The Evil That Is Fluffypoopy.

He looks so sweet, as befits one of Luciya's favorite familiars,
but that beneficent exterior, we were shocked to discover,
hides an inner core of pure evil.

It all started when we began to babysit Mirabel and Luciya on Wednesday nights. John works that night and Emily wanted to start going to dance class, so we stepped up to our grandparently duties. Of course, L. wanted to introduce us to her newest stuffed animal, who she had named Fluffypoofy. Naturally, I insisted on mispronouncing this as Fluffypoopy and general hilarity ensued.

All was going swimmingly, until L. started telling us about Fluffypoopy and mentioned, rather casually I thought, that I should be careful because he had a tendency to burn people's faces off. Trying not to alarm her, I asked if he had done this often. She assured me that he had, and confided that he had "fire in his fingers."

Now this was weeks before we found out about Charlie Sheen's "fire-breathing fists," but I'm sure they're related.

Since then, whenever we play with Fluffypoopy, I tell L. that I'm a little frightened by his fiery fingers. She always assures me that he has said that he will be good and not burn our faces off, but inevitably he reneges on this promise and tries to burn us. We have to hide from him until L. reports that he is dead. The problem is that, even when she assures me that he's "dead for eight years," he is usually resurrected within a few minutes and starts threatening us again.

I'm not quite sure what to do about this. We're going over there again tonight. Pray for us.

P.