100/100 -16-

“Can I keep it?”

He stared at the thing on the floor, cheerfully enveloping half of a sneaker. It moved like a protoplasm, but was covered in soft russet fur. He tried poking at it, but it wobbled threateningly. His daughter, though, was able to pick it and the shoe up without a problem, while it burbled and bubbled. She smiled down at it so possessively, almost threateningly. He swallowed down his fear. All the ‘raising a mad scientist’ books said this was a possibility. Preteens vacillated between science and madness. There really was only one solution:

“Ask your mother.”