Mockingbird Heights was a community north of Los Angeles. It was so named because it was once a haven for mockingbirds which lived there, but now the city which extended toward the sea consisted of almost one million people with several of the most charming homes. One home was not that charming. It was old and run-down. The yard consisted of weeds, crabgrass and poison ivy. The shutters flapped and hit the structure with ever breeze, and to complete the scary image, a long black hearse often came round and parked out front as if to pick up someone… or something. This late afternoon, tall cadaverous Herman Munster slid out of the back of the hearse and waved good-bye to the friends he worked with at Gateman, Goodbury and Graves. Standing his full seven feet, he winced at the bright sunlight and grinned jovially as his friends waved good-bye to him.
"Don't forget," Herman grinned with a chuckle. "Bury them face up, not face down." He laughed his boisterous laugh and closed the rear door before they pulled away. Tall and as handsome as a freshly buried corpse, Herman hummed a funeral dirge to himself as he continued through the front gate of his beautiful haunted house and entered through the front door.
"I'm home." He called happily content. "Come meet your loving bread-winner."
"Oh, Herman," His wife Lily was equally as beautiful. With her pale white skin with long black hair, she moved like an ethereal phantom bride in a long white diaphanous dress. As ethereally beautiful as the ghost of a phantom bride, she glided up and kissed him lovingly. "Dear, we have a little problem."
"A problem," Herman asked interested. "What is it?" He scratched his flat head.
"It's Spot." Lily's father came up behind her in his usual Transylvanian suit. Resembling a fat Jack the Ripper, he gestured and moved with still quite a bit of his aristocratic air of his long life still present in him. "He's depressed."
"Why?" Herman asked. "Is he getting too old to catch cars? He's only 1,100 years old. That's still the prime of his life."
"No, nothing like that." Lily looked at Spot's long scaly tail coming around the opposite side of the staircase. "He and Eddie watched this movie on TV called 'The Valley Of Gwangi' and he began missing his brothers and sisters. He didn't even want to go play 'fetch.'"
"Well, Lily," Herman reached down and patted Spot. "We got him from that litter owned by that lovely family from Crete. His pedigree goes all the way back to the Hydra and with a pedigree like that, there're going to be hard to find."
"No, not hard." Grandpa spoke up excitedly happy. "I called the Transylvanian Animal Society and they told me that Spot has a brother, Bruce, who was adopted by a nice Scottish Family."
"That's wonderful." Lily grinned ecstatically. "Where do they live?"
"They own a nice little castle in Inverness." Grandpa continued. "It's just a stone's throw from Loch Ness!"