Mystical Pancakes “Pancakes!!!” Davy clapped joyfully. “Not just any pancakes,” his slightly older sister told him, pausing for dramatic effect and lowering her voice. “They’re mystical pancakes.” “What’s mystal?” “It’s like magic, only specialer.” “How?” “It’s combined with mysterious so you don’t know what sorta magic you’ll get. Don’t worry, it’s ‘most always a good mystical with pancakes. I never heard of anyone getting a bad mystical with them.” “Why?” “‘Cause pancakes are good, silly! Look, here they are now.” “Mystal pancakes!!!” he yelled, amending his earlier cheer as he proceeded to bang his fork on the table before throwing it across the room and digging in with his face. “If you carry on like that, Davy, you could get a bad mystical. Mystical pancakes like to be eaten nicely.” So saying, she demonstrated daintily eating a pancake. Davy, not really caring about the “bad mystical,” but wanting to join in the new play, ran to get his fork. His mother was making more pancakes and consequently did not see him throw it or pick it up and lick it clean. Returning to his pancakes, he began to pick a whole pancake up with the fork. His sister soon set him to rights. “No, no, no! Mystical pancakes like to be folded.” “Foded?” he asked with his mouth full. “Yes, you fold the pancake in half and then use your knife—never your fork—to turn it into a triangle. See?” “Tri . . . tri . . .” He gave up on the word and just copied his sister’s actions. His triangle ended up looking something like a scrambled egg, but he was pleased with the result and his sister nodded her head in appreciation of his efforts. “Good job! Now, if you’re very good and eat it with your fork, you might be able to understand Baxter. I was able to understand him once—it’s a special treat that mystical pancakes give you, because cats are harder to understand than dogs.” She delicately patted her face with
her napkin, muffling half her words as she spoke. Davy copied her and managed to smear the glob of syrup he had spilled on his napkin all over his face. Soon after breakfast, they all got in the car and drove Davy’s sister to school. The moment Davy was back home, he immediately set out to find the cat. Baxter was in the midst of a sunlit nap when Davy decided to poke him awake. “Bax,” Davy whispered, crouching down next to the cat and poking it. The cat didn’t stir. “Bax!” he yelled. The cat flicked its ears back. “Talk,” Davy commanded, pulling the cat’s tail. Before Davy could blink, the cat had whacked his hand and then gone back to its nap. Not actually hurt, but quite distraught, he flopped onto the ground and sniffled. “Mean Bax,” he said with a pout. “I find doggy ‘stead.” He sniffed loudly and stood up. The dog was slopping up water from its bowl when Davy came across it. Davy had learned from his fiasco with Baxter and sat down on a stool to stare at the dog rather than approaching it. The dog was taking so long with its drink that Davy started nodding off to sleep, slipped off the stool, and smacked his head on the ground. He was about to cry when the dog loped over and began licking his face. Davy sputtered and pushed the dog away slightly. “Doggy, stop.” He giggled. “Doggy wet.” The dog stopped and gave a playful bark. Davy waited with baited breath, but the dog’s second bark remained a bark and didn’t sound like talking. “No mystal,” he muttered sadly and wiped the dog slobber off his face. The rest of the day passed slowly. He went to the park—and nothing mystical happened. He played with a neighbor—and nothing mystical happened. He stole Mom’s scissors—and nothing mystical happened. He did get in trouble, though. Apparently he wasn’t supposed to cut his own hair. They finally got to pick his sister up from school, and when she got in the car, she gave him a big hug. “Davy, I missed you! I drew you a picture.” She proudly displayed a crayon drawing of them eating sparkling pancakes together.
“Mine?” he asked, looking at the picture and then back at her. She nodded. “Yep! It’s my bestest creation. And I want you to have it!” Davy smiled. He didn’t need any mystical pancakes as long as he had his sister.