Author's note: Sorry for the delay (when I say 'delay' I mean 'chasm'). Writer's block can be a bitch. But it's done now. Oh, and Sonic will make an appearance later – in fact, she's an integral part of the plot :D Sorry if there are any spelling and grammar mistakes, but it's 2:30am. I'll correct it later ifI find any, and please feel free to point any out.

Mike stepped into the boat and sat on the very back bench; the one furthest away from the Oompa-Loompas. It wasn't until he leant back and let the sway of the boat on the chocolate river rock him gently that he realised just how tired he was. He snapped off a small piece of the boat and popped it into his mouth, grimacing at the taste, but getting invigorated by the sugar-rush. As the boat glided smoothly into the Chocolate Room (Mike's least favourite room) he took a moment to really look at his surroundings. He was used to vividly bright colours; he'd been brought up with them flashing across his eyes. But the Chocolate Room was different. It was artificial and static and – no matter what Wonka said – it wasn't in the least bit beautiful. Why his mother had chosen this room to set up house was beyond him. He'd considered going to live by himself in the Television Room, but figured he'd spent enough years of his life alone with a TV set. So the Chocolate Room it had to be. He clambered out of the boat and scrabbled up the grass bank to his house.
It was exactly like his old house in Colorado: a suburban bungalow with pale yellow walls and a red roof. His father had even put the same garage on, though Mike didn't know why – they kept the car in the courtyard outside. Wonka had expressly forbidden any form of transport inside the factory (except the boat and the elevator, of course). Probably to stop them from escaping. Mike stuck his key into the lock (a precaution he had forced upon his parents after waking up in the middle of his first night to find an Oompa-Loompa had broken in and was sitting calmly at the bottom of his bed) and pushed open the door. The living room seemed surprisingly dark, except for the 'standby' button flashing on his unsaved game.
"Mom?"
He felt his way over to the light switch, knocking his knee on many tables and chairs in the process.
"Ow! Son of a…!"
He heard a scraping noise and turned on the light in a panic.
"Dad?"
Some more scraping and scrabbling emanated from the trash can in the kitchen. Mike took a few hesitant steps towards it. If he'd learnt one thing during his stay here, it was to never take an Oompa-Loompa by surprise. You could end up with a lot of your hair missing.
Wincing at the memory of the many salon visits, Mike grabbed a rolling pin from the side and advanced on the bin. It shook a bit and he froze. The lid slowly opened. He could see two eyes gleaming out at him.
"Sonic!"
He knocked the lid off and a black kitten jumped into his arms.
"Sonic, you know you're not supposed to go into the trash," he scolded and put the cat into its basket.

He glanced at the clock – half past three. Mike yawned and pushed Sonic's water bowl further towards her with his foot. Mike's eyes were drooping and he knew he needed sleep, but Sonic made such a pathetic face at him that Mike had to kneel down and stroke her for a while.
"Why did the doctor suggest a kitten?" he wondered aloud, "Surely a Tarantula is just as good for anger management. Or a Cobra. But no," he sighed and scratched behind Sonic's ears, "I got landed with you."
Sonic purred gently and Mike couldn't help but smile, "You pathetic little…"
"Mike?"
Mike looked up at his dad, "Yeah?"
"Why are you in so late?"
Mike leaned against the kitchen cupboards, scooped Sonic up into his lap and stated, "Wonka."
"This is ridiculous – he can't keep you in until these hours! You're only a child!"
Mike scowled and muttered, "I can do what I want."
"Oh, because you really want to be working here. In a chocolate factory. With the man you once described as the metaphorical glucose sweet to a diabetic."
The boy shoved the cat carelessly into its basket and got to his feet.
"I'm going to bed."
Mike stormed out of the kitchen and into the living room. Mr Teavee picked up the lid of the trash can and placed it carefully back on.
"I won't tell your mother that Sonic is misbehaving again," he reasoned with his son, "If you promise to come home earlier in future."
Mike turned round to face him.
"That's a stupid deal to make," he said quietly, "As I don't give a damn either way."
Mr Teavee watched sadly as his son went to catch a few hours sleep. He would have to leave again in the early morning, and then there would be no sign of him until he got back at the same time the next night.