I sit expectantly on the dining room table. Both the two-leggeds are pretending to be otherwise occupied. The story of a table-game’s life, eh? Everyone is just too busy anymore. Sit, sit, sit on the closet shelf and for what? Nothing, most of the time. Dark, quiet, still, pretty cramped. Used to have more room, before these wooly things started sitting all over the shelf. It’s not like I was cold before, either.
Sometimes a two-legged pulls me off the shelf and puts me in the great big room, like when bunches of two-leggeds are around. Then nothing. Nothing. Just sitting around. Oh, what’s this pirate ship looking thing? This wasn’t here last time, was it? I might as well sit in the closet on the shelf except it’s nice to get out and look around. Oh for the old days, when I sat on the table all day. . .
But wait! Why did they search the house looking for me? Did they just want to prove they could find me? They might finish their silly little busynesses and get around to doing something worthwhile, like trying to figure me out. These are different two-leggeds — they’re pretty weird, too. They don’t even sleep in the house, I don’t think. I may be in a closet all the time but I know something about what goes on around here, you know. I can guess what two-leggeds are eating, they’re so noisy about it.
Sometimes their pockets make noise then the two-leggeds talk real loud to their hands. And half the time they make almost no noise at all. I don’t know when it is, ’cause it’s always dark in my closet. I wish I had a window or a skylight, I could see something now and then. Then again, I would just fade and they’d probably get rid of me, all color-faded and not pretty like I am now.
Yeah, everyone’s so busy. Some of the other games tell me there was a time when two-leggeds didn’t even put us away. We were out, like, every night. Maybe it’s a cold-outside-time thing? The two-leggeds only like us when they can’t find anything else to do. Then when they do think they can spend a little high quality time (with me, of course), they find so many last minute things they just have to do first. Food, drinks, phone calls, check the weather, go to the bathroom for the fourteenth time . . . and on and on, it seems.
Of course one of the two-leggeds, he slips out the door every two hours or so and sneaks out to the garage. Then some kind of 4-wheel motorcycle purrs up the lane and goes somewhere for ten minutes. He’s doing something, or he’s just cruising — for a really short time. Probably skeered of the dark rain clouds, don’cha know?
Anyway, he comes back in, looks at the pond a few minutes, takes a deep sigh and finds the other two-legged, the one rattling around in the kitchen. He grabs her, smooches on her, and says something to her then he walks back over to the windows facing the pond.
Wait! He’s picking me up and opening me — Oh My Gosh, he’s gonna turn me over, dump my tiles and turn them over. He must be gonna play now — maybe the other two-legged will too.
Back to ya later, this is pretty intense! I’m going to be thinking out of the box awhile.