[Scene: a dark closet corner, just after taxes have been mailed. Peekaboo’s eyes glow in the gloom as Yeti spots her.]
Yeti: It’s safe to come out now.
Boo: It’s over. We made it. They made it. I thought we’d be counting the bodies by now.
Yeti: It wasn’t that bad.
Boo: Oh, the horror!
Yeti: I think you may have PTSD.
Boo: Letters! Not more letters! IRS! PTSD! OMG!
Yeti: There, there…you’re traumatized…just keep reminding yourself it’s over – and you made it just fine. And you didn’t even do anything – Missus did it – and she’s fine too.
Boo: [Twitching] The paper stacks…some of them are still…out there.
Yeti: Don’t let them cause you to cower in here. Reclaim your life. Face your fear. They can’t do anything to you now.
Boo: Not for another year…but then it starts again.
Yeti: Well, actually, there are sales taxes too, in December….
Boo: [Glares at Yeti] Oh, not helping!
Yeti: At least she doesn’t do much business….
Boo: Oh great…now it’s bad both ways. I’ll have night terrors about running out of noms!
Yeti: Now, now, you know they’ll never let us starve. You’re just tired from all this stress. Remember the lesson you taught Missus about napping? She’s sleeping right now. Go join her.
Boo: Yes…that’s a good idea. A nap. [Hops on the bed, delicately navigating a few lingering document copies and folders to reach Missus]
Yeti: [Whispering encouragingly] Very good…you’re doing great.
Missus: Mmrmff…[feels Peekaboo’s fur brush her hand, instinctively embraces her] Zzz.
Boo: [Cuddles] Purrrrrrrrrr….
Yeti: [Tiptoes out] Now, we can get back to…um, abnormal.
