New Port

Several months ago, Louis strapped himself into the front seat of Scratch's car, and held onto the small basket that contained the plant cuttings. Behind the seat were boxes and plastic tubs full of what Scratch couldn't bear to leave behind. Literally half her stuff remained at her sister's house, and Dent was hanging on to most of the dishes and other kitchenware.

Herb the sloth had already been left with Scratch's little one; his stint on the HMS Darwin had come to an end, and was now enjoying hanging out in Nashland.

..........now, at the beginning of 2020, Louis LXIX, Deposed king of Lobsteronia, sat perched on the back corner of Scratch's bed, and watched the snow outside the window. It was difficult to believe the extremes of weather he had witnessed in those couple of months. Down south, the heat was usually only matched by the humidity. Now, more than 1600 miles away, it was cold. VERY cold. It reminded him of home. He pondered, not for the first time, about his homeland so far away. He wondered if it had been in the north Atlantic Ocean. It was so long ago he had been scooped up by a fishing net and stuffed into a box as a little spawn. He was far away from the ocean now, but the cold remained.

Mort yawned from his basket perched atop the bookcase. Scratch had got one of those put-it-together-yourself kind of kits from Yellow Star. He hoped Scratch would bring home some Cheez-its. If they even had those here. Scratch herself was somewhat saddened to find there were no boiled peanuts here. "It's a southern thing, I think," she said.

Dakota seemed right at home. He grinned a prickly-smile and trundled about the room.





Coming soon! The NEW adventures of the HMS Darwin's Revenge!