Slappy nary needed a good enough excuse to waste time in front of her television set. That doesn't mean that a marathon of the Golden Grams won't constituted, the scripted lives of fellow mammals of old age was one of the few relatable things on. Better than that Real House Wives of Toontown and Dance Dogs garbage still airing. Slappy however needed a good enough excuse to take the hazelnut cheesecake out of the fridge at eleven in the morning. Which the marathon also constituted.
The gray squirrel tongued the chocolate out from between the prongs of her favorite fork. Her nephew always hated whenever she did that eating dessert, but Skippy wasn't here at the moment. The only thing that would make a lazy Monday morning like this better would be if that chopping noise from outside would stop. It began at the bottom of her tree and got louder with each chuck, on the fortieth or so whack it became unbearable. Although the tree didn't warble dangerously, the furniture of the home slid towards the back. Slappy rode her sofa into the kitchen and the whole plate of cake she held to fell on her skull. Her angry eyes peaked out of the mess of fudge like a snake spying on prey in mud.
The tree-hitting stopped at last; it wasn't some macho lumberjack looking to find wood to pack away in his truck. It was a skinny girl in her twenties or thirties wielding an axe that looked too big for her arms. A smile of malice was made bright and even pretty by a crooked overbite, the envy of any squirrel.
A few others were in her company by others, all women, who kept at a safe but close distance. They watched together but only one had the mind to protest. Unlike the one who was also a skinny redhead.
"Excellent Liz!" She praised, "exercising your rage into a harmless medium to make up for the closure you never had with your parents!"
"Harmless?" cried a little white haired lady in a bonnet. If you knew who she was the wife of, the reasons behind her reaction would make sense. Although a thick monster of an oak tree is a far cry from a modest cherry tree. With all that whacking, the axe didn't even cut to the center of it. Regardless, the small lady expressed concern.
She was confronted with this. "Mrs. Washington, if Lizzie puts her energy on going all 'hitty' on inanimate objects - the less likely she would go all 'hitty' on people."
Slappy appeared unnoticed in front of the dent sliced into her home. Blocking it. She rehearsed her words careful in her head, which she had plenty of time to do due to the stretched out argument between the two humans. It came to a point when Slappy had to clear her throat loud enough to grab their attention. The lanky girl who appeared to be their leader was first to notice. Then they all did, and were slandered for it.
"What are you bozos doing?" The furry curmudgeon asked.
The leader girl responded in a friendly way, "bonjur! My names Joan, Joan of Arc!"
Slappy puzzled at her name and thought she misheard it until she went around her friends and introduced them with equally familiar names. Cleopatra, Martha Washington and Lizzie Borden. The only one not named after a historical celebrity of some sorts was the oldest looking woman of the group; simply called the World's Oldest Woman. What made things even stranger was that they claimed to be in group therapy. Slappy assumed they were just a collection of reenactors doing a poor job.
"We need serious mental health mending," said Cleoparta as she munched on a taco.
"Boy ain't that the truth." Slappy combed a paw through her tail to weed of any stubborn cake remains. Trying to keep her voice sounding rational and not weathered by anger, she explains the importance to that tree home to the humans. They all seemed reasonable enough to understand and agreed.
"Quell bùmer," Joan sighed, turning her attention to the axe girl. "Looks like no tree either, Lizzie."
No people, no trees. She toyed with the heavy axe and looks sadly down at it. No people or trees, Lizzie nodded and looked at Slappy Squirrel. Who was neither. The mad girl wore an awful grin before sprinting towards her new target, axe posed high above her head.
Slappy gapped her mouth so wide her tongue could have unhinged and fell out. She scurried up the trunk on her trees without a second glance down and scaled all the way to the safety of her balcony. Lizzie wasn't much of a climber but it didn't stop her from digging her nails into the cresses of the wood to travel skyward. Her big teeth gripped the handle of her weapon in between them, but not before her usual screeching mantra.
"WHACK EM, WHACK EM, WHACK EM"
Joan put her fingers to her bottom lip in thought; to her something was off about that Slappy. The grumpy rodent seemed to be bearing a heavy weight from both her age and isolation. It hurt having to see her leave without even a present to pay for the damages.
"That poor creature," Joan of Arc lamented. The other women just stood in apathy, minus an aggressive Lizzie Borden still barking up the tree like a dog trying to get a stuck cat. Cleoparta has finished her taco and a banana took its place, she pushed it in her bored face.
The fratty Frenchwoman snapped her fingers. "She should like, join our group therapy!"
"No way," disagrees the World's Oldest Woman, "with a third old broad— we'd be Great Old Ladies in History in group therapy.
"Hey!" Martha Washington folded her arms tightly.
Nether the less, the group returned to their usual station back at the office building. The five, while were mostly lukewarm either way, were mostly fine about Joan's proposition of sending an invite. It came in the form of a letter to appeal to the elderly rodent's wishes to live in the past. It came to the mailbox in her lot only a day away.
Lucky for Slappy, the Golden Grams marathon extends to a second day. The reruns will play all the way to the afternoon of that Tuesday. And with a new cheesecake in paw, the mail was the last thing on her mind. Skippy has fortunately found the time to fetch it and place the papers on the empty coushin on the couch next to her own. With commercial being the only time she would mute the TV to go through each piece of mail. By the time she finishes one, the show will return back to the screen.
The funniest thing she has gotten in the mail was not the prank toys she ordered and came wrapped in bronze paper. It was the letter from yesterday's awkward visitors.
SLAPPY SQUIRREL
WE WANT TO APOLOGIZE FOR OUR DISRUPTING BEHAVIOR WHEN WE TRESPASSED ON YOUR PROPERTY. IF YOU WOULD WISH FOR US TO PAY FOR ANY DAMAGES, WE WILL. IN THE MEANTIME WE WILL OFFER YOU FREE (AND MUCH NEEDED) THERAPY SESSIONS SO YOU CAN JOIN TO SORT OUT YOUR OWN PROBLEM WITH GREAT HISTORICAL ICONS WHO WANT THE SAME THING.
She cackled with every typed digit and letter. Not because she was happy about receiving the offer, but because she never wanted anything less. The letter was lovelessly flung out the open window.
"Therapy sessions," she scoffs and took to her sofa again. Predictable, the commercial ends in perfect timing. Four characters showed up with the same gray in their faces as Slappy. They also participated in cheesecake with witty banter.
Slappy smiled. "I got all the therapy I need right here."
The laugh track plays as Gram Greta drove the other Grams to insanity. In this episode, she forced her fellow housemates to iron her moo-moo. Then she insulted her daughter, her husband, and friends. The usually pain in the rear type of character depicted by an old lady.
The smiled was wiped from Slappy's lips. Normally this low brow humor was her favorite breed but she couldn't help but see her face in Greta for the first time. A mean spirited hag causing distressed to love ones. Was it the 'much needed' comment? Was binge watching this show playing games with her mind? Maybe the cheesecake had something in it.
Gram Greta, you can't drive by yourself!
Can too!
Then she crashes into every person on that block's lawn. Slappy actually remembers doing something very similar, and almost got arrested.
One class wouldn't hurt. The letter was gone and so was her will to resist.