“Really?” Sheldon was glaring at the cat.
“Sheldon,” Charlotte began, but he would have none of it.
“I mean, really? A talking cat?”
“I think you’re missing something here,” Charlotte’s mom said quietly.
“What could I possibly be missing? We’re hanging out with a talking cat.”
“Yes,” she continued, “and we’re also hanging out with a ghost.”
“Please don’t bring my ethnicity into this.”
“I don’t mean to be disrespectful Sheldon, but context really does matter in this case.”
“How so?”
“Well, for one thing, you are a mythical creature.”
“Hello. I’m standing right here.”
“Mom’s got a point,” Charlotte jumped in. “You are standing right here only because you’re in part 8 of a book called ‘Sheldon’. So maybe we need to give some credit to context. I mean, when was the last time anybody met a ghost for real?”
“Yes, but a talking cat?” Sheldon looked pained.
“Now who’s prejudiced?” the cat said curtly.
“Looks like I’ve been missing a real party.” It was Charlotte’s dad. “A ghost with glasses and a talking cat.”
“Not the same thing at all,” Sheldon muttered weakly.
Charlotte started to giggle. “I am trying so hard not to say ‘… walk into a bar …'”
“You’re not helping.” Charlotte’s dad gave his daughter a stern look, before turning back to Sheldon. “Young man, you need to get a grip on yourself. Is Hamlet any more real than Count Gonzago?”
“Count who?” Sheldon and Charlotte both said at the same time.
“Bad example dear,” Charlotte’s mom interjected. “Nobody knows who Count Conzago is.”
“I do,” said the cat.
Which did nothing to make Sheldon feel any better.