6

Chapter 6

Two points: first, dry ice is so cold that it can freeze a small animal solid in less than two minutes.  Secondly, flower seeds inadvertently found in purchased ice cream products generally ruin the satisfaction of the purchaser of said product.  Ironically, only the first fact is relevant to this story.

"Ethyl, honey,"  I speak softly, as one would speak to a baby upon waking.  "What are you doing under my house?"
"Edgar's after me.  He wants to kill me."
"Why does he want to kill you?"
"I've stolen your cat."
This was an inappropriate and solidly confusing response to my question.
"Excuse me?  My question was..."  I repeated my question.  She repeated, word for word, her initial response to that question.  Clearly, I would need more explanation, and perhaps a graphing calculator, to derive some connection.  So I asked for such.
"Ethyl, why did you steal my cat and what, again, does that have to do with Edgar being, um, displeased with you?"  Refraining from severe terms like 'kill' and 'murder' seemed prudent at this point.
"I have stolen your cat because it likes ice cream and you never feed it ice cream and I feel utterly sorry for the creature, as that is just not right.  I love you, Brody, but you are a failure as a father, and a worse husband."  (I've never been married and I've no children of which I'm aware.)
"I see.  Where is my cat now?  I'd like to have this piece of information before the tinkling of that rapidly approaching ice cream wagon reaches us."  Too late.  If an ice cream wagon can screech to a halt, it did.
"To die is gain!!  Whewe is that cwazy wench!  She has wuined me!  This is a sickness that will be we-visited on the eawth of bwilliant pwopowtions!  I need that old witch befowe me at that next moment.  Whewe is she?!"  Edgar has a lisp.  All his 'r's devolve into 'w's, which makes Edgar sound quite like a drunken Elmer Fudd.
"Ethyl is hiding from you now, Edgar, because you're" (refraining from severe terms) "upsetting her.  What has gone on here, may I ask?"
In an unexpected move, Edgar turned, ripped open his ice cream wagon and promptly produced my cat.  Every hair and whisker frozen.  Eyes locked wide in acute surprise, claws extended in their complete glory.  He held it up over his head in anguish and stared wildly directly in to my eyes.
"Whewe is she?!" Now he was shaking the cat-cicle violently.  No vestige of composure left.  All gone to Disney Land, Edgar was.
"You need to put that thing down, man!"  I grabbed my cat from the crazed ice cream man and dropped it on the porch.  It made a sound like a block of wood.
"Relax.  This will all come out right.  Breathe.  In, out.  Good."
He was settling down, but still reminded me of a deer that has woken up on an interstate highway median.