So, mom took an old cot that had belonged to my brother when he was a kid and set it up in the basement. I spent my days and nights down there, reading and feeding our little beast. It liked to curl up next to me, and it absolutely demanded that I pet it.
Although I enjoyed our time together, its behavior was so strange that I couldn’t stop worrying something bad was going to happen. My mother felt the same way, but what could we do? I mean, it wasn’t like we could call the vet and say, “Hey, would you come take a look at the giant monster that lives in our basement and eats the occasional rapist?”
Well, not that it was a monster to us. But we both knew the rest of the world wouldn’t see it in such a positive light.
So, I stayed with it, day in and day out. I made sure it was comfortable and happy. I gave it all sorts of new candy to try, and it seemed to enjoy our little adventures in taste-testing.
But as time went on, I began to notice something alarming.
Our library guardian was gradually getting bigger.
