Adventure of Joe Average 7

Brenda Kowalski’s kitchen is all warm lamplight, floral curtains, and the sharp smell of sugar. Joe Average stands near the table in his red and white shirt, trying to look as suburban as possible. Zibbler is under the counter, tail thumping, jaws busy with a chair leg.

The chair gives a wet, splintery crunch. Brenda freezes with a pie plate in both hands. Gerald Fitch, already half-leaning over a notepad, lifts his head like he has just heard a headline being born.

Zibbler pauses only long enough to blink three stalked eyes at Brenda, tongue lolling happily, then chomps again. Gerald’s pen starts moving fast.

Brenda edges one step back from the table, still trying to decide whether to scold the creature or offer it a snack. The chair leg cracks off in Zibbler’s mouth.

The pie crust is still cooling on the counter.

Brenda lowers the pie plate a little, eyes flicking from Joe to the splintered chair leg in Zibbler’s mouth. Gerald pauses mid-note, then writes slower, as if the story has become stranger and therefore better.

Zibbler trots out from under the counter with the chair leg held like a prize, then drops it neatly at Brenda’s feet. Wood dust scatters across the tile.

Gerald glances between Brenda’s softened expression and Joe’s calm face, his suspicion thinning into a different kind of interest. He taps the notepad once, waiting for whatever Joe says next.

Zibbler plants both paws on the broken chair leg, then nudges it away from Brenda’s shoes as if presenting evidence of good manners.

Joe lets out a small, easy chuckle and gives Zibbler a gentle command. The little alien dog freezes, then folds into a sit beside the chair leg, eyes bright on Brenda’s kitchen floor.

She turns toward the stove, already deciding. Zibbler sits straighter, tail twitching over the tile dust, while Gerald watches both of them with narrowed, thoughtful curiosity.

Brenda pauses at the stove, glancing back over her shoulder as if to make sure she heard him right. Gerald’s pen stills above his notebook.

Brenda sets a warm plate down and nudges it toward Zibbler with one cautious hand. The little creature leans forward, nose quivering.

Joe lets the silence stretch, then folds his hands on the counter. The question lands between the three of them like a dropped spoon.

Brenda’s smile thins, not with anger, but with the look of someone hearing bad manners out loud for the first time. Gerald’s pen lowers a fraction.

Zibbler snatches the offered food and backs up under the table, chewing with blissful indifference. The small, happy noise makes the room feel almost ordinary again.

Gerald glances from Brenda to Joe, then taps his notebook shut instead of writing. His expression says the accusation missed, but the opening worked anyway, because now he is choosing his next question more carefully.

Brenda lets out a slow breath and sets both palms on the counter. The kitchen goes quiet except for Zibbler’s happy chewing under the table.

Gerald closes the notebook fully this time and keeps it down by his side. His face softens, but only a little.

Brenda’s expression loosens at that, and she turns toward Joe with a look that is less alarmed than protective now.

Gerald glances at the ruined chair leg, then back to Joe. The suspicion is still there, but it sits beside real politeness now.

Joe lets out a small chuckle and answers with practiced ease, saying other humans, especially human women, keep assuming he must already be married because he looks too handsome to be available.

He adds that, inconveniently, he is very much single.

Under the table, Zibbler pauses mid-chew and sniffs at the new mood like it is another snack.