She Said Cat

I'm back! says Prong.

Did Holy Spitball like the lasso? asks Terence.

Yes he liked it, says Prong. Until he tried to use it.

It was for his bear! says Terence.

I know, says Prong. But he wanted to try it out first.

So what happened? asks Sweezus.

He got into the wrong loop, says Prong.

Could he get out of it? asks Terence.

No, he's still in it, says Prong.

Ha ha! laughs Terence.

What about his bear? asks Federico.

It's still wedged in the fork of the tree, says Prong. I came down for the hairnet.

Can Prong have the hairnet? asks Terence. Where is it?

I have it, says Sartre. But it's ripped, and therefore useless.

Not necessarily, says Prong. I've come up with a plan.

Excellent, says Sartre. I'm a plan man myself. What is it?

Net the bear, says Prong. Thread the string through and pull. 

Thread the string through before you net the bear, says Federico.

Good thinking, says Prong.

Let me make a note of this plan, says Sartre. Run it by me again.

Federico runs the plan by Sartre while Sartre makes notes. 

I should have made notes all along, says Sartre. I must ask Prong about the string thing.

Ask away, says Prong. That string sure has come in useful.

Why did I suggest tying it to your leg? asks Sartre. 

Don't you remember? asks Prong.

Too many things have happened, says Sartre.

You're right, says Prong. Well, if you recall, I was to fly a new Sylvanian baby up to the Virgin's bowl. And Holy Spitball wanted some string for his bear. A parrot can only carry so much in her beak, at one time.

Aha! says Sartre. It's coming back to me now. My suggestion. 

Yes, says Prong. And us having no scissors.

So Saint Joseph had to chop it, says Terence. Lucky he didn't chop your foot off.

Sweezus looks at Arthur.

Arthur shrugs.

So what if Terence has been thinking up horrors. Is it his fault?

I'm going to fly back up now with the hairnet, says Prong. Any messages?

Who for? asks Terence.

Anyone, says Prong. Holy Spitball, his bear, the Virgin, her new Fuzzball?

Tell the new Fuzzball the old Fuzzballs can say Handbag, says Terence.

That should put the cat among the pigeons, says Prong.

Sartre wonders if she meant to be funny. 

But it wasn't that funny.

Because she said cat.