A couple of weeks before Christmas of 1967, I made reservations for four at the nicest restaurant I knew in Vermintown. I had officially earned back everything I had sunk into HalFlat, and was now operating at a net profit. Simon, Rusty and Beatrice joined me in a celebratory dinner. The cost of that dinner technically nudged HalFlat back into the red, but let's not split hairs.

"I perhaps had never been prouder to claim you as a brother," enthuses Simon. "It had been a rather arduous journey for you, but you had remained steadfast in the pursuit of your goal."

Soon afterwards, Simon called me while I was doing some work at home. "Brother," he said. "You have sent me another check."

"Uh, yeah? It's your share from last week?"

"You have repaid your debt. There is no need for additional renumeration."

"Simon, you invested in me, remember? You didn't do that just to get your money back. You deserve your share."

What followed was one of those ridiculous fights where two folks keep arguing that the other should take the money. We finally settled on Simon taking ten percent, which I only had to pay monthly. "If my memory serves me correctly, I had to threaten to tear up any check I received from you that exceeded that amount. I was already receiving money from The Chipmunks despite no labor on my part. It put me ill at ease to also be receiving monetary compensation from my brother, also with no labor on my part." Simon smiles. "However, I did manage to come to peace with it."

I splurged on a few items for the company in the new year. Simon helped me write and record a HalFlat jingle for a radio commercial. It was just a dumb bouncy sort of tune which we harmonized on. "HalFlat, in no time flat!" I had Simon do the voice-over for the commercial, since his voice was lower and easier for humans to understand. I didn't run the ads very often - only for a week or two, on one station, if orders looked like they were starting to dry up. When I ran it, I would also run a small newspaper ad. Doing so always ended up generating a bunch of extra calls to the company. Ironically, if you heard Simon and me singing "HalFlat, in no time flat", it meant I was probably getting a lot of orders right around then...which meant, if you placed an order right then, you might not get it done in no time flat.

In the late spring, I also had a few HalFlat embroidered shirts made up for myself - dark green, with the logo in white. I really liked wearing them, especially to my initial consultations, because I felt like they made me look professional. And I still remember the first job I wore one to.

At that time, my orders were still mostly rodent remodel jobs, but I was starting to get a few orders from humans, too. Obviously, humans weren't interested in "halflatting" their apartments. They were looking for things like storage shelves in closets and spare rooms, mainly for people who accumulated a lot of stuff.

A previous customer had referred me to a man who said he was interested in having his kitchen pantry redone. I had done three or four of those already by that point, and they had just been things where I had put in a few shelves - a one-day project at most. But a job was a job, and you never knew when a little job could lead to a bigger one. So I grabbed my little tool chest and took the subway down to his place.

I walked up to the building, and stared up at it in awe. This was a much nicer neighborhood than I normally found myself in. The security guard at the front desk didn't even see me approach until I handed him my card, and told him who I had an appointment with. He phoned upstairs, after which he told me to go on ahead up to the top floor.

I got up to the front door and knocked, and a man opened the door a crack, giving me a suspicious look.

"TD Henderson, sir. From HalFlat?" I pointed to the logo on my shirt. "You called yesterday about your pantry remodel?"

The man sighed. "Why didn't they send the carpenter?"

Trying not to sound too exasperated, I said, "Sir, I am the carpenter."

"I mean the one in charge."

"Sir, I am the one in charge." He still gave me that look, so I sighed a bit, and prepared to put on my best speaking voice. ("Stand tall, Theodore! Chest out, gut in, pacing, pacing!") "I founded the company, and I do all the design work. I do have an assistant who sometimes pitches in with cutting and assembly, and some of the electrical work, but I do most of it on my own."

He appeared to be softening. "That so?"

"Yep. Let me see here." I opened up the tool chest and pulled out my notebook. "I was referred to you by...Mrs. Ambrose, correct?"

"Yes..."

I flipped through the notebook, then pointed to a page. "She had me redo her bedroom closet last month. Shoe storage, laundry sorting, built in drawers." I smiled. "I did that job on my own. Didn't need my assistant at all for that one."

He didn't say anything, but he unlatched the door and opened it. I touched my cap, picked up my tool chest and followed him into the apartment. It was even swankier than I had guessed it would be from the outside. I looked around at the large open living room, and mentally began HalFlatting it. I figured I could probably give twenty or thirty rodents their own bedrooms just in that space alone.

"Very nice place you have here, sir."

"Thank you," he said automatically. He took me to the kitchen, and opened the pantry door, switching a light on from the outside. I took a look inside. It may have been the largest kitchen pantry I had ever seen. It was very deep but poorly organized, and the single bulb from above didn't do much to illuminate the shelves. My brain immediately went into creative mode, as I tried to picture how I could make the pantry better.

I opened my tool chest and pulled out a tape measure. "Would you mind if I took some measurements?"

"No, go ahead. I'm...just going to go make a phone call." He left the room, and I began stretching the tape measure up to the ceiling. While I was taking measurements and jotting down the figures, I heard him quietly talking on the phone in the other room.

"Pearl?...Hello...listen, I'm getting the pantry redone while June is in California...yeah, a bit of a birthday surprise for her...yeah, that's who I called...but you could have mentioned that he was...you know...well, yes, Pearl...yes, yes, he does seem very nice, but, you know, now there's a squirrel in my kitchen...I suppose...well, if you say so, Pearl...I need to ring off...of course...goodbye, Pearl." I heard him hang up, and he walked back in as I finished jotting down the last measurement.

"All right," I said. "Let's see what we can do with this." He hesitated slightly before walking me over to the breakfast table, and indicating which chair for me to take. I climbed up and knelt on the chair so I could reach the table easier. I looked down at my measurements, tapped my pencil against my head a few times, and tried thinking bigger. I was going to have to not just prove myself to this guy, but wow him.

I began sketching. I had never been that great at art, but over the past few years, I had gotten pretty good at drawing representations of things that I'd be building. I pointed out the features as I drew them. Deep shelves. Small lights under each one. Storage bins. Storage attached to the back of the pantry door. As I described each of my ideas, I could sense the man becoming more and more interested. He started asking questions, and actually sounded a bit excited by the end of my spiel.

"How quickly can you get all this done?"

"About a week from start date. I'm just finishing up one project, and I have another I'm starting on, but I should have the whole thing done in two weeks."

"My wife gets back from California in six days. I was hoping to surprise her with a fait accompli. Is there any way at all...?"

I closed my eyes and frowned, thinking. "Perhaps. But I'll need to have my assistant help out quite a bit. And we'll have to work long days. That's going to cost more. Quite a bit more, actually." I tapped my pencil against my head again, then wrote a figure on the sheet next to my sketch.

"Do it," he said, without hesitating. He got out his checkbook to pay the deposit.

I grinned at him. "I like your style, sir." I gathered my things and put them back in my tool chest, then took his check. "I'm gonna head over to the lumber yard, then I can get started. I'll have to spend a lot of time here on the last day installing, so make sure you have the pantry empty by then. I think you and your wife will be very happy with the results." I headed to the door, and as he opened it, I added, "Oh, and one more thing..."

"Yes?"

"I'm a chipmunk, not a squirrel." I tipped my cap once more. "See you in five days."

The next week was something of a blur. I was up at six o'clock each morning, drinking coffee and planning the day ahead. I worked on my other current project until lunch time, devoured a sandwich, then worked on this massive pantry project for the rest of the day. Rusty came over every night to help out. Once it got too late to make noise, I'd paint the panels, or run wire through them for the lights, before I'd finally tumble into bed exhausted some time after midnight.

Five days later, I spent almost half an hour in the morning loading up my truck. Rusty had taken the day off at the subway terminal to help, and we got to the apartment before nine o'clock. The installation took all day, with just a quick break for lunch, but we had everything done and the area cleaned up just after six in the evening. I accepted a nice fat check from the man (and a hearty handshake), and then took Rusty out for a well-earned Italian dinner.

I stopped by that apartment again two days later. I had forgotten to give the man some information about the lights I installed in the pantry, and I brought along a few spare light bulbs, since those small low-wattage ones weren't the easiest ones to find. The man wasn't home, but his wife June was, and she was thrilled to meet me. She told me that she "absolutely adored" what I had done with her pantry, and could she recommend me a few of her friends? Of course, I said yes, handing her a stack of business cards and pamphlets. I jokingly asked if she would mind holding off on making the recommendations for another few days, as I was still recovering from my long hours of the past week. She laughed and agreed to do so, and wow, was I happy she did.

I really have no idea who June was, but apparently she was well-connected in the New York City social scene. She appeared to have a limitless supply of friends. And once someone in that crowd did something, everybody else wanted to follow suit. Suddenly, I was swamped with requests for pantry remodels in upscale apartments. Fortunately, none of them were in a rush, so I could take them all in turn. In fact, I had to deliberately space them out so I could do some actual "halflatting" for rodents in between. By the end of the year, I had probably done three times as many human pantries as rodent apartments. And while I generally preferred doing the latter, I definitely enjoyed the money I got from the former.

One negative thing happened as the year went on - I lost Ramona. Well, I never really had her to begin with, but she vanished from my life. And she did so in typical Ramona fashion.

We met up for drinks one evening, had our typically fun time chatting about everything and nothing, and then went back to my place. The next morning, I lazed around in bed as I watched her get dressed - something I enjoyed doing. But as she finished putting on her shoes, she sighed and said, "I guess I better tell you. I'm moving."

"Moving? Where to?" I assumed she'd be moving within New York City, and maybe I could help out, since I had a truck and all.

"Seattle. New job."

"When?"

"Thursday."

"...in two days? But...why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I just wanted to enjoy the night with you, TD. Without that hanging over your head." She shook her head. "I'm no good at goodbyes." She gave me a smile. "But thanks for everything, TD. You're a good guy. Take care of yourself, OK?"

"But, Ramona..." She didn't answer. She just turned, climbed down the ladder and left.

I sat in bed, feeling more than a little bewildered. This was the second time she had left me in that position, but I didn't need a Beatles song to get me beyond it this time. Just a little thought and self-reflection.

I noticed that Ramona didn't say any of the typical good-bye things. No "we'll keep in touch" or "I'll write to you". That suggested that she wasn't interested in maintaining any contact with me. (And, as time proved, she wasn't. That was literally the last I ever heard from her.) And although I was unhappy that I wouldn't be seeing her again, part of me admired her. The way she enjoyed a friendship, and a physical relationship, without having any real obligations. When she had to go, she just left - no shattered relationship or deeply hurt feelings.

And the more I mulled it over, the more I liked the idea of that kind of relationship. And there was no reason I couldn't have it. I could find a female or two, become friends, fool around sometimes, and still have nothing tying me down. I finally decided that this was going to be the sort of relationship I was going to have with women from now on. Unfortunately, I didn't give this quite enough thought, as you'll see.

I would call Alvin maybe once a month just to catch up, although our conversations were a bit stilted around that time. Ever since our surprise appearance to see his band, he seemed more reluctant to say much about what he was doing. He would just say the band was "doing fine", then change the subject to what the Beatles were up to or something.

But in late October 1968, Alvin called me for a change. He was so excited that I could hardly understand him. Finally, he calmed down enough to tell me the news. One of Liberty's other bands was going to record a Christmas single, and they wanted the Chipmunks to be on it.

"Which band?"

"Canned Heat!"

Canned Heat? I was stunned. I wouldn't have said they were my favorite band or anything, but I had heard their song "On the Road Again" from earlier in the year, and liked it. And I was floored that a currently-popular band wanted to record with us. I called up Simon, and we worked out a weekend in November for us to fly back to California.

The scheduling was a bit tight, so Simon and I didn't actually meet the guys from Canned Heat until we pulled into the studio parking lot. Guitarist-vocalist Alan shook our paws and introduced us to the rest of the musicians. I told them I really liked "On the Road Again", and they said that they had another single about to come out that was even better. (They were right - it was "Going Up the Country".) And all three of us chipmunks spent a lot of time disavowing much of our discography. "The Chipmunks Sing With Children? Ugh, forget it." Then, just before we headed into the studio, one of the guys lit up a joint.

Before I go on, I should back up a bit. I mentioned earlier that I had tried pot for the first time while hitchhiking across the country. In the few years since then, I had run into it a few more times. Jerry from HJQ had shared a joint with me a couple times before gigs, and Ramona would bring one over from time to time. I enjoyed it enough, but it always seemed like the smoke would get deep under my fur. I always smelled like a dirty bong, or at least I felt like I did, until I took a really long, hot shower. Because of that, I never actively went out looking for it, but I'd partake if It was passed my way.

So, at the studio with Canned Heat, the joint eventually was passed to me. I took my customary mini-drag, then glanced at Simon. I could read the typically prim and proper "no thank you" in his eyes behind his glasses. So I handed it on to Alvin. Which is when I noticed this really weird expression on his face, too.

Alvin waves his paw around a bit as he attempts to explain. "Years ago, my therapist helped me notice something that I used to do a lot. I had this habit of...redrawing reality in my head, in order to protect my ego. In general, I'd convince myself that things were going great for me even when they weren't. So, think back to that time. You had your successful carpentry business, while Simon was finishing up grad school and preparing to teach. And me? I was still recording children's records once a year, and playing in a pretty crappy rock band once a week. I was starting to burn through the money I'd saved up..." Alvin stops suddenly and holds up a finger, grinning. "...I mean, all that money that Simon's legal maneuvering had gotten me. Let's be honest.

"Anyhow, although I was happy for you two and all, I still needed to feel superior. So I convinced myself that while you two were just 'existing'..." Alvin makes finger quotes. "...I was the one who was really 'living'. Which apparently meant lazing around, half-pretending to write songs and poetry, and, yeah, smoking pot. I convinced myself that I was living the life of an artist while you two were in Squaresville.

"Then you did the puff-n-pass. And it obviously wasn't your first time. In other words, you weren't as square as I had drawn you in my head." Alvin's smiled a bit. "That was the look. My ego getting punctured."

The band then told us their idea for the song. We'd start doing "Christmas Don't Be Late", they'd interrupt us and say that they wanted to record their Christmas boogie, instead. We'd argue a bit, and eventually we'd come around to their style.

Honestly, I wasn't really a fan of the concept. Our first time recording with a real band, and it was just like all of our other songs, except that Alvin's arguing with the band instead of with Dave. Couldn't we just, you know, sing? Plus, The Chipmunks came off as incredibly unhip on that record. Alan tells us, "this is 1968 not 1958", and Alvin has to pretend he's unfamiliar with the term "turn me on". But then again, it wasn't our record - it was theirs. We were just guesting on it. And even if this isn't at all what Theodore would act like, it fit the persona of "Theodore" pretty well. So I sucked it up and played along.

The recording itself was actually fun. We kind of horsed around a bit, then just let the tape run. We Chipmunks didn't even have to sing our original hit - they spliced the intro in from the original "Christmas Don't Be Late". As the take went on, the three of us started singing "we wish you a Canned Heat Christmas and a Chipmunk New Year" - which was tough, because that's in 3/4, and they were playing in 4/4. But we added a beat to each measure and made it work. Sadly, they faded the song out on the single before we got to that part.

The next morning, on our flight back to New York, Simon and I discussed how the recording had gone. We decided that although we had had a good time, we would weigh our options carefully before deciding whether or not to take part the next time.

However, it wasn't long before it was made clear that there weren't going to be any more next times.