“If the sun is going to be so gullible, I might as well hide under my blankets and mutter,” she complained to her cat.
“Perhaps,” replied the cat, “but either way, it’s bath time. Do what you like. I’ll be in the window.”
“Picnickers,” she snarled, and then, in a mocking musical tone while clasping her hands to her chest, “Oh dear I hope it’s sunny today for our nifty pickny in the parky. Whatever will we do if it rains?! Oh heavens me I hope it won’t!”
She whirled from the window, grabbed the blankets and heaved them all over her head at once into a fabric balloon. As they fell lazily over her head, she rolled onto the mattress and let them cover her. A hand reached out from underneath and fumbled on the side table until it found the lamp, which immediately disappeared with the hand. The cord brushed a few trinkets from the table.
A hand appeared again and searched the floor until it stumbled over a book. Swish, and the hand and book disappeared together. Muttering, pages turning, and ah ha! There it was.
More muttering. Practice, practice. A hand goes here, then whoosh to there, and the last words sung backwards. Got it.
A low, creepy tune carried through the covers. Her voice, like a sinister cello, was ominous, foreshadowing curses and misfortune.
In ten minutes, she was out of the blankets and sitting gleefully at her open window, drenched in rain, while harried picnickers slapped ants from their arms and scrambled for shelter. Cat prepared his second bath with somewhat less aplomb.