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It started innocently enough.
I was shuffling aimlessly through Marc’s garden center,
surrounded by baby tomato plants and the occasional faint
whiff of bagged manure. Off in the corner, looking ignored
and abandoned, was a very lifelike statue of a garden
gnome. The sad, dust filled eyes attracted me, and soon
there was a bubble-gum popping sales associate telling me
his name was “Storck”. She followed up with a
practiced sales pitch, adding he was on sale for just half
price because he was a returned item. Short, pudgy, and
with a distinct air of arrogance, Storck found his way
into my shopping basket, the back seat of my car, and
after a short ride, to the front porch of my home.
I gave him a gentle spray
with the garden hose, peeled off the price tag, and gave
him a place of honor between some petunias and the
wisteria. Satisfied, I trudged off to do some long ignored
chores. During the night, Pixie the cat seemed agitated
and on constant alert. This is not that unusual, she has a
fixation for fireflies, but this was a crisp fall night.
Not giving it much thought, I slumbered off to a fitful
sleep.
The next morning, after
spilling coffee on my t-shirt and slurping down some yummy
oatmeal with raisins and almonds, I began the morning
garden ritual. While watering the inpatients next to the
house, I noticed some mortar between the bricks was
missing, looking like it had been chiseled out. Weird.
Pixie was pacing around, sniffing the ground, air, and
looking generally annoyed. Hmmm. When I went around front,
and stared in mild shock, as Storck the garden gnome had
moved. He was on the other side of the petunias. Pixie
hissed and had her tail hair in a bundle, it was obvious
she did not like the gnome. I moved Storck back to where
he was, and finished the day’s work.
That night I was awoken by
a faint, but distinct, gnawing sound. I opened the door,
let Pixie out, and pointed a flashlight in the general
direction of the sound. Storck! I screamed. The garden
gnome scurried around the corner of the house, Pixie hot
on his tail. I scrambled and fumbled for my robe and
slippers, noting it was 2:30am on the faint red clock.
When I reached the front of the house, Pixie had Stock
cornered, the garden gnome looking positively immobile,
like the painted concrete statuary he is. But he had no
time or place to hide the evidence, the mortar from
between the bricks was stuck to his little painted teeth.
The next morning, I did
what had to be done. After a half hour drive deep into the
forest, there appeared a small cave in the side of a
moss-covered hill. In the quite of the morning mist, I
took Storck out of the box where I’d kept him sealed the
rest of the night, and placed him in the mouth of the
cave. Walking gingerly back to the car, watching over my
tensed shoulder, Storck stared blankly, giving me the
chills.
That was a year ago. To
this day, Pixie the cat will occasionally stare intently
into the forest, in the general direction where Storck was
returned to the wild. Her hair will stand up, and I wonder
what she senses.
So the next time you see a
garden gnome awaiting adoption, just beware. It might be a
good idea if you’ve got a cat first!
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