I have a friend. His name is Roger. He is a six foot tall rabbit, and I seem to be the only one who can see him. Roger the Rabbit--oh, but that won't work. He doesn't come in a frame like a picture, and he doesn't need the Innocence Project. Actually, his name is Basil, and he is not a rabbit. I'm not James Stewart. Pardon my mistake. No, Basil is a porcupine.
He is a most polite porcupine and very careful with his quills. He covers them with a beautiful black cape so as to avoid pricking furniture and companions. As I said, he is a most polite porcupine.
Basil the Porcupine visits on a regular basis. He removes his hat when he comes in and hangs it by the door, which is very convenient considering I don't have a hat rack or peg for him to hang it on. I suppose they are invisible, just as he is.
He always asks after my little one and the "master," as he calls him. He says in his refined, rather British-y voice, "And how is Master David?" I try to match his elegant manners, but it is quite a task because I am an American and uncouth.
Then, we retire to the back deck where we sit around a wrought iron table with perfect posture and sip hot tea from delicate tea cups made of porcelain. Basil prefers Earl Grey. It makes no difference to me. I drink orange pekoe by the gallon but only if doused in sugar and ice cubes. I sacrifice both for Basil though because he sort of looks down his little black nose at me when I go Southern with the refreshments.
Then, we talk about the weather and Basil begins a discourse on one of his favorite topics. Those topics include the British parliament, backgammon, and mollusks. I have to admit that I tend to tune him out a bit, what with the monotone and the soliloquy worthy of a BBC news broadcast.
The sprinklers go off suddenly spraying poop water all over the yard, and Basil is most put out by the foul odor. So we return to the house, Basil puts on his hat and eiderdown scarf (I'm not even sure what eiderdown is), picks up his walking stick (Did I mention the walking stick? No. I suppose I didn't mention the eiderdown scarf either), and bids me farewell. Then, he disappears, leaving his invisible footprints behind him.
That is how my friendship with Basil the Porcupine goes. It is entirely courteous. And incredibly factual.
(This bitty vignette was inspired by too many episodes of Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends, which is completely age inappropriate for both my two year old and me but that makes me laugh regardless.)
Word and Book Lover.