By Gretchen Schloesser
Phezznibbet stood on his hind legs and inhaled the scent. Buttery. Rich. Definitely cheese.
But what type?
He sniffed again. It lacked the tangy scent of Roquefort and didn’t have Juustoleipa’s sweet reindeer undertones. Maybe an aged cheddar?
As if on cue, a grumble echoed through his midsection. He was supposed to meet his realtor—a butterfly, nice enough fellow—about a spruce for sale. But a quick detour to satisfy his empty belly and figure out where the delicious scent originated wouldn’t take but a few minutes. It was, after all, almost time for a cheese break.
A short jaunt through the grassy field and past the elm trees led him to a crowd of humans perched on the side of a steep hill.
Phezz crouched to remain hidden in the tall grass. Of all species, humans fell somewhere in the middle for trustworthiness. A little lower than raccoons but higher than the tri-horned whipsnake.
A man in a top hat and cravat appeared to address the crowd before turning to face the downhill slope.
Phezz’s ears perked up. There it was!
The round, white disc of cheese was a thing of beauty. Not cheddar but a Double Gloucester. It’d been ages since he’d had a slice of a good English cheese.
But before one could say, “Mozzarella if you please,” the man tossed the wheel down the cliff and a handful of people threw themselves after it.
The twenty or so men dove and hurdled and flailed and rolled head over foot, then foot over head, in their attempts to capture the cheese.
Ah, humans with their two-legged clumsiness and strange customs.
But chasing cheese down a hill was something he could get behind, as long as consumption was guaranteed at the finish.
The two front runners, both around their twentieth year—if he guessed correctly—did an odd dance of tumbling to the ground and leaping back to their feet before taking another spill. They were nearing the end when Phezz noticed it.
The subtle glance to the side, the flick of the contestant’s arm, the tiny thing that flew in front of the other, making him cry out and fall back.
Phezz looked down and pulled his ringing mobile out of his pocket. His realtor’s face popped up on the screen. Now he was both late and cheese-less.
He glanced at the bottom of the hill where the first man grinned with hands raised to the sky as he was awarded the Double Gloucester.
Not your problem, Phezz.
He sighed, slipped his phone into his vest pouch, and dashed down the hill on all fours.
“Drop that cheese,” Phezz demanded of the contestant.
“Excuse me?” The man wiped a hand against his sweaty forehead, leaving a trail of dirt in its wake. “I won this fair and square.”
“Fair and square, huh?” Phezz cocked his head at the second man who was waving off a medic in a neon vest. “What’s in your pocket?”
The man huffed and had the nerve to look offended. “Nothing but some lint and a stick of gum.”
“Let’s see, then,” Phezz growled.
Another top-hat adorned man watching the exchange shot Phezz a subtle wink. Phezz had run into him on occasion in these parts, and George was almost as dedicated to justice as he was. Almost. George piped up, “It doesn’t hurt to see what the Xintixa is talking about. Anything in your pocket, son?”
Phezz slipped a dagger out of his vest, inspiring the man to move a little quicker.
The first pocket proved empty, save for the promised lint, while the second revealed a handful of tiny metal nails.
“Aha!” Phezz shouted. “Compare that to the bottom of the other man’s shoe and I believe you’ll have a new winner.”
After a group of officials evaluated the evidence and convened in a huddle, it took barely a minute before a new winner was called. The first man was stripped of his cheese and his dignity.
The second man hobbled forward to receive his prize, then turned to shake Phezz’s hand. “Thanks, mate. I thought I just stepped on something random, but I’m glad you were keeping watch. How can I thank you?”
“A slice of that cheese would do the trick nicely.”
The man held out the entire wheel. “You take it. I’m lactose-intolerant.” He grinned. “I’m just here for the glory to say I’ve won it.”
“That you have, lad.”
Phezz accepted the gift and took a bite before rewrapping it. “Now, if you good folks will excuse me, I’ve got to see a butterfly about a treehouse.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
That was a fun take on Phezz, Gretchen! Well done!
Thanks, Luca!
A guy throwing himself down a hill with his pockets full of nails is a significantly greater danger to himself than to others.
Ha! No kidding! Good thing we can put realism to the side for a bit. :)
Actually, ‘ol pockets-full-of-nails makes the story seem more real. The capacity of people to do incredibly stupid thing is nearly bottomless, and you’ve captured that. The only improvement I could suggest is to mention he’s from Florida, that would explain a lot.
This was a story that you could smile all the way through.
Lactose intolerant, indeed! Funny story, wild adventure, I like a good cheese (and a good story) about as much as Phezz does.
Hehehe the butterfly realtor had me chuckling 😁 I thoroughly enjoyed reading Phezz’s POV on humans (and his mild disgust and annoyance with them 😆)! I can imagine any sort of cheese-loving creature being totally baffled by this race (myself included 😂)!