Sea Change

(Note from Franklin: In September of 2021, the entire household–including the house–moved from the United States to France. The precious core cast of Foxe, Boxe, Enid, and Miss Pond traveled in my carry-on bag and we all arrived safely in Paris. Not everyone was delighted with the change, however–especially as it took two months for the house to arrive and even longer for it to be unpacked.)

"Come now, Miss Pond," said Mr Boxe. "It has been nearly two weeks. You must leave the bag sooner or later."

 "Out of the question," said Miss Pond.

 "Oh, for god's sake, you miserable duck," said Mr Foxe. "Either pull yourself together and come out or I'm going to have you made into a feather duster."

 "My dear Foxe," said Mr Boxe, "please remember that we promised to be civil and encouraging."

 "I don't give a fig what you do to me," said Miss Pond. "You've already done your worst. France. France! Of all places. Why not deposit my shivering carcase in Antarctica? Or perhaps on some tiny island where I could have rotted away peacefully and had my bones pecked at by crabs? Any place but...France."

 "We've explained ad infinitum," said Mr Boxe. "Eglantine Crescent will be in France, yes. But really, Eglantine Crescent will remain in...well, in Eglantine Crescent. All will continue as before. Rien ne changera, you might say."

 "I certainly would not," said Miss Pond. "And you are asking me to accept metaphysical speculations with which I am entirely uncomfortable."

 "Oh, come on, Pondsie," said Enid. "It's not so bad, really. The 'ouse should be here soon. In the meantime they've picked up some jolly nice new furniture and the view's not bad. Come on, have a bath and a drink and we'll go out and find some ooh la la, just you and me."

 "It's not your afternoon off," said Mr Boxe.

 "Off from what?" said Enid.

 "From...well...from keeping the house," said Mr Boxe.

 "Wot 'ouse?" said Enid. "I don't see nothing like that. All I see's down the corner they got a shop wot sells really good bottles of what ya like for some of that there funny money."

 "This is anarchy!" moaned Mr Boxe.

 "Would you like to join me in my bag?" said Miss Pond.

 "I think I rather would," said Mr Boxe.

 "Now don't you start," said Mr Foxe.

 "You lot do as you please," said Enid. "I met a little fellow wot promised to teach me more of the lingo and we are going to 'ave a prom-ay-nawd in the jar-dan. That's a walk in the park when it's at 'ome."

 "Do you mind terribly *not* tracking the soil of France into my bag?" said Miss Pond, as Mr Boxe attempted to settle himself next to her.

 "I wash my paws of the lot of you," said Mr Foxe. "A shocking lack of gumption, that's what I see. I'm going shopping, and when I come back I shall probably have bought more chairs."

 "When you return," said the muffled voice of Mr Boxe, "would you kindly toss a pistachio éclair into the bag?"

 "No," said Mr Foxe.