![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Thank you...
Jul. 13th, 2004 09:34 pm...to everyone who sent good wishes to Jellicle and us. He's doing very well and the staples should come out next Monday.
The most grievous scandal in the career of Florian Fettlefoon was doubtless the day that the famous French writer Alexandre Dumas "borrowed" Fettlefoon's Portable Time Window and escaped to the twenty-first century. Questions were asked in the House, and for a time it seemed that Fettlefoon's chrononautic privileges might be withdrawn sine die. Despite this, to my amazement, Fettlefoon remained undaunted. Instead of pursuing a vigorous search for the errant auteur, he acquired a small shop in a seaside town, and set himself up as a dealer in repellent china figurines: you know the sort of thing, shepherdesses, peasant lads and animals both in and out of clothes. The name above the window was E. HUGH WATES, and I took this as a sad indication that my friend's mental condition was beginning to deteriorate.
Then, one morning, who should come bursting into the shop but Dumas himself, clutching the Time Window and clearly in some distress. It seemed that he had been trying to return to his own era, but had not known how to engage the reverse gear. Fettlefoon calmly made the necessary adjustments, and sent the relieved novelist on his way.
"But how--" I spluttered. Fettlefoon smiled infuriatingly as was his wont, and led me to the shop window. There, in the centre, was a small figure of a mouse, priced clearly at £0.00. Looking more closely I saw the reason: instead of the rounded ears of the typical rodent, this model's ears came to sharp, tufted points, like those of the domestic feline.
"Once Dumas saw that figure, he knew that here he would find help," Fettelfoon said.
"But why?" I wailed.
Fettlefoon pointed at the figurine again.
"Free Mouse, Cat Ears," he said.
The most grievous scandal in the career of Florian Fettlefoon was doubtless the day that the famous French writer Alexandre Dumas "borrowed" Fettlefoon's Portable Time Window and escaped to the twenty-first century. Questions were asked in the House, and for a time it seemed that Fettlefoon's chrononautic privileges might be withdrawn sine die. Despite this, to my amazement, Fettlefoon remained undaunted. Instead of pursuing a vigorous search for the errant auteur, he acquired a small shop in a seaside town, and set himself up as a dealer in repellent china figurines: you know the sort of thing, shepherdesses, peasant lads and animals both in and out of clothes. The name above the window was E. HUGH WATES, and I took this as a sad indication that my friend's mental condition was beginning to deteriorate.
Then, one morning, who should come bursting into the shop but Dumas himself, clutching the Time Window and clearly in some distress. It seemed that he had been trying to return to his own era, but had not known how to engage the reverse gear. Fettlefoon calmly made the necessary adjustments, and sent the relieved novelist on his way.
"But how--" I spluttered. Fettlefoon smiled infuriatingly as was his wont, and led me to the shop window. There, in the centre, was a small figure of a mouse, priced clearly at £0.00. Looking more closely I saw the reason: instead of the rounded ears of the typical rodent, this model's ears came to sharp, tufted points, like those of the domestic feline.
"Once Dumas saw that figure, he knew that here he would find help," Fettelfoon said.
"But why?" I wailed.
Fettlefoon pointed at the figurine again.
"Free Mouse, Cat Ears," he said.