Chuckie Cat

Munchkinhead had a lot of noisy stuffed animals when she was little.  There was Barks, the large Pound Puppy who, you guessed it, barked whenever you squeezed him or made a loud noise around him.  There was Humpty Dumpty, who made a crashing noise if you launched him across the room.  There was the baby doll – I don’t even know if she had a name – who, when you hugged her giggled and said, “heh heh heh heh Momma, Momma heh heh heh heh.”  And then, then there was the Chuckie Cat.

Chuckie Cat played music and moved his little arms as if playing with an invisible ball of yarn.  Like the others, he could be set off by squeezing or by loud noises, but unlike the others, he could also be set off by motion.  There was a little sensor on his tummy.  At least, those were the three things that were supposed to set Chuckie Cat off, touch, sound and movement.  But Chuckie Cat didn’t play by those rules.  Chuckie Cat did what he wanted.

We’d all be downstairs, eating dinner or sitting in various rooms, and someone would hear music.  “What’s that?”  Chuckie Cat.  No one nearby.  No one nearby to touch him, no one nearby to make noise, no one nearby to move near him.  Chuckie Cat, playing away.

Munchkinhead would go up to room for bed.  Before she even got to the top of the stairs, she’d hear Chuckie Cat.  She’d go in her room and there he’d be, playing, moving his little arms, his plastic eyes staring right through her.  He’d stop.  She’d turn the light on and off a few times, trying to get him to play again.  Nothing.  She’d leave.  She’d be in the bathroom brushing her teeth and she’d hear the music again.  Chuckie Cat, playing, moving his little arms.

In the middle of the night, when everyone was sleeping, there’d go Chuckie Cat again, playing, moving his little arms.  “Maybe we have ghosts and his sensor can see them.”  We’d hide Chuckie Cat under baskets and boxes and blankets, attempting to block his motion sensor.  No matter, there’d go Chuckie Cat, playing, moving his little arms, wiggling the blankets. 

I’m amazed Munchkinhead was able to sleep with him in her room.  Alfred or I would have thrown him down the laundry chute, playing and moving his little arms.