by Gareth Lewis
RAZZA MA’RAZZA:
IT’S CALLED A SNUGGLY PUFF, SILLY BOY
By
J. A. Johnson
Razza Ma’Razza: It’s Called a Snuggly Puff, Silly Boy
©2013 by J.A. Johnson
Cover illustration by J. A. Johnson © 2013
All characters and events in this story are fictitious. Any similarity
to persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
As always, this story is for my xiao Maomao
IT’S CALLED A SNUGGLY PUFF, SILLY BOY
By
J. A. Johnson
“Bruze? Bruze, are you awake?” Razza’s melodic voice wafted through Bruze’s sleeping mind like classical sezuzar music. How he loved the sound of her voice.
“Bruze! Can you even hear me? Oh pooh! I bet this talkie-thing isn’t even working. Bruze!”
After a moment, Bruze realized that Razza wasn’t whispering sweet nothings in his ear or, that for a change, he had not actually been dreaming of her at all.
“BRUZE!”
“Yes, Ma’am?” he slurred as he sat up in his too-small bed; a bed made for humans. He dialed the lights on and checked the holo-clock on his wall. 12:33 am! “What’s the matter?”
“Oh, good, you’re awake,” she said pleasantly.
Staring at the face of the intercom, Bruze rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Razza’s voice didn’t sound too stressed. “Is there a problem, Ma’am?”
“Not exactly. Just meet me down in the foyer.”
Bruze looked longingly at the holo-clock. “Ma’am, do you have any idea what time it is?”
“Of course I do, silly boy. I can tell time you know.”
“I’m sorry, Ma’am, it’s just, well… can’t whatever it is wait until morning?”
“If it wasn’t urgent, Bruze, do you think I’d be calling you right now?”
“No Ma’am,” he lied. “I suppose not. I’m on my way.”
Getting out of bed, Bruze slipped into his gray pants, black boots, and his favorite, white muscle-shirt. As he left his cramped room he killed the lights, then struck out for the foyer.
He plodded down the flower-festooned hallway. Still half asleep, he tried his best not to stagger into any of the expensive displays. He hoped that whatever Razza wanted this time, that it wouldn’t take too long. His room, nestled on the first floor of Razza’s penthouse suite, was just around the corner from the foyer, so he was more than a little surprised to find Razza – whose bedroom complex comprised the entire third floor –already there waiting for him.
“Ah, Bruze!” she exclaimed as she ceased her pacing. “There you are. What took you so long?”
Bruze could only blink. She must have called from the foyer. Worse, he could tell by her outfit: glow-green stretch fiber shorts, yellow sandals, wide yellow belt, the accentuating, strapless blue mini-shirt; the totality of which left over eighty percent of her silky, lilac colored skin exposed to all creation. Yet most revealing of all was… The Bag! They were going shopping!
“Bruze, aren’t you feeling well? You look ill.”
Bruze sighed. “I’ll survive.”
“Welllll, if you say so.” Razza’s lovely, lavender face lit up then.” “Guess what?” she said as she reached up and softly pinched his scaly gray cheek. “I know just the thing to put a smile on that big, frying pan, face of yours.”
Bruze just stood there, silently pining for the sleep he was going to lose.
“Well? Don’t you want to know what it is?”
“Surprise me, Ma’am.”
“I think I will,” she grinned excitedly. “Bruze, we’re going shopping!”
Bruze just stood there, silently pining for the sleep he was going to lose.
“Look, I’ve even brought my favorite shopping bag!”
Bruze just stood there, silently pining for the sleep he was going to lose.
