Secrets

I looked at Tommy my cat. Tommy was busy knitting a brillo pad out of steel wool. Suddenly, I felt an overwhelming urge to communicate with Tommy. But how to do it? Aye! that was the question. Should I telephone, email, write a letter, tap out morse code on the floor with my blue Belgian clogs? I tried mind control. I gazed hard at Tommy with my mad staring eyes. My mind silently screaming, "Message for Tommy. Come in Tommy." Tommy just sat there intent on his knitting. His little pink tongue was stuck out the side of his mouth and every time the domesticated feline dropped a stitch, he would mutter,

"Oh, beanbags, buttermilk and baboons."

There little Tommy sat, just three feet away from me, but as far as communication goes, little Tommy may as well have been on the dark side of the moon.

Then! it hit me. I don't know why it didn't hit me sooner. I would communicate with Tommy by the use of-speech! I formed words in my mind threw them out of the gaping orifice below my nose-AND!-little Tommy stopped knitting and looked at me!

YIPEE!. It worked! Now Tommy and I could communicate with each other until the cows came home or slept rough under a hedge. I was so proud of myself I immediately got on to an escort agency and hired a small, petite, slightly stooped, bald headed dwarf from Bosnia-Herzegovina to come round and give me a pat on the back.

"Tommy," I said.

"Yes," said Tommy.

"Tommy," I repeated.

"Tommy," I thrice said.

"Are you now, or have you every been a member of a secret society that goes by the name of, "The Friars Of Fiddlesticks?"

Tommy gulped, failed to meet my gaze, drew his tail around him protectively and muttered,

"To answer that question in the affirmative would mean the end of Tommy the cat as we know him."

"Tommy cat!" I thundered, "I must warn you that anything you say will be taken down, rolled up in a fragment of the Dead Sea Scrolls, placed in a Coco tin and hung round the neck of the first abominable snowman who applies for income support on Friday the 29th of January in the year of our Lord 2017."

"You fiend!" screamed Tommy. "You evil, evil fiend."

Tommy reached for a bar of green Lifebuoy soap and cried,

"All right, I'll come clean! For the past four years, I have been a deacon, second class in the grand order of, "The Friars Of Fiddlesticks."

"I knew it!" I yelled.

I looked at you coming up the street one day and I said to myself,

"Something 'bout the way he walks, leads me to believe that yon green-eyed feline is a deacon, second class in the grand order of, The Friars Of Fiddlesticks."

"Damn you and your cunning, scheming, wild big brain!" screamed Tommy. "Now that you know, what are you going to do, turn me in?"

"That remains to be seen," I said.

"First, I want to know everything you know about the grand, ancient order known to a select few as-The Friars Of Fiddlesticks."

Tommy sighed, sat down and spoke thus,

"The grand order of The Friars Of Fiddlesticks, are as old as time itself and-yet, younger than Spring time. As the most secret of secret organizations," said Tommy,"we never meet, we have no leader, we wear no regalia, nor do we indulge in secret rites."

"How many members are in the grand order of The Friars Of Fiddlesticks?" I yelled, "And for what purpose were you formed?"

"I shall answer those two questions in the order they were presented," said Tommy.

"I don't know and I don't know."

"TOMMY!" I shrieked.

"There must be some reason for the existence of the ancient, secret order of The Friars Of Fiddlesticks."

"There is," said Tommy.

"Well what is it?" I yelled.

"Secrecy," said Tommy.

"The grand order of the Friars Of Fiddlesticks, keep the secrets of the grand order of the Friars Of Fiddlesticks, by strict secrecy and not telling anyone."

"WHAT SECRETS?" I yelled.

"We, in the grand order of the Friars Of Fiddlesticks know not what the secrets are," said Tommy.

"To know the secrecy of the secrets, would in effect breech the secrecy code that binds all members of the grand order of the Friars Of Fiddlesticks to keep the secrets forever-secret. And the secret way we keep the secrets secret, is by secret secrecy."

"Tommy," I said, "I feel left out. Can I join the secret order of The Friars Of Fiddlesticks?"

Tommy looked me up and down and said,

"Can you keep a secret?"

"YES TOMMY!" I cried. "YES, YES, YES! What happens now Tommy?" I yelled.

"Nothing!" said Tommy.

"For the rest of your life you must keep the secret of not knowing if you are in OR-out of the grand order of the Friars Of Fiddlesticks. If you knew the secret of whether or not you were a Friar of Fiddlesticks, it would in effect breech the Friars Of Fiddlesticks secret rules and you would be immediately secretly expelled."

"Tommy!" I yelled. "I'm not sure if I can handle all the secret, secrets of the Friars Of Fiddlesticks. These secret secrets weight heavy on my soul and I secretly fear the secrets I secrete will secretly drive me insane."

"Tell me about it," said Tommy.

"I have been a secret member of the secret order of The Friars Of Fiddlesticks for four years and I'm still only a deacon--second class! Sometimes I think that the secret order of the Friars Of Fiddlesticks is worse than the Free Masons. It's not what you know, it's who you know."

"Tommy!" I yelled. "Remember the secret, secrets we must secrete, so whatever you say, say-nothing!.