"Ma...ma...Madame Foo-Faw?" Mark asked with a bit of a frightful attitude.
"Is that you there?" A large pause. "I'm sorry, but I seem to be blinded by the light for a moment."
He took a few steps back, a bad idea. He managed to walk directly into a shelf...a self with glass vials on it...potions that spilled all over him as the vials broke.
"You shtuoopid git!" Screeched Madame Foo-Faw. Mark had never quite felt the way he was feeling at this moment- perhaps because he had never been bathed in a medley of extraterrestrial potions before.
"My ears!" Yelled Mark. He grabbed them both and felt them shrink under his grasp.
"What's happening to me?" Mark cried with self-pity. He felt something sprouting from the top of his head, just through his hair. He reached up to feel and to his surprise he had two pointy triangles of fur which reminded him of ears.
"I'm having a dream," he tried to convince himself. "It's just a dream. I'll wake up at home and none of this will have ever happened." But deep down he knew it wasn't true.
Mark suddenly had the urge for smooth, creamy milk. But he ignored it for the moment and concentrated on the funny tickling sensation just below his nose and above his upper lip.
"Meow!" Mark spun around trying to see where the mew came from. "Meow!" He tried to glance behind him, but his tail got in the way. TAIL?! Scrambling to a mirror nearby, he beheld the unimaginable. HE WAS A CAT!
Poor Mark went bonkers now, and he blasted up the stairs and through the front doors propelled by sheer insanity. Out on the street now, he was suddenly tackled by a large, tubby woman.
"Here y'are wee tabby o' mine. Herman! Herman I've caught him, louk." A strangely familiar old man came up, snatching Mark outof Mrs. O'Hara's grasp. He shook Mark around, giving him a lecture about running away from home. The world was spinning madly for Mark, but out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a snickering tabby cat.
With one lunge, Mark was out of Herman-the-disco-hater's grasp and on top of the evil tabby. The fur flew as Mark repaid that tabby for every scratch he dished out and then some.
Suddenly Mark was naked, a naked boy pounding a tabby in the street.
"Oh Herman! My poor tabby!" with a roll of the eyes, Mark took off towards home, followed by a very irate old fart.
With a grumble, Mark ignored the disco-hating lover of the tubby woman and began to have a conversation with himself.
"We are heading home now, my dear friend." This was his first persona, otherwise known as Mark.
"Yes, strange we find ourself now naked." This was his second persona, the one just recently born.
"I wonder if mom has another sun dress we could wear."
"Wouldn't that be wonderful? How's about the color pink?"
"Pink will never do."
"Oh you're right. Light purple?"
"Much better."
And they continued in this fashion on "their" journey home, followed closely behind by the old man and his lover woman keeping an eye on the "naked tabby beater" as they now called him. What a strange procession the three (or should I say "four") made, walking down the street, disappearing into the sunset.
