Chapter 3

It was something. Just something....a certain tenseness in the muscles...a dryness in the throat....a feeling of vile containment by the still and heavy summer air around him....

Tom shifted uncomfortably in his bed. He knew this feeling. In the past it had been the harbinger of wedgies, swirlies- all array of embarrassment and pain and now here it was again warning him but of what? He was afraid to even know.

And that- my friends- is the cassandric trouble with sixth senses. They have an ironic way of biting the "blessed" bearer in the butt. Though Tom's forearmed him for any form of trouble it also nearly startled him into cardiac arrest on the regular. During the prolonged periods between sight of albatross and the actual onset of trouble he quaked with fearful anticipation. His senses told him something was coming but not what. And in that quivering mental darkness the unknown morphed from a mustard grain into an ancient ficus- sinewy, monstrous, intimidating. His most absurd fears entwined with each other, propagated until they bled sap and breathed air. And Tom cowered; ran and hid himself until the danger passed. Tom had a strong mind to- well no- come to think of it Tom had a weak mind. As a matter of fact, that was what made him lay back in bed and pull the covers over his head. He thought he could hide from trouble but as any Cassandra knows and as he was about to find out- trouble always finds who trouble wants.

Chapter 2

Tom sat bewildered, hands impotent on the bed sheets. He was certain that if he could just deliver an ear scratch Nibbles would stay a while but oh well....what can one do..."What can one do" had become Tom's unofficial maxim in life. A rather comforting maxim too, thought Tom yawning widely. One that not only justified his general lack of go-gettedness but affirmed disinclination as the only reasonable disposition to have.

Tom liked to think himself a reasonable man because someone had to be and well....his bat of a mother certainly wasn't. So great was her influence on Tom that he was sure she must have been formidable even as a child. He pictured her new and nubile, thrashing about on the day of her baptism and the holy water, which stood no chance against such a hot head, evaporating with a hiss upon contact. As the steam cleared there would be revealed in fearfully clear focus the woman he knew today.

But Tom had two things over her. Two big things. The first? He could run and as sedentary and weak as he normally was he was always moved by danger. Secondly, the bullying of his mother and various school children had long ago developed within him a finely atuned sense for trouble. It was his 6th sense and with each year of his life it had grown exponetially, almost as if knowing how much it had to compensate for, until finally it outstripped all other senses and stood preeminent, supremely keen. This was his weapon and the reason for his deep lack of ease this morning.

Chapter 1

It was a Monday seemingly like any other and Tom awoke to the woeful purring of Mr. Nibbles his cat of twelve years. "What's wrong Nibbles," said Tom, thoughtfully stroking the tabby's back. Though Nibbles was in no position to respond one might figure that utterly pedestrian name to be high on his list of wrongs and indeed it was.

As a matter of fact, it had taken Nibbles two full years to respond to the name Tom had given him. Only after Tom's mother (with whom he still lived) had the clever idea of adding the title Mister did Nibbles condescend to slink into view at the sound of his name. Unfortunately for Tom, he still reserved the right to ignore calls at times. Indeed Mr. Nibbles, knowing Tom's deep and desperate dependence on his society as well as his affectionate care of him had struck a happy balance which involved coming only when called for meals and otherwise fully ignoring his master.

.....Or was Nibbles the Master? He cocked his head. Really so difficult sorting these things out....
And off the bed he lept.