AUTHOR'S NOTE: this story is heavily based on an episode of the 1980's cartoon "Popples" called "Backyard Bigtop."

It was the afternoon of September twelfth. The Monkees were pacing around the Pad, trying to figure out what to do for Peter's nephew, Franky's, thirteenth birthday, which was on the sixteenth. So far, no one came up with anything.

"I'm at a loss here," Peter said. "I can't think of anything."

"What about throwing 'im a party?" Davy asked. "We could invite a couple of kids from school, and . . . ."

"No, that's out," Mike said. "The other kids parents will want it to be chaperoned by a responsible adult, and we don't exactly fit the bill."

"That, and he doesn't know too many kids yet," Peter said.

"I know!" Micky shouted, snapping his fingers. "The circus is in town. Maybe we could take him there."

"Don't you think Franky's a little old for the circus?" Davy asked.

"What do you mean?" Peter asked. "I'm twenty-one, and I love the circus!"

"I'm with Davy," Mike said. "I think he might've outgrown wantin' to go to a circus."

"Aw, come on, Mike!" Micky shouted. "You're never too old to go to the circus!"

"Besides, Franky's never been to one before," Peter said. "He might like it."

"We'd bettah ask him first," Davy said.

"Yeah, he'll be gettin' home from school any minute now," Mike said.

Just at that moment, Franky came through the door, dropped his backpack on the floor, sluggishly crossed the living room to the couch, and flopped down on it. He looked dead tired.

"Rough day, shotgun?" Mike asked.

"Meh," Franky said. Then he groaned, coughed, sniffled, and started rubbing his throat.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Micky asked.

"I don't feel so good," Franky said. "My throat is killing me!"

Peter then walked over to his nephew, and put his hand on his forehead.

"You do feel a little warm," he said.

"Let me see," Mike said, and he put his hand against the pre-teen's forehead. "Yeah, you're right, Pete, he does."

"I'll go get the thermometah," Davy said.

"I'll call the doctor," Micky said, and he walked over to the phone."

Mike then lifted Franky off the couch and started carrying him toward the downstairs bedroom that Peter shared with Davy. Since Franky came to live with the Monkees, he was sleeping on the couch.

"Come on, kiddo," Mike said. "You're goin' straight to bed."