Kettle Fest

Author's Note: M'kay, so there's this Creative Writing contest whatever thing-a-ma-jig that's coming up. I plan to enter a Kettle story. I'm going to rewrite all the alien's stories, and post 'em here, one by one. You lot tell me your favorite, and that's the one I'll enter.

So, ta-da, the. First. Kettle. Story. EVA!


James entered the house cautiously.
"Kettle, I've gotten more cat food." he called. "No need to raid the neighbor's stash." He took off his shoes in an effort to be as quiet as possible. Maybe he could slip past before the kid got up to his juvenile mischief-
A boy with green, plastic straws glued to his hair popped up from behind the couch.
"BOO!" Kettle shouted. James jumped, then glared at him.
"Don't do things like that!" James chided. "And why did you glue those things to your head?"
Kettle flipped them from side to side. "Like 'em? They're my Alien Head-Tentacles of Doooooom!"
"Yes, yes, hilarious, Kettle." James said, absentmindedly. In truth, the boy was an alien. Several hundred years older than he looked. And he looked about six years old. He had fallen to earth in a rocket-powered trash can.
"I saw a lot of them down here, and figured it would be a good disguise." the boy had explained. James had nicknamed him 'Kettle' because that's what had been on the boy's head when he climbed out of the mound of garbage.
After putting down the grocery bags, which Kettle eagerly dug into, James saw a pile of wires attached to a lump of metal, with blinking lights in the middle of the floor. A wrench lay next to it.
"Young man..." James said.
The alien looked up. He knew he was in trouble when his human used that tone of voice.
"Yes?" he said, trying to project innocence by sheer willpower.
"What have you been doing?"
The answer presented itself. There were screeches outside of:"Doomsday! DOOOOOMSDAAAAAAAY!"
James pulled the curtains back.
"Do you mind telling me why you dyed the sky red?"
"Oh, that." Kettle relaxed, then shrugged. "I was bored." he said, simply. Then he squealed in delight as some old Star Trek runs spilled out of the bag.