Adorable Like a Werekitten, Part 5

   The soporific effect of the sun had long passed, and it was now past midnight. Deep sleep gave way to dreams, but they were troubled dreams. Not all was right . . .
   Mount Immovable stirred from its doze and looked sleepily down upon the valley. In its slow mind, it wondered what was amiss. And so it looked closer . . .
   The Very Small Ones slept piled together and under denim blankets in their dell . . .
   The Scaly Ones slept in the rivers and the lakes, never knowing cold . . .
   The Hulking Ones slept on beds of stone punched soft . . .
   And all the other children of this land slept, or woke and went about their business in accordance with their natures. No, naught was amiss with the children of the land, so Mount Immovable looked elsewhere . . .
   1 was where it ought to be . . .
   2 was with its new keeper, the Child of Mind and Looks—the child like a piglet . . .
   And 3 . . . 3 had been lost from its keeper . . . And in a time of great need, no less . . .
   Where?
   3 was lost in the forest, not forgotten, but lost all the same . . .
   And its keeper?
   The Child of Stars and Earth slept fitfully in his shelter, changing into something different, something foreign and frightening to its kind . . . So that was his need . . .
But he was not alone, for the Child of Rainbows and Heart and the Child of Spirits and Words were yet, as always, with him . . .
   So small and young and easily frightened, these three children, like all the others of their kind and like all the kinds of others, really . . . All of them were here, then gone, it seemed. Yet it was the duty of Mount Immovable to protect their world through its dreams . . .
   And these three children, they had given it such pleasant dreams of late . . .
   So it would protect their world especially . . .
   Mount Immovable shut its eye and dreamed of the three children . . .
****
   Insomnia sucks.
   Exhausted, yet unable to sleep deeper than a doze, Norman lay there and looked at the others. Mabel was on one side of the mattresses, with most of the blankets wrapped around her and Waddles burrito style. Dipper lay between Mabel and Norman, curled up into a ball and with both his tail and his hands—looking more and more like furry paws—over his face.
   "Couldn't look like more of a kitten if you tried . . ." Norman said huskily.
   In his sleep, Dipper inched closer, curling against Norman's side. But Norman didn't mind at all. Under the impulsiveness of sleep deprivation, he reached over and stroked Dipper between the ears—stroked his curly shag of brown hair.
   "Mya?" Dipper stirred slightly. "Y'asleep?"
   "Yeah," Norman whispered. "This is my dream. Nice, huh? Go back to sleep."
   "Y'have . . . teoo . . ."
   "Shhh . . . I am . . . Shhh . . ." And Norman stroked Dipper between the ears, until, purring softly, Dipper closed his eyes and slept again.
   Sighing contentedly, Norman looked up at the ceiling.
   Then he blinked in confusion. There was something hazy and blue floating above him, something looking down at him . . . It was unlike anything he had ever seen . . .
   "You a ghost? A spirit? What do you need of me?" he asked of the blue thing.
   It waved once at Norman, and Norman fell instantly asleep. He even slept through the night.
****
   The Honorable Safarington Pithelmet and his peers breakfasted together in the lounge of the swankiest hotel in Gravity Falls. Once they had all finished, and the butlers removed their plates so the waiters could take them away, he rose and addressed his peers. "MmmGentlemen, this morning we shall hunt real game, 'the Bigfoot'. MmmLet us all now toast a successful and sporting hunt, and then vow never again to touch this kingly nectar until we have taken the beast. MmmAll in favor: fire your rifles into the air."
   Once again, a shower of plaster proved the motion unanimous. They toasted once more with goblets of the finest Kraft Real Mayo, and then impetuously hurled the goblets to the ground.
   "MmmTallyho!"
****
   Rising from bed, Stan stretched and grinned. "I've got a good feeling about today," he declared. "Now where's that Bigfoot costume?"
****
   Norman was vaguely aware that something was missing, so he dreamed of looking for it, though he wasn't sure what it was exactly. He had the sense that it was really obvious—like it should be right under his nose, but wasn't. He was so keen on finding it that he even woke briefly to look around the attic room, but it wasn't there. So he went back to sleep.
   Wait . . . That wasn't right . . . It was supposed to be in the attic, but it wasn't . . .
   So he needed to look there again to see what was missing.
   Waking a second time, Norman blinked in the morning light and strove to see what was missing. And then it clicked that no one was sleeping next to him. "Dipper?" He sat upright. "Dipper?"
   No answer. Dipper wasn't there.
   Grabbing Mabel by the shoulder, he shook her. "Mabel! Mabel! Where's Dipper?"
   "Buh? Wha? Aoshima?"
   "Mabel, Dipper's gone!"
   Regaining consciousness, Mabel exclaimed, "What?! Again?! Where'd he go now?!"
   "I don't know, Mabel! That's why I'm shouting!" Stumbling out of the tangle of blankets and mattresses, he called out, "Dipper! Answer me!"
   "Whah?"
   Norman spun. There was Dipper, at the window. On the other side. With a bird in his mouth. Waving. Then he gestured at the latch.
   "Mabel, am I still dreaming, or are you seeing that, too?"
   Mabel looked, then blinked. "We could both be having the same weird dream," she suggested. "Or what if your psychic powers rubbed off on me during the night . . . and now we have a mind-link? What if I'm becoming ParaMabel?"
   "I've told you before, I'm not psychic; I can just see and hear ghosts, and sometimes have visions," Norman replied impatiently as he approached the window. "There's a difference."
   Once the window was open, Dipper sauntered in. "I caught a birrrd! Prrraise meow!"
   "Uh . . . good job?"
   "Why'd you kill that bird?" Mabel asked.
   "Because it was therrre and I thought . . . well, that Wendy meight like it," Dipper admitted. "Meight think I'm manly neow that I hunt, and decide to be a cat person. Or at least a Dipper person . . . Do yeow think she'll like it? I think it's a quail. It's got this stupid feather like a funny hat that meakes it rrreally easy to hunt," Dipper went on gabbily. "I've alrrready killed two other birds and left them at the cashierrr for herrr . . . Should I leave some flowers too? Soos is sleeping in the shop, by the way."
   Norman just stared.
   Mabel said, "Um . . . sure?"
   "Alright, I'll go pick some!" Dipper declared energetically. And he went right out the window.
   Norman turned around to face Mabel. He was paler than usual. "Did you . . . see his hands? They're furry. He's getting cattier, Mabel. We have to find that journal today."
   Mabel stared at him for a moment, then giggled to herself.
   "What?" Norman demanded.
   "Nothing. You're right. Just a girl thing. Heh . . . catty . . ."
****
   Stan found Soos sprawled out on the floor of the shop. He debated briefly whether or not he should slip the mask on before waking Soos, but decided to leave it off in a rare act of charity. After a few light kicks, he brought Soos back to the land of the living. "Soos, did you sleep here last night?"
   "Um, it would appear that I did, Mr. Pines."
   "Oookay . . . And what were you doing here so late?"
   "Just contemplating the inexorable dreadfulness we men of duty must face, Mr. Pines," Soos answered honestly and with sorrow.
   "Oookay . . . Well, don't make a habit of crashing here, or I'm going to start charging you rent. Same deal as yesterday, but don't worry about waking the kids because they did a sleepover last night. See you later today."
   "If only you can still bear to look at me at that time . . ." Soos said mournfully.
   "I can't bear to look at you now. Ha!" Stan quipped as he zipped up the costume.
****
   Filling the supersoaker and wrapping up new yarn grenades, Norman and Mabel prepared grimly for the search. Or Norman, did at least; Mabel was about as grim as the day's choice of sweater (which featured a bottle of Kraft Real Mayo wearing sunglasses and driving a motorcycle, all under a caption that read "Awesome Sauce!"), and not likely to become any grimmer. Ever.
   Pumping the pressure gage to full, Norman began, "Let's do—"
   "Wait! Wait! Wait!" Mabel broke in. "Can I say it?! Please! I've always wanted to have the hardboiled, tough guy line!"
   Norman rolled his eyes.
   "Let's do this," Mabel said gruffly, and then started giggling. "Yes!"
   "Can we just go? Now? Please?"
****
   Dipper practically skipped into the shop. Once there, he carefully added the third bird to the other two set beside the cash register, and then added a red flower to the pile. He examined the arrangement from several different angles, and then nodded his approval. "Purrrfect . . ."
   "Dude . . ."
   Dipper spun like lightning, then stopped and tried to look calm. "Soos. Yeou surprised meow. How do yeou meove so quietly?"
   "Sorry, I have a tendency to silently loom," Soos explained apologetically. "I'm sorry I have to now use this gift against you . . ."
   "Well, I can neow say that that is an enviable skill. What do yeou think of the dead birrrds? Prrretty manly display of hunting skills, huh?" Dipper bragged. "And the flowerrr's neot half-bad either. I meust've tried like a dozen different flowers, but this kind definitely tastes the best and it clears up hairballs the fastest—a meust for any longhair like Wendy."
   "Forgive me, dude. I do only what I must to protect humanity."
   "That's nice . . . Wait, what?"
   Dipper turned in time to see a remorseful Soos flip a switch. And then a loop of rope snared Dipper's feet, and he was hanging upside down from the ceiling!
   "What the heck, Soosss?!" Dipper hissed. "What are yeou doing?!"
   "I am protecting humanity from the werewolf scourge," Soos stated joylessly, pulling a slingshot from his tool belt. "I am sorry that I could find no cure, but rest assured that the beast who infected you shall fall next. I swear, dude, the werewolf Mailman shall be brought to swift, silvery justice."
   "B-but I'm neot a werewolf!"
   "Then explain the ears. Explain the tail. The furry hands. The claws. The yellow eyes of a beast."
   Dipper patted his head and felt pointed ears. He looked down to see that his hat had slipped off and fallen to the ground. His tail—treacherous, twitchy tail!—had also worked its way free again. Grinning sheepishly (which, he realized a second later, was not a wise move with the fangs), he faltered, "I know this meust look bad, but I can explain . . . Let's neot do anything hasty . . ."
   Loading a pellet of solid silver, Soos drew back the slingshot's pocket. "Forgive me, dude. I don't want to do this, but I have to for humanity . . ."
   "Wait, Soos! Don't do thisss!"
   And that was when Norman and Mabel descended the stairs.
   "Dudes!" Soos blanched. "Look away! I don't want you to see this!"
   "Wha—No! SOOS, STOP!" Norman shouted in horror.
   "GRAPPLING HOOK!" Mabel bellowed, shooting from the hip. The prongs caught the pocket just as Soos released, and the pellet dropped to the floor! Retracting, the hook ripped the slingshot from his grip, and Mabel caught it out of the air!
   Furious, Norman demanded, "Why are you hunting Dipper?!"
   "Because he has been transformed into a bloodthirsty beast—a werewolf! Just look at him!"
   "He's not a werewolf! He's just a werecat!"
   "Werecat?" Soos repeated skeptically. "Dude, is that . . . is that even a thing?"
   "Look at him!" Norman snapped. "Slitty pupils! Retractable claws! Cat ears! Look at the cat ears! He's more adorable than bloodthirsty!"
   "More like a werekitten," Mabel chimed in.
   "Yeah!" Dipper chorused. And then that registered. "Wait, neo I'm neot! I'm a ferocious killer! Look at all the birds I caught!"
   Rounding on him, Norman shouted, "Not helping!" Turning back to Soo, whom he poked angrily, Norman ranted, "And what if he was a werewolf?! Your solution is to just shoot him before we have a chance to look for a cure, or even know if he's a danger to people?! I thought you were his friend!"
   "Well, I—"
   "And you do it with this?!" Norman went on, incredulously snatching the slingshot from Mabel. "A slingshot?! When Stan has like ten guns lying around the place?!"
   "He really should put them in a gun safe, or something," Mabel concurred.
   "What the heck, Soos?! Just . . . what the heck?!" Norman concluded.
   Hanging his head, Soos mumbled, "Sorry, dudes."
   "Now get him down! Yeesh!" And once Soos had done so, Norman put an arm over Dipper's shoulders and guided him to the kitchen. There, he poured some milk into a bowl and handed it to Dipper. "Here, drink this. Cats are easily agitated and don't deal with stress well. And neither do you."
   "Hey!"
   "Drink it," Norman ordered.
   Receiving it resentfully, Dipper retorted, "I will, but only because I want to—not because yeou want meow to."
   "Fine."
   Sitting cross-legged, Dipper held the bowl to his mouth and began to lap it up noisily.
   "So . . . how'd this happen?" Soos asked.
   "Dipstick was investigating something on his own yesterday and got attacked by a werecat," Mabel explained. "Tsk. Can't let you guys out of my sight for a second."
   "And you know that journal he's always reading?"
   "The one that's a veritable treasure trove of paranormal information?"
   "Yeah. He lost it in the woods while running away."
   "Which is why we're looking for the journal," Norman said. "It's bound to have information about werecats in it. Maybe even the cure. So before we decide to do anything, we have to find it."
   "But how are we gonna find it?" Soos asked. "It could be anywhere in the woods!"
   "Then we'll just have to look everywhere in the woods," Norman said determinedly. "But I'm not stopping until we find it. You guys with me?"
   "Yeah!" Mabel and Soos said together.
   Silence.
   "You in, Dipper? Uh, Dipper?"
   "Aw . . . Maybe you should take a look, Norman . . ." Mabel suggested.
   And, to Norman's consternation, Dipper had curled up in a sunbeam and was apparently asleep. It didn't just merit a face-palm; it merited a double face-palm.
   Dipper stirred. "Wha? Been up since five hunting birrrds . . . Sleepy . . . Leave m'alone . . ."
   "He wasn't this bad yesterday," Soos pointed out anxiously. "I saw."
   "No, he wasn't," Norman concurred heavily.
   Mabel voiced the obvious, "I don't think he'll be that helpful in a search like this . . . And leaving him alone like this is just sending a personal, embossed invitation to trouble."
   "You're right . . . Okay, Soos, Mabel and I are going to go look, and you're going to stay here and keep Dipper out of trouble while you hold down the fort."
   "Should I shut him in a room?"
   "Absolutely not. He's not some sort of wild animal."
   "But he's getting worse. What if he does go wild and try to infect me or Wendy?"
   "Somehow, I don't see that happening," Norman replied irritably. "And if he does, you'll just have to restrain him."
   "Dude, I don't know about this . . ."
   "Look, Soos, we don't have any other options. And we're wasting time. So Mabel and I are going to find the journal, and you're going to keep Dipper safe—or, so help me, I'll make all the ghosts in Gravity Falls haunt you for the rest of your life!"
   "Er . . . You'll do what now, dude?"
   "You can do that?" Mabel asked in awe.
   "Maybe! You wanna risk making me angry enough to find out?!" Norman demanded of Soos.
   "No! Chill, dude! I'll keep Dipping Sauce out of trouble!"
   "Promise?"
   "I promise. He'll be safe until you dudes come back."
   "No werecat hunting?" Norman exiged.
   "Absolutely no werecat hunting."
   "Okay. I'm holding you to that. Mabel, let's go. Dipper, you just stay there 'til we get back."
   As they went out the door, Dipper stirred and mumbled, "Yeou're not the boss of meow . . ."