The Code

“The cupboard isn’t bare, Miles,” said Harold the Ghost. “Why must you always be so negative?”

“Harold,” said Miles, standing on all four feet, his whiskers quivering, “the cupboard is empty. It’s all fine and dandy that you can subsist on thin air. I, however, need sustenance. I’m sick and tired of stale oats and breadcrumbs.”

“Miles, Miles, Miles, my furry little friend. I promise you, as soon as I publish my book of poems, we will have financial resources galore. Why, I’ll even buy you that fancy computer you want, complete with a colored Canon printer.”

“Sell your book of poems? Harold, I hate to rain on your parade, but have you been taking your medication?”

“Miles, I just need a little bit of help on the editing.”

Miles groaned, holding his stomach. “Harold, I’m famished. Why don’t you give me the code to your bank accounts. If I weren’t so famished, I could assist you on your lovely book of poetry.”

Harold scratched the top of his head. “Really?”

Miles left hind foot began tapping the sagging floor. “Yes, Harold. You know I get positively grumpy when the cupboards are bare and my belly is in a continual state of famine. The code, Harold.”

“I don’t know, Miles.”

Miles sighed. “Well, I think I’ll have to go lie down, then, Harold. You can do the edits yourself. Really, I’m exhausted just having this conversation with you. By the way, the mini iPad comes with excellent editing software, so if we got one, I could type in your poems and edit them in a jiffy. In addition, if we ordered a printer, we could print your poems out and send them to a variety of publications.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Absolutely. The code, Harold, the code.”