Thrice had the sun set since their mother had departed, and twice more would it set ere she returned. Yet they remained stout of heart, for they found succor in the torment of their father. And they fought over the slinky, tangling it beyond all hope. And they fought over whether two could simultaneously hide in amongst the linens during hide and seek, dragging all the clean sheets out onto the floor. And they retrieved their accursed talking Shredder action figure from the secretly hidden donation pile. And they sat at the dinner table, and made vexatious music upon their plates and glassware with fork and spoon and replica Voldemort wand. And they ate not of their fully laden baked potatoes, and they eschewed their ham with candied pineapple, even knowing as they did that their father greatly coveted the feast set before them but had forsworn such foodstuffs due to his status as a fatty fatterton. And he ate of his kale and cauliflower and arugula, and bemoaned the life of a rabbit. And they retired to watch the end of The Iron Giant, but insisted on repeatedly head-butting and drop kicking him during the sad parts, which are of course his favorite parts. And they demanded their fuzzy footie pajamas even though they’re too damn hot. And they bade him read Tikki Tikki Tembo again, which was cute for the first decade he had been sentenced to read it, but gradually became tiresome, and then irritating, and then more agonizing to him than a colony of wasps set upon his tongue while ablaze. And they became too hot, and demanded that he remove their fuzzy footie pajamas, and insisted on sleeping in undies only. And he carried the youngest ones to their beds. And whilst passing through the dark of their bedrooms, he unknowingly trod upon the talking Shredder action figure. And the Shredder action figure said “YOU’RE MINE!” And it was as if the sleeping children had spoken. And he smiled, and whispered “yes I am.”