Ivan the Terrible

The Fabulists
Sep 7, 2018 · 2 min read

by Deborah Mendez-Blaauw

PROMPT: To her horror, the sword dropped to the ground. Then bounced.

She looked at the laughing man in front of her. Oh, he was having a great time, but there was no fun in spending time with him, so why was she supposed to put on her best behaviour? Eve was adamant. She would not like Ivan.

‘Don’t make that face, little one! See? It won’t hurt you.’

She looked up at mother, “See? He’s mean!”

Still, mother ignored Eve. The carer was to stay put, it seemed. Damn! Obviously, there had to be a way to get her way. She always did, in the end. It may take a bit longer, but it would happen. Gizmo might help, if she could find enough of an incentive for him. But he was not making it any easier. By his face one could see he was not impressed with Ivan the Terrible, either, yet Eve knew how far a gap there was between Gizmo being unimpressed, and Gizmo actually doing something about it.

Not today, then. Anyway, Mother, was at the door already. Soon, though. Soon.

It was two weeks down the line already, and Mother was still convinced Ivan was the best thing to happen to them. No amount of crying, overly joyous welcomes, or shows of dejection at being left with the man had done the trick. And, as expected, Gizmo had not put one toe out of line, thus making it additionally difficult to show how terribly unsuitable the carer was.

In a desperate attempt to put an end to this situation, she had taken to being passive to anything he suggested. She tried to eat as little as she could, so Mother would see that he didn’t look after her properly. Sadly, she loved her food, and that plan was only partially successful. She let herself be taken out for a bit of fresh air, but wouldn’t run along. Why should she?

‘Come on, eat a bit, then we’ll go out for a bit. Your mum left you this new coat, see? Like it?’

She struggled, bumping into his bag. Something fell out, squeaking out, and she dashed at it. The rubber sword. Tricked again! Gizmo looked at her from the top of the bookcase, as usual. Ivan was laughing.

‘Ah, so you do like the chew toy, then?’

Eve barked, annoyed. Tomorrow, she’ll show them tomorrow that Ivan was not the best pet-sitter!


Deborah Mendez-Blaauw — a proudly mixed nomad, currently based in Ramat Gan, Israel, is intensely passionate about cultures, languages, and the written word (even better, when they’re all blended!)


Originally published at medium.com on September 7, 2018.

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