Thee Random Words

05 – F(R)OG, DOG, TIGER; take 2

05 – F(R)OG, DOG, TIGER; take 2

Living by herself had many advantages.

Firstly, she could do whatever pleased her the best. How ever it pleased her. It also meant she could sleep long on weekends, one of her favourite weekend pastimes, without anyone attempting for her to wake up to do something fun. Whatever was the matter with sleeping long on weekends? She also exercised full control over the remote and the fridge, and she needn’t worry if the dishes stayed on the counter for hours at a time after a meal. It didn’t bother her in the least. It got done eventually.

Naturally, there were also downsides to living alone. Such as lack of an eloquent interlocutor when she took time away from binge watching her favourite series on Netflix. Unfortunately, her roommates, Mr Frog, Mr Dog, and Mr Tiger (what remained of her stuffed animal collection she had abandoned at the age of sixteen when she had suddenly become too mature for stuffies) were anything but talkative.

One would assume correctly if one assumed that the names of her companions unmistakeably revealed their “species”. When one owned more than thirty plushies, naming them, and remembering the names, became a considerable life challenge.

Admittedly, the lack of any response from the plushie roommates did not deter her too often from delivering upon them her deepest, most complex feelings and sensations. It also brought her much relief that, in addition to never trying to get a word in edgeways, they were also comfortingly unjudgmental.

In such a habitual setting, she prepared herself one night for sleep. As every other night, Mr Frog, Mr Dog, and Mr Tiger were happily settled on their shelf, already in a land of their own.

Before falling asleep, her thoughts turned to the events of that day. Something she did not make a habit of, but today she felt the need to relive some specific moments that had occurred at work.

For the past three weeks, she had been, along with her other colleagues, working on a project for one of their clients. And that day they had had a follow-up meeting with the client to present them with the initial proposals. It had been her first time attending a meeting with a client, which had left her appropriately excited and flustered at the prospect of novelty.

But when the client had walked in, in the shape of a gorgeous-looking thirtysomething man in an impeccable suit, with professionally styled hair, the bluest of eyes and an uncanny resemblance to Henry Cavill, she had found herself more than flustered. She had found herself unable to stop gawking at that godlike man. Something that had had two negative effects for her.

Being taken in by the client so forcefully had made her lose her concentration, and when her time had come to deliver her part of the project, she had hardly been able to put two sentences together without the need to revisit the already delivered and grasping at her succeeding sentences, leaving her feeling mortified and humiliated at her unprofessional performance.

The more unsettling part – the client would eventually have left the agency and that would be the end of it – had been her colleagues noticing, without fault, her overt admiration of the client, resulting in office gossip which had spread worse than wildfire after the meeting, earning her a few condescending and smirking, yet well disguised, comments.

The events had already been dutifully communicated to the three musketeers now sitting on her shelf, yet that had not brought her piece of mind she had hoped for. She groaned at the thought of needing to face her colleagues again tomorrow, who would undoubtedly take pleasure in reminding her of her ridiculous and unprofessional behaviour.

After a few hours of tossing and turning in bed, remembrances of the day analysed from every possible angle, she finally succumbed to sleep, exhausted.

But suddenly, she was startled awake. What could only be interpreted as animalistic chuffs were coming from the kitchen.

Tentatively, with a bravery she never imagined herself to possess, she slipped out of bed and tiptoed towards the kitchen. As the fogs of sleep started leaving her brain and her thinking capacities became sharper, she had the lucidity to grab one of her massive candlesticks, just in case.

A light was switched on in the kitchen, so much she could discern on approaching it. The chuffs continued, louder and more discernible with every step she took. With a candlestick raised high above her head, if need be, she reached the entrance to the kitchen and gingerly poked her head inside.

But to her utter astonishment, there was no one to be seen. The only unusual thing she could perceive was the open door of the fridge. Surely, she had not forgotten to close the fridge?

Now, reassured that there was no imminent threat lurking in the kitchen, even the chuffs had subsided, she went for the fridge with renewed bravery, the candlestick now hanging loosely in her hand.

She grabbed the handle of the door and started closing the fridge when a displeased growl roared from within.

“Aaaah!” she yelled, shocked, and jumped away. Recollecting herself – now feeling more confused rather than startled that a sound had come from within her fridge, she took another, firmer grip on the candlestick and approached the fridge again, and grabbing the handle one more time, jerked open the door completely.

“Mr Tiger!?” she exclaimed in disbelief.

Surely enough, her tiger plushie was perched merrily on one of the shelves in the fridge.

I must be dreaming, she reproached herself as this was the only possibility to explain to herself what was unfolding in front of her eyes. Her stuffed toy, always impassive in its existence, now appeared to be anything but. Mr Tiger appeared to be going through the remains of the chicken pot pie with unhindered bravado.

She starred at him unblinking while he, bite by bite, finished off the dish. With a few satisfied licks, Mr Tiger turned to her.

“That was nice. Got any more meat?”

“I, I, I…” she stuttered incoherently. “You are, real?”

She sensed the absurdity of the words as they left her mouth. Of course, he was not real. This was just a dream. It had to be a dream. Stuffed animals didn’t go about during the night, eating food from your fridge. Not that she’d ever before noticed anything missing from her fridge.

Before she could chastise herself for another absurd thought, Mr Tiger spoke once more: “If you are seeing me, then yes, I am real. Can we go for kebab? I’m still hungry. And I’ve always wanted to try a kebab. It’s got the most intoxicating smell.”

“I… It’s the middle of the night, we can’t go out for a kebab,” she heard herself saying, the absurdity of trying to reason with a toy now completely lost on her.

“Why not?” Mr Tiger demanded indignantly. “You’re always coming home in the middle of the night with a kebab in your hand after your clubbing. Whatever that means.”

“But that’s different,” she retorted without thinking.

“Why?”

That simple question made her think. Yes, why was that different? Was it really inappropriate for one to wake up during the night craving a kebab while it was completely acceptable to have it as an after-party snack?

Perhaps because you are discussing this possibility with a stuffed animal, a small voice inside her head found its way back into her consciousness.

It’s just a dream, she dismissed it confidently. Anything goes in dreams.

“You are right,” she confirmed to Mr Tiger. “It’s not different. Let’s go.”

“You might want to change from your PJs first,” Mr Tiger alerted her. “You don’t want people thinking you are a crazy lady by going out in your PJs.”

She preferred not to reason with him that they were more likely to consider her crazy by going for a kebab with a tiger toy as her companion. Rather, she changed quickly. It was not until she had already reached the door, did she realise that Mr Tiger was nowhere in sight.

“Oi!” a calling came from the kitchen. “Fancy taking me along? It was my idea after all.”

She returned quickly to find Mr Tiger still on the same fridge shelf. Grabbing him – surprisingly he felt no different than usual, his fur still feeling synthetic to touch – she stuffed him in her tote bag.

“Hey!” an unhappy voice came from within. “I want to have my head out so I can see where we are going!”

Rolling her eyes at the demand, she did as he had asked and hooked his head on the edge of the tote bag. “Better?”

“Better,” chuffed Mr Tiger. “We never have any outings, and I’m quite excited to see the world you talk about all the time.”

“Btw, you do talk awful lot,” her toy companion informed her as they left her building. “Sometimes I’d give anything to have no ears so I don’t need to listen to your endless chitter-chatter.”

“Well!” she cried out, feeling affronted by being scolded by a stuffed animal. “I do not talk too much.”

“You sure do,” Mr Tiger would not be dissuaded from his opinion. “Just this night before sleep, the way you were going on, and on, and on about that sexy client. We’d all understood it perfectly already the first time you had explained it.”

“I…” the words chocked in her throat. If she were being objective, she had spent quite a considerable part of the evening talking about that shameful experience. But was she really going to discuss this with her stuffed toy while she was fetching him some kebab at nigh three in the morning?

“I want a lot of meat!” Mr Tiger continued cheerfully, unaffected by the previous conversation. “All kinds of meet they have. And a lot of onions! I love onions!”

This cheery exclamation was followed by complete silence of the two night companions. Each deep in their own thoughts – she was thinking about how to feed a toy tiger in a kebab shop without appearing balmy to anyone, and Mr Tiger soaking in every detail of the buildings and objects they were passing, diligently making some mental notes to ask her for an explanation. There were quite a lot of interesting things to be seen!

Upon reaching the kebab shop, she hurriedly ordered two kebabs, one with extra meat and extra onions, and settled at a table in the corner where they were least likely to attract attention. Being in the middle of the night, there were not many customers to be expected, which is why she took another precautionary measure of putting her tote bag on the table in such a way to block most of the view of the table’s surface, placing Mr Tiger just behind the bag.

Without waiting for an invitation, Mr Tiger greedily began to devour his kebab. Desirous to drown out the sound of satisfied chuffs Mr Tiger was producing, she dug into hers as well.

While Mr Tiger munched on his kebab, every sound and expression indicating his enjoyment, he asked her, his mouth still rather full: “Oi, wa’s da’ fing in d’ park, wood’n house?”

“Wooden house?” she wondered, then remembered: “Oooh, it’s a slide.”

“Slide?” Mr Tiger asked more coherently, the bite gone down his digestive tract. “What’s it for?”

“What it says, for sliding.”

“What’s that?” Mr Tiger wouldn’t give up.

“Well, sliding is sort of moving down that surface without needing to push yourself, you just slide down. I can’t really explain it. You would have to see it.”

“All right, let’s go, I’m done!” exclaimed Mr Tiger excitedly while swallowing the remaining part of his kebab, disregarding completely that she hadn’t finished even a quarter of hers.

“But we can’t…” she started, only to be, once more, cut by the ever-wondering Mr Tiger: “Why not?”

She exhaled resignedly, by now knowing well that Mr Tiger was not going to let go. It was obvious he was determined to have an adventure of his life.

Grabbing both Mr Tiger and the tote bag, she shoved the former inside more forcibly than she might have, had he not been such a pest. Before he could protest at lack of view, she pushed her head inside the tote bag and instructed him: “Not a sound from you if you want to go on the slide!”

The short way it took her to get to the children’s playground was spent wondering if she were off her rocker. Considering that she was walking around in the middle of the night with a toy tiger in her bag, with the full intention of indulging the tiger by taking him on a slide, only one answer seemed to present itself to her.

The playground spread eerily in the dead of the night. The shapes of the playing equipment were distorted by the crawling night shadows, their edges softened by the dark, disfiguring them. Given the absurdity of her night, it would not have surprised her in the least if they had started transforming into evil aliens.

Shaking off her ridiculous thoughts, she placed her tote bag on the ground next to the wooden slide and went to reach for Mr Tiger but, impatient as he was, he had already beaten her to it and was crawling out of the bag, grunting in the process.

“Blo.ody woman,” he growled, displeased. “This slide better be worth it.”

“Wow, calling names, are we?” she teased. “Typical man when he is unsatisfied with something.”

Mr Tiger looked at her inquisitively and started producing sounds that could only be interpreted as a tiger chuckling: “Keeping to them stereotypes, are you? No wonder you’ve got no luck with men.”

“Hey!” she exclaimed indignantly. “That’s not true.”

Another guffawing sound came from the toy tiger. “Sure.”

It seemed the toy knew better than to argue further with a woman, particularly with one who had promised him a new entertainment. “Come on, let’s slide!”

Reminding herself that trying to prove a point about her success with men to a stuffed toy in the middle of the night was probably turning the already absurd situation into completely fantastical, she kept her mouth shut and led the way. However, a small part of her still yearned for satisfaction, so she did not pick up Mr Tiger but had him chase after her as much as his short legs permitted. By the time Mr Tiger had reached the base of the slide, she had already climbed up, and she watched with frank enjoyment how he struggled to climb the ladder steps which were proving to be just slightly too far apart for him to overcome.

When he had failed in his fourth attempt to swing himself from the first to the second step, she decided to take pity on him.

“Need some help?” she enquired gleefully, hoping that the preceding lack of success would have brought Mr Tiger some mortification.

“No, no, no,” responded Mr Tiger in a tone that was suspiciously jeering. “I’m just pretending not to be able to reach the next step for simple entertainment.”

When she simply stared at him, not knowing what to respond, Mr Tiger snapped: “I blo.ody well need help, you silly woman!”

“You could be nice about it!” she chastised him.

“And you should know better than to ask stupid questions,” came a haughty response from the toy tiger.

With an audible sigh, intended to communicate her frustration, she climbed down the ladder and grabbed the tiger a bit more forcefully than she would have otherwise, holding him only by one of his paws, making his body sway ungracefully, even hitting the ladder now and then.

But Mr Tiger seemed to have thought better than making any additional snarky remarks. He was not enjoying the increasing separation from the firm ground and the thought of dropping down from the mounting height was not appealing to him. So far, this slide business was not proving to be an enjoyable one.

When they reached the top, she flung him through the air, sniggering under her breath at hearing Mr Tiger’s exclamations of distress, and settled him roughly at the top of the slide, positioning herself behind him.

“Brace yourself!” she commanded, and without any additional warning, pushed them down the slide.

“Aaaaaaaah!” yelled Mr Tiger, irrational fear hitting him as the movement began.

But once they hit solid ground again, Mr Tiger, in spite of himself, shouted: “That was amazing! Let’s do it again!”

And over and over they went, sliding down the slide, both throwing up their arms in sheer pleasure and shouting words of excitement. Until the first signs of dawn started emerging behind the buildings.

“We have to be going,” she told him, bracing herself for a rebuff.

Sure enough, Mr Tiger whined: “Noooo, let’s do more.”

“No,” she was firm. “It’s almost dawn. People will start coming out, and I’ve got to be at work early this morning, and I would like to have a bit more sleep.”

Sulking, Mr Tiger turned his back on her and sat on his haunches. He would not be dissuaded so easily.

Releasing another frustrated sigh, she grabbed him and stuffed him back into her tote bag. Luckily, she thought to herself, his size is smaller than his attitude.

It had been a bizarre night, but she preferred not to dwell on it. How can one rationalise going about in the middle of the night with a talking toy?

She unlocked the door to her apartment as they finally reached it and entered.

“Finally!” came a frustrated exclamation as she turned on the light. “Where have you two been? We’ve been worried sick!”

“Aah!” she yelled, frightened out of her mind at this unexpected greeting.

But her racing heart soon subsided as she noticed two small figures on the floor.

“Mr Dog? Mr Frog?” she asked incredulously.

“Well, of course, who else would it be?” demanded the toy dog.

“We went on an adventure!” came a muffled, excited sound from within the bag. Remembering about Mr Tiger, she pulled him out and put him on the ground, next to his stuffed buddies.

“We went for a kebab. And sliding!” Mr Tiger explained excitedly. “Outside is much more interesting than in this apartment!”

“Have you, then?” Mr Dog said frustratedly while Mr Frog remained sitting immovably, only blinking his large eyes occasionally. “And left us to worry sick where you’d gone. How rude!”

“Bah!” retorted Mr Tiger dismissively. “What’s there to worry about? You’re too uptight!”

“Uptight!” snarled Mr Dog, now fully enraged. “Have you got any idea what it’s like to wake up in the middle of the night after a very, very, very long time, only to discover that you two are both missing. One has thoughts, scary thoughts.”

“Oh, relax,” Mr Tiger again dismissed the whole thing. “Everything’s fine. We’re back, so there’s no need for you to worry anymore. Come on, let’s go back to sleep, apparently she needs to go to work soon.”

With these words, Mr Tiger pushed his way between Mr Dog and Mr Frog, although there had been sufficient space to overtake them, but that was just how Mr Tiger was, and swayed his way towards the bedroom, leaving the other three with no other option than to follow him. This did not, however, prevent Mr Dog from muttering words of displeasure all the way to their destination.

Once in the bedroom, the three stuffed musketeers obligingly stopped under the shelf that was their usual habitat, and expectantly looked at her.

“Yes?” she enquired.

“You have to put us up,” Mr Dog hurried to explain. “We do not have the means of climbing up ourselves, therefore we are dependent on your assistance. If you do not help us, we will be stuck here the whole time until you’ve taken pity on us.”

“Grumpy,” Mr Tiger commented, whispering, as she lifted him up the first and put him on the shelf.

“I heard that!” Mr Dog exclaimed. And as she put him next to Mr Tiger, he continued: “Better grumpy than a thug like you.”

“Me?!” Mr Tiger turned to him, sounding offended. “I am not a thug.”

“Of course not,” she interjected, giggling. She shared Mr Dog’s opinion though; Mr Tiger was a bit of a bully.

“There!” Mr Tiger announced triumphantly, but everyone chose to ignore him.

Lastly, she picked up Mr Frog who hadn’t spoken a single word, and put him up on the shelf, next to the other two.

“And do you speak?” she asked him.

“Sometimes,” Mr Frog responded sluggishly. “When there’s something to say.”

“Would you turn into a prince if I gave you a kiss?” she asked, grinning at her own silliness.

“Maybe,” Mr Frog gave a monosyllabically, clearly his preferred way of communication. “Try it.”

Intrigued, who wouldn’t be after a night as hers, she pecked the soft, plastic fibres that were Mr Frog’s mouth. She waited for a few moments, but nothing occurred.

“Well,” she sighed resignedly. “Just my luck. No princes for me, just frogs. And dogs. And tigers.”

“You could also be alone, if you’d prefer that,” Mr Tiger made his sentiments known immediately. “Not sure you’d like that, if we left.”

“You are right, I wouldn’t,” she agreed. After all, they were her closest confidants. Living with them, except on rare occasions such as today, was rather uncomplicated.

She changed quickly and went back to bed, wishing all of them good night.

Just as her eyelids began to droop, Mr Tiger made himself heard again: “You know, next time when you see him, you should just tell him that he made your panties wet when you saw him and got you all confused.”

“What?” she exclaimed, unable to make sense of the reference. “What are you talking about?”

“Your hot stud client, the one you were drooling over at the meeting.”

“Are you joking?” she cried in horror. “I can’t tell a client that I got all flustered because of him.”

“Why not?” Mr Tiger asked, genuinely lacking understanding. “It sure gonna make an impression. He might even ask you out.”

“See, thug,” Mr Dog’s voice cut in between.

“Hey!” Mr Tiger responded indignantly.

“Good night, fellas,” she decided to prevent any more discussions. Out of all the absurdities of the night, taking dating advice from stuffed animals probably took the cake.

***

Hopefully, this story will be more to my V.D.’s liking. ? Inspiration for it was partially drawn from once actually having owned a stuffed dog and frog, who were, you’ve guessed it, called Mr Dog and Mr Frog. Having had no Mr Tiger, unfortunately, I did not have any such exciting adventure with them. But they were good listeners.