Fat & Bones by Larissa Theule Page A

pierced his ears. The farmhouse cat had streaked in front of Bones precisely at the moment he swung the axe, and Bones had chopped off its tail. The cat howled and ran around and around the trunk. Four inches of severed grey tail hung from the tree, wedged into the cut made by the axe.
    First, his mother, now, the cat. “Stop crying!” yelled Bones. “It’s only a tail!”
    Bones decided to shut the cat up for good. Each time the cat circled the trunk, Bones swung his axe again, but each time, Bones missed. After a while, the trunk of the tree was riddled with axe marks. Bones was as far off from felling the tree as when he had arrived, though now his arms were nearly limp.

    When the cat grew dizzy and wobbled off into the wheat, Bones leaned on the axe handle and wiped his brow. He no longer had strength left to chop down the tree. He kicked at its trunk instead and broke three toes.
    Meanwhile, Fat flew through the open door of the farmhouse. Bones had forgotten to close the door on his way out, and Mrs. Bald, still weeping, was in no frame of mind to have closed the door herself.
    Fat hovered above the pot of pig foot stew on the stove. He held a bottle of Sunflower Skeleton Eraser in his hand. He would drop it in the soup. Then, when Bones ate his dinner, what a sight! Bones would turn into a blob of flesh on the floor—a rubbery rug—a boneless Bones!
    Fat swooped and dipped in front of Mrs. Bald’s face as she stood stirring the thick brown stew. She did not even blink. The woman couldn’t see him through her tears. Fat giggled and said, “Get ready, bonesy Bones.”
    He pulled and prodded at the stopper wedged in the bottle, but the stopper would not budge. He bit his lip, and sweat formed on the brow of his round head. He was concentrating so hard that he flew into the wall. He dipped and fluttered, holding his head with one hand, the bottle with the other. The bottle slipped, dropping into the boiling stew with a delicate plop.
    â€œAaaaah!” Fat squealed.
    Mrs. Bald raised her head. “Bones, is that you? I’ve made pig foot stew, my boy, just like you wanted. It was your father’s favorite too.” At that, she began to weep all the more.
    Fat did the first thing that came to mind. He dove headfirst into the stew. The mealy liquid grated against his skin. He struggled to remain clearheaded. He forced himself to open his eyes and scarcely avoided ramming into the pig foot itself. The foot brushed against his arm, squishy from the heat, and then floated away.
    Mrs. Bald’s wooden spoon came from behind and began stirring Fat around the pot. Nearly unconscious from holding his breath, Fat began to prepare for an undignified death as bits of vegetables and stew grit hit his face.
    Then, through the murk, he spotted an elegantly scrawled S and lunged for it. His hand closed around the bottle. With the last of his energy, Fat climbed up the wooden spoon, gasping for air once he broke the surface. His face red and his blood vessels nearly popping, he burst from the pot with a mighty schloop.
    â€œBones? What are you up to? Wash up now, the stew’s nearly ready,” said Mrs. Bald, blowing her nose into her red-and-white checked apron.
    Fat freed the bottle stopper with his teeth and spat it out over his shoulder. He turned the bottle upside down and dumped the Sunflower Skeleton Eraser into the pot.
    Mrs. Bald smoothed her apron and picked up her wooden spoon. She stirred the stew once more and then lifted the spoon to her mouth for a taste test, licking it all over with her long pink tongue.
    â€œNo!” cried Fat. He had not intended Sunflower Skeleton Eraser for Mrs. Bald. If Bones found his mother flattened on the floor by the stove, he might figure the stew was to blame and not take a bite.
    But it was too late.
    The cat streaked in from outside, trailing blood from what was left of its tail. Moments later, Bones entered, his axe slung over