# 2 : It was all fun and games.

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..................until a terrorist tried to firebomb his truck.

Leroy woke him up. He and LeRoy were sleeping together. No, it’s not like that at all. They just slept. It was purely a thermal relationship. LeRoy didn’t like the cold. Alan gave off heat. It was therefore normal that when it got cold at night that LeRoy curled up between Alan’s neck and shoulder…or in his armpit….to stay warm. They’d been doing that for years, even before Alan noticed them talking. Talking English that is, that he could understand.

Bubba even slept with them when it got really cold. Alan was too damn cheap to idle the truck for warmth unless it threatened to get cold enough to gel the diesel. That would be pretty cold. Rather more accurate to say that Bubba slept ON him. Bubba didn’t like being covered with a blanket like LeRoy did.

“Get your lazy ass out of bed...someone is trying to set the truck on fire” screamed Bubba.

“Get up!, (bounce) get up! ,(bounce) get up!,(bounce) get up!!” squawled Leroy...jumping up and down on Alan’s chest.

“Oooof!” grunted Alan...LeRoy wasn’t the biggest cat...not near as big as Bubba...but he packed a wallop bouncing up and down on his chest like that..

“Waszit?”...Alan gasped...as he lay there in the bed being pounded by LeRoy…LeRoy was really getting into the trampoline thing. Bubbas looked out the windshield and hissed...

“Get up!, (bounce) get up!, (bounce) get up !, (bounce) get up!!”...LeRoy kept jumping up and down on his chest. Alan, not in the best shape, was having a little trouble breathing. He lay there grimacing with his eyes closed while LeRoy continued to bounce.

“Get up!, (bounce) get up!, (bounce) get up!, (bounce) get up!!” LeRoy squawled

Alan...with his eyes closed, saw through Bubba’s eyes.…… another flaming object hit the hood of the truck...and bounce. It fell off the truck on the drivers side. Someone was throwing molotov cocktails at them.

“Houston...we have a problem.” Alan said to himself. He finally managed to avoid LeRoy and rolled out of bed, naked as a pot bellied gorilla. He slid into the driver’s seat and looked out the drivers window to see where that flaming object had bounced to. Someone was right beside the truck bending over to pick up the guttering molotov cocktail. He was evidently going to try again. Alan swung the door open, hard, and smashed that someone in the head. The smashee staggered backwards.

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To Be Continued
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