Read Patrick Griffin's Last Breakfast on Earth for Free Online

kitchen where he found the parquet floor under a half inch of water. Letting loose another torrent of bad words, he kicked off his slippers and splashed to the overflowing sink to shut off the tap. The drowned carcasses of his iPhone and apparently every other phone in the house were at the bottom of the stainless steel basin. Another business card was propped on the windowsill behind the faucet. The message written upon it read,
    BINKIES ARE FOR BABIES –BCP §1401¶17
    â€œWhat on Earth is that supposed to mean?!” he wondered aloud.
    The bird clock on the wall said it was almost nine forty-five a.m. He’d assumed it was later. The person had taken the time to write two notes, pour a glass of water, collect and drown all the phones in the house. That alone could have taken twenty minutes, and if he’d only been passed out for ten or fifteen …
    Perhaps the malefactor was right now upstairs cracking Mother’s jewelry safe, or down in the basement searching for the false panel behind which the Eau Clair silverware was hidden?!
    The Taser clearly hadn’t worked that well.
    â€œThe bear spray!” he said aloud. Wasn’t it guaranteed to be powerful enough to stop a seven-hundred-pound bear!? The closest can was stashed in the broom closet by the back door. He quickly sploshed across the kitchen and removed it from the top shelf, breaking off the safety tab and giving enough of a read to the directions to realize they were a silly restatement of common sense (“Use only in case of impending attack,” “Hold can perpendicular to the ground,” “Do not use indoors,” “Do not spray upwind,” etc.). Then he noticed movement through the back door’s four-paned window. The costumed burglar was out in his backyard demolishing the bird feeders!
    â€œYou good-for-nothing vandal!” the old man screamed as he burst out the back door and stumbled down the brick path. “Look what you’ve done! Are you eating my birdseed?!”
    â€œOh, I’m so sorry, is it yours?” replied Mr. BunBun, slowly swallowing a last mouthful of seeds as he sized up the angry man. “I assumed since it was out here and otherwise the birds would eat it all up—”
    Two things dawned on Mr. Coffin. The first was that animal costumes had come a long way in the dozen years since he’d last opened the door for a trick-or-treater (the mask was so lifelike—the shiny black eyes, the intricately molded teeth, the glistening mouth and snout, the multi-textured fur…), and, second, that no sober burglar would be out in the yard ransacking somebody’s birdfeeders.
    â€œAre you a druggie ?!”
    â€œDruggie?” asked Mr. BunBun. “I’m not familiar with that word.”
    â€œYou’re a disgusting, filthy drug addict, aren’t you?! That’s why you were asleep on the floor of my kitchen, that’s why you’re out here in an animal suit eating birdseed ! You’re higher than a kite!”
    â€œKite? What? I—”
    â€œYou picked the wrong house to mess with, you reprobate!”
    â€œReprobate? Mess with? Sorry? I’m afraid I don’t have the foggiest notion—you seem to be angry—perhaps we should back up and—” BunBun broke off, bemused suddenly. He’d been worried the object the old man was holding was another weapon like the one with which he’d first electrocuted him. But now he’d had a better look at it. “Is that can you’re holding labeled ‘bear spray’? Do you think I’m a bear?”
    â€œI know you’re not a bear!!” screamed Mr. Coffin. “Bears can’t talk!”
    â€œNo, not unless they’re Mindthling bears, I don’t suppose.”
    Mr. Coffin looked at him dumbfounded.
    â€œYou know it’s kind of funny—back on Ith the natives thought I was a giant rabbit, which is ridiculous because