Griswold has company

When a character or two pops out of my head, sometimes they hang around for a while. Others become part of a bigger project which makes them disappear from here. Some drop in and don’t show themselves again, or after a lot of blogs have passed by.

Griswold and Melita seemed inextricably linked to Tale Weaver. Griswold’s language does fit well with nonsense words, and the prompt of mythical creatures. Hopefully this is a stand-alone. I’ve repeated situations and phrases from previous posts and a longer version I am working on. To give you an image of Griswold: think of big, blue Sully in Monster’s Inc. and a small character in Maurice Sendak’s Where the Wild Things Are who wears a blue and white striped sweater. Griswold is somewhere in between. His fur is a funky brown and he isn’t all that big. Read and you shall see?

Oh, and Melita wonders if Griswold adopted her as friend or a pet. Either way, monsters living upstairs with a rather precocious kid keep Melita’s life from becoming mundane and boring. As her circadian rhythms match their night-time schedule, she often plays with Griswold under the waning or waxing moon. Just suspend your cynical, human beliefs and enjoy another Griswold and Melita adventure.


Slam. Thump. Thump. Thump. Bang. Bang. Bash. Crash. Well, at least Griswold knocked as he was flinging open the door to my apartment.

“Melita, Melita! Aucosin visit.” When he was excited, his grasp of humaneze dwindled while my Griswoldian vocabulary still needed refining.

“Aunt? Cousins?” He nodded in agreement, smiling his jaggedly-tooth grin, and bouncing up and down on his splay-toed feet. Gaggly-jumbly laughter bubbled out his ears; there was no mistaking when Griswold was happy. I grabbed the books he was about to swipe off the coffee table with his tail. “You say HELLO, I teach!,” his fur rippling. Skip-shuffling, clapping his hands, ears laughing.

So his aunt and cousins were coming for a visit. Not so strange, I suppose. At his drontify, (birthday party), I discovered there was an “alternate” community, some of whom led mundane, human-like lives. Visits from relatives a part of  such a “normalized” life.

I groaned. This would mean Mrs. G. would be cooking up double batches of her “primordial stew.” The smell of which was so horrendous, it couldn’t stand to be in the same room with itself. The smell slurped down the stairs, burbling under my door. I never asked Griswold what was for supper.

There would be dancing, threatening to bring down my ceiling. The music was a combination of squeaky hinges, injured bag pipes, squealing tires, with Barry Manilow and Wayne Newton types crooning in the background. Dancing required a lot of stomping, and leaping. There are some difficulties having monsters in the upstairs apartment.

So, I started to learn the traditional family greeting. Griswold found this extremely funny. Chuffle-chortling out his ears, he would shout: “LOL. LOL.” He hadn’t learned ROFL yet. The helloing dance was no better; my feet got tangled in each other and thus I gruff-grimbled when I should grimble-gruffed. At least Griswold was enjoying my misery.

Slam. Thump. Thump. Thump. Crash. Griswold extended his neatly groomed paw. “Time to go. Hurry. Hurry.”

That explained the strange, even for the Griswolds, noises earlier. Mrs. G. dragging him into a bath, a kind of Formula race car coupled with a jackhammer. His reaction to his fur being brushed out, a chiffle-shiffle of shrieks. Then  a typical Griswold temper tantrum with growly, grambling, gnaraling foot stomping, and tail discontent, as his mother told him to wear the dreaded horizontally striped blue and white sweater.

I took his paw, avoiding his now thoroughly scrubbed long talons, and let him bounce me down the stairs. Bump. Buffle. Bump.

The fullest of full moons wrapped the back garden in silvery light. Our vegetable garden looked neat and orderly at night. I taught Griswold the difference between a tomato plant and a weed. He decided, after tasting the first ripe tomato, he preferred the weeds.

The Griswolds were assembled at the foot of the garden. Aunt G. had to be Mrs. G’s sister. The resemblance was striking, even if Mrs. G.’s fur was green, her sister’s bright orange. The cousins ranged in size from small to rather large. Same pointy ears, same swishy tail.

Griswold kept pushing me forward. And, in a vote of confidence, he hid behind me. So, I do the fling-fungal dance steps without tripping, and then proudly announce: “Gontorlic Trubutions!!!!! .”*

“No. No,” Griswold whispered. “Melita got all wrong.”!

“What did I actually say?”

“I grate your private  . . .”

No wonder his cousins sniggled and his aunt looked distressed. At least, I wouldn’t be invited for dinner.

* Gontorlic Trubutions if pronounced properly means “Greetings and Tickle Toe.” Go figure!

Written for Tale Weaver # 17: Making Sense of the Nonsense: Gontorlic Trubutions

@ Phylor 2015


18 thoughts on “Griswold has company

  1. mj6969 June 14, 2015 / 1:26 pm

    Roflmao — this is a wonderful tale – and certainly makes great use and clarifies of course, what gontorlic trubutions might be ….

    Great job Phylor :D


    • phylor June 14, 2015 / 1:53 pm

      Thank you.
      Griswold, once created in my head, several tale weaver’s ago, has been hoping to get out more!
      And with Griswold, you just never know.

      Liked by 1 person

      • mj6969 June 14, 2015 / 2:29 pm

        roflmao – well at least he’s mindful enough to know when to show up ;)


        • phylor June 14, 2015 / 8:04 pm

          True, I do have some willful characters who will stock off mid-post.

          Liked by 1 person

          • mj6969 June 14, 2015 / 9:21 pm

            those are the most ungracious of the lot – and then they have the nerve to pop in when least expected ;)


  2. summerstommy2 June 11, 2015 / 10:07 pm

    This was great friend…..wonderful application of gontorlic trubutions or greetings and tickle toe…..this gave me a greater insight into the workings of Griswold and his family… are going to have to work on your steps if you are to make a favourable impression on the Griswold clan.


    • phylor June 12, 2015 / 7:42 am

      I some how doubt I will ever make a favourable impression on Mrs. G. She thinks Griswold spends too much time with humans, and I might rub off on him.


      • summerstommy2 June 12, 2015 / 7:43 am

        It’s a risk you run….then again isn’t Mrs G’s food something to be avoided?


        • phylor June 12, 2015 / 7:54 am

          True. It reminds me of the How to Cook for /40 humans! We had neighbours once who did cook some mysterious things. The higher the smell, the more it seeped into our kitchen.


          • summerstommy2 June 12, 2015 / 11:37 am

            If they are good cooking smells then ok I’d say, but if not then…..ugh


        • phylor June 12, 2015 / 8:53 am

          Quite happy to miss dinner. I hope she doesn’t get into “humanbags” with the leftovers!


I love dialogue. Do you?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s