Spring Comes, Not a Moment Too Soon!

Ah, Spring. It comes much later here than back home, it seems. Must be because we're so landlocked here. Well, the imps have been abominable the last few weeks. The feud with the toys escalated dramatically with the accidental (I SWEAR!) introduction of another strain of imps. These I found at the conservatory near our home. I think they may be from the Amazon, as it seems many of the trees and other plants at the conservatory come from the Amazon River basin.

Here's the honest truth of it: I brought them home simply to observe, fully intending to keep them well away from the rest of the little buggers. I even had a separate room in the cellar to keep them in. Well, within minutes of passing through the door, they managed to free themselves! This batch seems more brazen than the previous two, which of course only gives the others ideas. Here they are gorging on the week's supply of cat food. (Actually none of the newest strain are in this photo; they got away too quickly despite their overloaded bellies.)

This isn't quite how I imagined things would go.

The Whitebottoms Come to Visit!!

Wow! What an amazing week! Our great friends, Fintan Whitebottom and Shallia Scrivenshaft-Whitebottom, skipped over from the homeland to visit for the week. Whitey, as Fintan is known among the Aurors, recently received a promotion, so Shallia booked a holiday for them to celebrate. We were quite excited they chose to visit us.

Whitey was quite keen to observe American magical creatures in their native habitats, so I threw together a three-day "photo safari" of the Big Five: Sasquatch, jackalopes, rougarou, sidehill gougers, and hodags. Along the way we found a number of others. Whitey got some great shots, but his camera was destroyed by a wampus cat before we could apparate to safety.

Madrigal entertained Shallia closer to home. Shopping for potions, shopping for magical household items, shopping for the sake of shopping, then shopping some more--they had a splendid time! During the short bursts of time when they were at home, the odd calico imp took a shine for Shallia, so Madrigal gladly offered to let her adopt the little blighter. But en route back to England, Whitey and Shallia discovered a stowaway. "Mousie Mo" as he has come to be called (below left), couldn't be parted from "Monty". Best of luck to you two!

Adoptee Update From Afar

I've received word recently that our first adoptee has settled in nicely, although he has been terrorizing his new family with his single-minded desire for toffee. His name is now Owl Ignatius Imp, and what you are about to see is real, and possibly disturbing to toffee lovers. Please: viewer discretion is strongly advised. My thanks to Selene Gazebo, whose heroic camerawork brings us these incredible, harrowing pictures.

Mystery Calico Makes a Friend

Sorry for the lull. Things have been frightful lately, what with the various small emergencies--none imp-related, at least--that we've had around here. On with it, then.Right. Well, it appears our mystery "calico" imp has made a friend from the original troupe, as I found them rambunctiously playing Legos. The interpersonal scenarios they develop are quirky but sophisticated. The minefield of parts and pieces on the floors are less so, but garner points for effectiveness, I suppose.

They spent considerable time tinkering with this contraption before taking it for a spin through the house. What a rocket! Madrigal was not amused. Nor were the cats. You've got to hand it to them: they are talented little buggers.

Time to "Thin the Herd"

It has come to my attention (which is "married bloke"-speak for "My wife has informed me") that homes have been found for some of the imps. Apparently there are populations of imps across the continent in need of "new blood". So I set myself the task of catching them. Easier said than done.

So far this week, I have tried staking out the kitchen at night, setting magical traps baited with chocolate, and even making myself invisible. Nothing. And I am now out several perfectly good chocolate bars.

Then by chance, a lucky break. I came home from work today to find that one of the little blighters has managed to squeeze into a soda bottle! Apparently the inside is too slippery for it to get out. Finally! I dug around for a cap, poke a few air holes in the bottle, and tied on a note with the lucky family's address. The imp, however, was furious, which I guess I can't blame the poor bloke given the circumstances. It made such a ruckus that my trusty owl almost refused to deliver it. But with a treat and a lot of persuasion, our first adoptee was on its way.

Heightened Tensions

I woke up this morning looking forward to a much needed day off. As I wandered out to the kitchen to make some breakfast, I noticed an odd gathering on the sofa. It seems that a delegation of toys was attempting something of a welcoming committee. Or perhaps a peace summit. Quite impossible to tell, really. So I watched from the end of the hall to see how it all played out. Well, in a few short minutes it all went terribly wrong from the toys' perspective.

The blazing speed of the imps' attack was matched only by its ferocity. I was so stunned, that I was completely unable to intervene. Several toys were pronounced "unplayable at the scene", and Buzz Lightyear has vowed to seek justice, possibly revenge. Not long after, he met with representatives of the Power Rangers to discuss a joint effort to neutralize the imps.

I fear I may have let loose a plague within my home. All I really wanted was to study their behaviour and perhaps mitigate the effect of population islands that I have been observing in the field. It may be time, as my lovely wife Madrigal has suggested, to find other homes for a few of these creatures.

A Bit of a Mystery, This One

Warmer weather has enticed my son and me to do some "field work" here in our neighborhood. On our walk down the railroad tracks behind our house, we tried to name as many different creatures as possible. We don't know all the North American birds yet, but we did manage to identify some, such as the cardinal and the chickadee. I also thought I heard a woodpecker, but my clever son was able to point directly at a crow which was making the sound! Exceptional mimics, those crows. We also correctly identified a trio of squirrels chasing each other quite raucously up and down an old oak tree.

Farther down the tracks we passed an old abandoned grain mill, where the underbrush provided cover for a number of creatures--mammals and birds--that we could not always identify. Here we also spotted a flash of blue burrowing through the fallen leaves and other debris. I cast a spell to sharpen my vision and was surprised to see a lone imp! What really intrigued me about this one was the colouration. This one had both the blue-purple colouration of the first troupe, and the mottled colouration of the second. But what really set it apart were the pinkish patches, which leads me to believe that there must be another variety of imp somewhere yet to be discovered.

Enlisting my son's help to capture the imp was the easy part--he was most enthusiastic! Finding something to contain the imp was the hard part. We eventually baited the hood of his sweatshirt with an half-eaten chocolate bar, and after two minutes of him standing as still as a six-year-old can, the imp gleefully jumped into his hood and munched on chocolate until it passed out from overindulgence. We walked quickly home, and arrived just in time, as can be seen in this picture.

Misery Abounds

It's been a cold, miserable weekend, and yours truly has been out in the field, close on the trail of a wampus cat. Fascinating creatures, really. The muggles claim that the US government bred wolves with mountain lions (pumas) to create a creature with great speed and great endurance. This, of course, is preposterous. Now, while they possess both these qualities in spades, they are striking especially for their immense size, shaggy coat, and uncanny vocalizations. This particular wampus cat has been at large in the tri-state area for some time, and most recently dragged off a dairy cow from a nearby farm. I was able to track it to its den, where I was able to determine that "it" was a "she", and she had a litter of kits to feed! This may be the closest anyone still living has gotten to a live wampus cat's lair. (Sorry, no pics--strict Ministry protocols and such-like.)

So after a weekend of tracking in the snow and ice and wind, I stopped in at the office to bang out my report, then headed for this little hole-in-the-wall place that makes real Cornish pasties. Papa Myles brought his recipe from the old country and has remained true to the original for four decades. What a chap!

Well, anyway, I was really looking forward to a hot pasty and a cold microbrew, so I disapparated as soon as the coast was clear. When I apparated in the house, I noticed immediately that things seemed quiet and calm. Almost eeriely so. I served up the pasties, and as everyone sat down to eat, I went to the refrigerator. To my horror and utter dismay, I found the imps had consumed all the beer and were obviously plotting to crack open the wine and whatever else they could get their thieving little paws on!

I snatched the half-empty Pepsi and locked them in for the night.

Unbelievable!

I realize the previous entry was quite short, so I hope you will excuse me for that. You see, I was already ravenously hungry when I returned from my walk, and I postponed my dinner plans to report on the imps' latest shenanigans. So as I was finishing that hurried post, I could practically smell the burger and chips I so desperately wanted. Then I stopped everything and thought to myself, "I can smell burgers and chips."

Once again, I trudged through the house to determine just what was going on. To my amazement, the imps were huddled around the fry pan--cooking the bison!
With that, I headed for the nearest pub for a bite and a pint of American swill. I probably shouldn't leave them unattended, but really, who knows what they do when I'm not around.

The Great Hunt

With the introduction of this second subspecies of imp to the house, the levels of chaos, mischief, and destruction have intensified fivefold. Despite my concerns regarding territoriality or xenophobia, the imps instead appear delighted to create mayhem in new and ever more cooperative ways.

Today I returned home from a brief walk to find the silverware drawer emptied on the floor and the pencil cup tipped over on the desk. To my astonishment, I found the six imps ranged in a semicircle behind a ridge in the bedding, armed with implements as varied as forks, bamboo skewers, a pen, and a spoon. The object of their aggression was a plush buffalo--or more properly, what the Americans refer to as a bison--which stood minding its own business, oblivious to the little stinkers. As I watched from the bedroom door, the imps made a bold and coordinated assault on the bison. The poor beast had no chance, unconditioned as it was to predation of any sort, not to mention this level of sophistication. It is possible that no plushie will be safe in my house while these imps are present.

More Imps!

So I was across town a couple days ago on unrelated business when I spotted what appeared to be another band of imps! These were more camouflaged than the first population, as their coats had green and brown patches breaking up the blue base color. In the trees they were virtually invisible, so I only spotted them when they flitted across the snow. I wondered at this very different colouration, and I have come to the conclusion that because the town was developed on an isthmus, vital migratory patterns have been disrupted. Where the imps have managed to establish territories, those smaller, isolated populations are drifting away from each other. This, I think, also explains the eyes.

Determined to find out more, I hurried home to gather up a cage and some traps and bait. I returned and set my traps amongst the evergreens where I had first spotted the imps. Then with a simple observation spell in place, I "hid" myself in the nearest coffee shoppe (thank God they serve tea, too).

Well, I was just about to stop in the loo when the blasted spell alerted me to a tripped trap! As I waited by the door for a muggle man with his small boy to finish their business (rather loudly, I thought), the spell alerted me to a second trapped imp. "Be done, already!" I thought to myself. As the father was patiently reminding his child why we wash hands, the spell went off a third time. In desperation, I ducked into the lady's room (a thousand apologies, ladies! I suppose I'll never show my face in there again), then hurried off to check my traps. Luck was with me, as all three imps were still in their traps. I transferred them into the cage and headed for home, quite excited to observe their interactions with the first trio.

Imps in the Study

I have just returned home from a ten day foray into southwestern Ontario, where I accompanied an American and a Canadian colleague to track down and relocate a rogue pack of hodags. Vicious creatures, really. Although they never grow much over knee-high, this pack was particularly troublesome for us. Agent Clive Quilligan, of the Magical Creature Records, Education, Enforcement, and Protection Service (MCREEPS)--the American equivalent of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures--was particularly informative regarding the unique challenges of North American field work, and I look forward to working with him in the future. Trooper Maxwell Weatherborough of the Canadian Ministry of Magic "hooked me up" (as they say here) with a reliable source of drinkable beer. Couldn't ask for two better chaps with which to round up dangerous creatures in the North American wilderness.

Upon my return, I found that the imps I "rescued" have begun to feel at home in their new environment. I arrived late in the morning by broom, under cover of my most powerful disillusionment charm of course, so I was surprised at first to hear such a ruckus coming from inside my study. Thinking there might be an intruder, I drew my wand and swept the house in deliberate fashion, clearing each room in turn. Finally I reached the study, only to find my three little blighters ransacking my son's desk. After a brief but heated battle, I left them to it and put the beer in the fridge.

The Imps Invade

I've settled into my new digs here--a fine bungalow in town. The Muggle neighbors are an eclectic bunch: a bachelor and his dog to one side, and elderly couple and their middle-aged son to the other, a tyre factory worker across the street, and a policewoman next door to him. Two houses down from her lives a retired cement finisher, and it was in his front garden where I first spotted the New World Imps.

At first glance, I wasn't sure they were imps at all, seeing as they were blue mottled with purple and black--nothing like the subdued browns of the Old World Imps back home. I quickly discerned that they were equally troublesome as those in Lancashire, though, for these found endless amusement in drifting the newly shoveled snow back onto the sidewalks, icing "doggie-doors" closed, deflating automobile tyres, and rampaging through the neighborhood late at night, thereby setting all the dogs for blocks around to barking hysterically. (Luckily, I was able to Memory Charm old Dan, the retired cement finisher, into believing they were bluejays.)

So you maybe wondering what possessed me to open the window that cold winter morning when three of the little blue buggers sat themselves on the sill, mournfully looking in. Trust me, if I knew, I'd tell you.