Monster blog

"Would you please explain the hair to me?" was one of many questions I had for him. He had worked with monsa hands for years so I thought he might know.
"Was he naked? They really hate being naked. It sounds mean but one of the things they would do to each other was to shave them while they were asleep. The next morning I would have this little pale wrinkled thing at my door begging for hair tonic. Just a little and "BANG!" Hair. They have this strange metabolism that reacts fast to everything. A simple lick of an aspirin and a minute later they are better, or a warm cup of cocoa. I have yet to see a walker finish one without falling asleep."
"Same here. I end up with half cups of cocoa all over the house. and a sleeping monsa that I end up carrying to his bed."
"Can I ask why you call them monsa hands? I know they are the size of your hand but it seems strange."
"No. No problem. He actually picked his own name. He saw a glove and got a little scared until I showed him it fit on my hand. He has called himself monsa hand since."
"Well it is as good a name as I picked, probably better because he picked it himself." He paused and looked me in the eye "You do know they have a small problem with chocolate don't you?"
"The lock on my cake pan and one cabinet show that I have had run ins with this issue. Sort of like Garfield and lasagna, but worse"

The night ended when we went in to check on monsa hand. He was sitting on Doc's desk glaring at us
"I don't like anybody!" he turned his back to us and sat down to sulk.
"I have this whole cup of chocolate soup just for you and since you're mad at me I will have to throw it away" I walked to the trashcan and made a dropping motion.
"I love you big one. I really do" He had turned and put his fake angelic face on. The pure innocence of love. Bull.
I sat it down on the desk next to him and pulled my fingers back in a well learned act of self preservation. He was on it like piranha and soon we had a plumper furry happy monsa hand sitting there.
"You want to go home now? You won't get sick anymore because the doc gave us some stuff.."
He quickly sat down and yelled out "No more shots. No. No. No." he kept yelling this until I was finally able to break in.
"Chocolate covered pills you shrimp" The resulting silence as he thought about it dragged until he nodded an OK to me.

"Well lets get his stuff and go. Thanks again Doc. We were really worried." I reached for the box and picked up a fat happy monsa hand and we started to go.
As we were heading out the door monsa piped in "Sorry about your desk".
I of course had to stop. "Desk?"
Doc laughed out loud at that point. "Don't worry. They have a small habit of getting mad after a shot. I am quite used to it. Go home and enjoy yourself. But remember to throw out the plant!"

So we went home and to bed very happy and relieved. Monsa went to sleep with Curious George and seemed happy again. He mumbled once his butt hurt but I ignored him. He was just trying for some sympathy chocolate, but it would not work tonight.

they were mean to me
biggys wife held me down
she farts also
they poked me in the butt with a needle
i am not sharing my chocolate
the bald man is mean
i peed in his desk and pulled on all his wires

monsa
not big stinky one or stinky wife

"S. H. O. T. He needs one" Doc said as he reached slowly for Monsa hand.
With a delay due to his not feeling well, his eye popped open. The scream of "No!" was not unexpected when Doc grabbed at him. I say at because monsa made a run for the edge. Either by design or bad luck the table top was slick and his little claws, extended by reflex, gave him almost no traction so he just panicked and scittered in place making almost no progress for the edge of the table. Well with my wife and I holding him down, Doc gave him a small shot in the butt. "I use ped needles made for infants. They are the perfect size for them." Perfect yes, but monsa still had claws and fangs and used them nicely in defense of his butt. After the "I don't like nobody!" wail he began to get sleepy and shut his eye. "I gave him a big dose of antihistamines so he will be asleep for a while. By the time he awakens his butt will not be hurting and he should be breathing just fine." He cleaned up and laid Monsa Hand down in Curious George's lap so he could sleep off the shot.

Doc, my wife and I were sitting around the dinner table as Emmy fussed around the kitchen and gave a running dialogue. "My yes. I remember the first one. Little Johnny .. or was it Harry? Well someone brought one in and asked what it was because it also was sick. You remember Star Trek?"
"Yes". I had no idea what that meant but I used to be a trekie in my own youth. "Well we figured out it also was allergic and got it back on its legs..err.. Feet.. No! Pads. Yes. We got it back on its pads and tried to figure out what it was. Doc was also a trekie and said it looked like a tribble from one episode." She paused and gave a big laugh."Doc here was sure surprised when it reached out and bit the heck out of him then told him "I am not no ugly tribble" Doc almost had a heartattack he wasn't expecting it to be able to talk." She paused in her busy work to kiss doc on his balding head. "Would of hated to loose the old fart. Well the furry thing said it was not a tribble because it had legs and could walk. I was more surprised at the talking part but anyway. We said would you like to be called a Walker"

Doc jumped in as his wife walked out of the room. "That was the first. Little Billy ended up with two. A little brown and gray male and a little blondish female. He named them Flash Gordon and Dorothy. He lived near us for about 5 years. Moved when he was 16. By then there were about 50 of them in the area. Walkers. Lots of them. Different colors and such."

"Are you saying there are 50 monsas in this town?" I was on edge. Monsa would be so happy when he heard this. "Nope. When Billy moved the whole kit and kaboodle moved with him. Well that's what we think anyway. No more ever dropped by. They would come over on their own by then. We were the walker doctors. But one day they all left. I was very surprised to see yours."

"Doc. We are not alone" I then told him about monsa hand smelling another one in the mall.
By this time Emmy returned with the soup so we all sat back and ate up.

Doc and Emmy were pretty happy to know there might be more. So for the rest of the night was sat and exchanged monsa hand stories. With 5 years of being the only monsa doc in town he had some doozies.

I have never been as scared as I was when I first knocked on Doc Wilson's door. I had called ahead to see if he was home and ask if he could look at a sick "pet". Monsa hand tried to bite me when I said "pet", but was so sick he missed and just fell flat.

Doc Wilson's wife Emmy ushered us in. I was holding a shoe box closely to my chest. I asked if Doc was there and she instructed us to go right on back into his study.
The study was something out of time. Old wood shelves and medical equipment decades old when I was born. In the center of the room was an examination table. It was smaller then most, being made for animals, and had raised sides.
"Well come in and let me have a look at your little pet" He took the box gently from me and sat it down. "Now what do you have? Hamster? Gerbil? Maybe one of those new ferrets that everyone seems to like."

He lifted the boxes lid and exposed a curled up Curious George doll and a box of chocolate.
"What...?" He turned to me and I raised my cupped hands in front of me, holding monsa hand in them.
You see I carry the little guy in my pocket most of the time. The box idea did not go over well with him, so I put his stuff in it.
Monsa was curled up in my hand and laid there limply. He raised his head and looked at doc.
"Hi... "Acchhooooo!! His head fell back into my hand.
"Doc I need to explain what this is it is..." I started on some lines I had prepared to introduce monsa hand to doc without scaring the crud out of him.
"You got a little walker there." He reached over and with practiced hands went right to the back of monsa's head and expertly started to scritch him.
Well I and my wife started to talk over each other at the "walker" comment.
"What?" "Where?" and "When?" were jumbles in many other questions that pored from us.

Ignoring us like parents he turned his concentration over to monsa and picked him up and carried him to the table.
With an order to sit quietly we did, and although our heads were full of questions we obeyed.
Monsa hand then became the center of Doc's world. He pulled out a small tray of very small instruments and gave him a full going over.
We sat there as Doc's muttering of "temp ok." and "little chubby" was all we learned for the next few minutes.
Doc then pulled out a miniature chocolate bar and laid it down in front of monsa and told him to nibble on that for awhile.

"I know what's wrong with the little guy. Not rare for them in reality. Seen it several times. "
"What!" I really needed to know what was wrong.
"Have you all gotten any new plants lately?"
We looked at each other and then realized about the same time what he was talking about. I had just turned back to him to answer when he piped in.
"One of you brought a rhododendron into the house right? Those things are like poison to walkers. Need to throw it out and really air out the house for a few days"
I had never felt that good before. A plant. I can get rid of plants. Monsa hand would be better and things could go back to being normal, or at least as far as that was possible with an adopted monster.

"Do you all know much about walkers?" He looked at us with a little concern.
"No. We have had to learn as things developed. It does get a little rough once in awhile."
"Well stay for dinner and me and the misses will tell you what we know about them.
He called out to his wife that we were staying for dinner and that she needed to "make something with chocolate also. They brought a walker."

We were not alone anymore.

A problem has come up that I am not sure how to deal with. To put it bluntly, Monsa hand is sick.

It started about 4 days ago. We were downstairs reading and every once in awhile he would sniff. Nothing bad, but I could tell his nose was running. A couple of days ago it went full-blown. It was more than just the sniffles, but something else. His nose is still running, but now he has a bit of a fever and feels achy.

My wife, monsa, and I sat down and talked about the situation. As we sat around the table we truly looked like a sad bunch. My wife had such a gloomy look about herself, Monsa was sitting there looking worn and tired from 4 days of illness, and I was just horrified that we were going to have to tell someone else about him.
I tried all of the normal remedies. Warm chicken soup (with chocolate sprinkles), aspirin, even Ny-Quil cold medicine and nadda. Nothing really helped him at all. He was starting to get scared, my wife had already passed scared, and I was truly just petrified.

We decided that we had to take him to someone who knows medicine more then us. We explained to him that this involved risk. The person could freak out and call some fruitcake scientist or something. After all, talking little monsters are not common.

Monsa was so ill he just nodded his head and muttered a feeble "OK" then fell asleep.

At that point my wife and I talked some more and decided whom we would take him to. Normal doctors were out. The rules and regulations do not cover monsters so they would try to get advice, and that scares me. So we decided to go to old doc Wilson. For one the title old is true in this case. A little past ancient, he still was as sharp as a rock, and he was a doc, well in a way. He was a veterinarian. We had known him for a few years in the local church. All the kids took their pets to him. Being retired we felt we could take monsa hand to him at his home and at least try to keep things simple.

So we got a little package together of monsa hands stuff. A few books, his Curious George stuffed doll (he sleeps in its lap when he is not feeling good) and a sampler of chocolate for eating and prepared to head out in the morning after a call to make sure that Doc would be home.

So tonight I go to bed worried about tomorrow and what may happen. The horrors your own imagination can create does not help the sleep process.

I feel real bad. I hated to punish him that severely but he did almost start a fire.
I was down stairs when he had the urge for a hot chocolate and he tried to make one. For his small size he did pretty good. He dragged the Nestle's quick from the cabinet and squirted some into a small pan. He turned it on then got side-tracked.
I have no idea what he was thinking beside "chocolate, chocolate, chocolate" but he almost hurt us all.
About the time my brain registered something "hot" the smoke detector went off. I will say that with the monsa hand living with us I have set up extra smoke detectors throughout the house.

I ran upstairs and saw the billowing smoke rising from the stove top. With a quick flick the pan ended up in the sink. I knew instantly who did it by the mess on the cabinet and the small pad prints across the floor. After opening all the doors and windows I started to clean the mess up. Out of the corner of my eye I saw monsa hand walk into the room.
With a crinkled nose from the smell he looked at me and asked 'Is my cocoa ready big one?"
I just glared at him. He knew that glare. He sees it way too often for his own good.
He started to back up slowly and just as he tensed to make a run for the door I gave the order to freeze.

Well he sat there the entire time it took to clean the kitchen and then we went down stairs. He tried to look as small as possible, but it did not work on my heart strings at all that day.
I grounded him big time. For that I took his Curious George books for one week. Now that may not sound bad but to him it was horrible.
You see The little guy sees himself just like Curious George. He is adopted by us, just like George is adopted by the man in the yellow hat. He is not sure of his parents and is alone in a way. He also is in a big strange world. He gets in trouble just like George.
He has developed a kinship with the monkey and thus has forced me to buy over 12 different copies of the series. He sees himself in the stories and loves them.

I really wanted him to know how bad his actions were this time. So I punished him by grounding him from his friend. I took his books and locked them up.

Well the week is over and he has his books back but it was a rough week. With comments that "Marmaduke is stupid" and "Garfield is a dumb cat" he made it through the week with alternative readings.
So as I sit here typing this out I see that he is sitting on his favorite copy catching up with an old friend. Life is back to normal, for the near future.
I hope.