"
"Cause you're big and big things eat little things!" he said, as the sniffles become open bawling.

I reached into the nightstand where I keep my midnight stash of candy and pulled out a candy bar. Tearing the wrapper open as fast as I could I laid a small piece in front of him and said "Eat this, it will make you feel better". I am so glad I pulled my fingers back because he attacked it with the gusto of a famine victim.
"Chomp chomp slurp slurp.....Belch!!!!!!!!"
That was discusting.
"MORE!!" his eye was now locked on the candy bar in my hand, a primal glaze now on his face.
"Only if you stay till I get home" good demand I thought. Plus I had to show the wife that either I was nuts or reality just shifted ala "twilight zone" style.
"I'll stay, I'll stay, more! more! more! more!"
I threw the bar down and headed to work.

Thus I met my first, of many, many monsters.
And life just got weird