Thank you for your prompt response, O Hostess Cupcake of Theta! The situation is a little better. Early this morning the Large-Jawed Woman began screaming "I want money!! I want MONEY" at the top of her lungs. I had been sleeping in my usual position on the ceiling, having hooked my tail around the light fixture in order to hang upside down. I was so startled that I relaxed control and crashed to the floor, but since I landed on the mattress down there that the Large-Jawed Woman sleeps on, there was no real damage. Just then there was a knock at the door. Usually this means a delegation of local police officers, and I tend to retract behind the couch during the Large-Jawed Woman's meetings with them. I don't want them to believe her when she claims that she is being stalked by space aliens, because she is really, really convincing at it. I don't know why the police officers never offer to search the house, and they stopped writing anything down about two hundred visits ago. Now they usually just stand there making faces behind the Large-Jawed Woman's back and rotating their index fingers next to their ears. It's very droll-looking, Your Lemon-Scentedness, but I am not sure about the cultural significance of the gesture. The Large-Jawed Woman lurched to the door, crushing a few scattered cheesy snacks beneath her bare feet, and threw it open. Imagine my surprise, for who should be there by my old friend Bruce! He had festooned his upper lip with strands of black hair in an attempt to disguise himself, but of course I could tell by the bulging muscles beneath his tight tee shirt and the very tiny cargo shorts that it was Bruce! "Wheels on Meals, ma'am!" Bruce said brightly. The Large-Jawed Woman peered at him, and at the white paper bag he was carrying with one of her holiest symbols on it, the Golden Arches! "Uh . . . what?" "We deliver meals to cancer patients, and your name is on our list, ma'am." He looked down at a piece of paper in his other hand. "Ovarian, colon, breast, brain, lymphoma, carcinoma and testicular, right?" She was peering into the bag. "You forgot throat and jaw cancer. What the hell is that, a McRibb?" "Yes, ma'am." He turned the paper over. "Sorry, it was continued on the other side. Anyway, this is for you." She ripped the sack open, and a number of styrofoam containers fell to the floor. I perked up, as it had been awhile since I myself had ingested nourishment. The Large-Jawed Woman chomped down upon the McRibb, whatever that is, and promptly collapsed to the floor. Bruce grinned. "Bronson gave me some shit to put in the food, Little Buddy! She'll be out for a coupla hours. C'mere!" He wrapped his arms around me and tightly hugged me. "Been missing my little lizard something fierce!" I could easily tell the last part. Some time later, Bruce sighed in contentment and stretched his arms high over his head and yawned. I was perched gingerly on the chair in front of the computer. Very gingerly. "Bronson said to tell you that you're gonna have to stick it out here, Little Buddy." The Large-Jawed Woman gently snored. "He's moving on to some glass store on the other side of town, he said. He's kinda pissed off at you, he says. He got in a lot of trouble with some kind of Grand Garden Rake. So now I'm on the job, although I dunno what that means. I have to take the rig down to San Diego tomorrow, though, so you'll be on your own for a coupla days." "That's alright, Bruce." I looked down at the prone Large-Jawed Woman. "By my calculations, there is less than 2% natural material in the comestible she is eating. Is that really a wise food choice for a Terran with cancer?" "Probably not, no. So if she ever actually gets cancer, I s'pose we're gonna have to get some different stuff to bring in. Bronson just wanted to make sure it was something she would want to push into her piehole." After a few more minutes of personal conversation, Bruce took a very affectionate farewell. And I squeaked my own goodbyes. Since then I have crawled back behind the couch. The Large-Jawed Woman is out like a light. Your faithful minion, Illuminati