Alan walked swiftly into the house, clutching the straps of a plastic bag in which lay a bottle of Enfamil. "Here's the baby formula you asked for," he informed his mother, who was unfolding an old crib with faded wooden slats. "Can I call the police now?"

Mrs. Powers, grinning obliviously, snatched Petula from the couch and gently laid her on the mattress in the crib, cooing sweetly. A few seconds passed before she acknowledged her son's presence. Taking the bag from his hand, she asked, "Why do you need to call the police? Is there a crime in progress?"

"I'm not a lawyer or anything," said Alan, struggling to remain calm, "but I think there's a law against abandoning a baby."

"Abandoning?" Mrs. Powers chuckled as she pulled the tab from the bottle of formula. "Don't be ridiculous, dear. Augusta's having a little trouble with the police, but I'll be glad to take care of Petula until she comes back."

Alan wanted to scream. "How many times do I have to tell you?" he said with extreme impatience. "Augusta. Is. Not. Coming. Back."

"If she doesn't," said Mrs. Powers, "then you've got yourself a new baby sister."

"I already have a sister," grumbled Alan, but his mother was by this time absorbed in the task of feeding Petula through a plastic bottle.

There's only one way to get through to her, he thought bitterly. In one quick motion, he grabbed the phone from the wall and dialed Buster's number.

"Hello?" came the voice of Bitzi Baxter-Mills.

"This is Alan Powers," said the boy.

"Buster's not here right now," replied Bitzi. "He's at Fern's."

"I don't want him," said Alan earnestly. "I want you. Something big is transpiring at my house, and I think it's worth at least an article in the Elwood Times."

Mere minutes later, Bitzi marched through the front door, a bulky camera case slung over one shoulder, and a tripod folded under her other arm. "I would've been here sooner, but I had to program my TiVo to record The Altos," she told Alan. "What's the scoop?"

"Behold," said the bear boy, waving his hand toward the crib, "the baby of the future."

At first mildly incredulous, Bitzi dutifully unfolded her tripod and began to remove the camera from its case. "It looks like an ordinary baby to me," she remarked, glancing briefly at Petula's sleepy-eyed face. "What makes it so futuristic?"

"Hold her, and you'll see," said Alan, innocently sticking his hands behind his back.

"Oh, I get it," said Mrs. Baxter, reaching for the child. "They finally invented a baby that doesn't need to be burped." She carefully raised Petula to her bosom. "I'd like to buy one. Heck, I'd like to put up some investment...capital..."

As she gazed upon the baby girl's hairless visage, a warm feeling flooded her heart--a feeling she had last experienced ten years earlier, when a nurse had placed the hungry baby Buster in her eager, trembling hands. My baby, she thought despite herself. My precious baby...

"Would you like to take her home with you?" asked Alan.

"Yes," mumbled Bitzi, powerless to resist the boy's suggestion. "Yes, I would."

Mrs. Powers emerged from her bedroom, some slightly worn, pink baby pajamas draped over her arm. "Isn't she beautiful, Bitzi?" she said, barely noticing the camera that had been set up next to the crib.

"Oh, yes," answered the immobilized rabbit woman. "Whose...whose child is she?"

"She's mine," said Mrs. Powers, much to the astonishment of her son.

"That's impossible." Bitzi's grip on Petula tightened. "She's a rabbit." On an inexplicable impulse she added, "She belongs with her own kind."

Mrs. Powers glared suspiciously while stretching out her arms. "Please give her back, Bitzi," she quietly demanded. "And then take your camera and leave. There's no news for you here."

Mrs. Baxter realized that something was compelling her to act illogically, but the only thought she could manage was, I want to hold her just a little longer...maybe for the rest of my life...

"She's not your child," she stated, her voice breaking. "I have as much right to her as you do. Unless you can show me an adoption certificate, she's going home with me."

"Do you want this to get ugly?" said Mrs. Powers in a menacing tone.

Alan let out a sigh of satisfaction. I love it when a plan comes together.

Jane Read poked her head through the still-open front door. "Here I am, Alan" she said helpfully. "You said your parents need some tax assistance...why, look at that beautiful baby!"

----

to be continued